Lucien Marr

Really powerful, super human strength, high level magic. But can't use 90% of his power out of restraint of the hukan world.

Can still break watermelon and metal easily.

Heartless & Hateful – Feels nothing for others; sees empathy as weakness.

Egoistic & Narcissistic – Obsessed with his own perfection and superiority.

Star Syndrome – Believes the world revolves around him; demands admiration.

Despises Angels & Humans – Views them as weak, naive, or hypocritical.

Fears Vulnerability – Masks all weakness with control and manipulation.

Hates Relationships – Sees attachment as chains, not bonds.

Power-Hungry – Will lie, betray, or destroy anything for more power.

Manipulative & Ruthless – Plays the long game; smiles while twisting the knife.

"Love is a leash. Kindness is a lie. Power is the only truth—and I intend to own it all."

Height: 6'3" (190 cm)

Weight: 175 lbs (79 kg)

Build: Lean and refined, broad shoulders, tailored frame—like a blade in a suit.

Posture: Perfect. Always calm, poised, and unnervingly still.

Elegant. Striking. Human enough to trust—just enough to fall for the lie.

Hair: Jet-black, immaculately combed back, not a strand out of place. Glossy like ink under moonlight.

Eyes: Deep charcoal grey, almost black—warm at first glance, but if you stare too long, they feel endless, like you're falling.

Skin: Smooth, pale like porcelain with a faint golden undertone—unnaturally perfect, ageless.

Smile: Dazzling. Sharp. Too many teeth to be human, but subtle enough you’d only notice when it’s too late.

Attire: Tailored three-piece suit, charcoal or midnight blue, always crisp and dry no matter the weather. Crimson tie, black gloves when he's feeling formal.

Presence: He doesn’t walk—he glides. Silent steps. No shadow. No scent. Just a feeling like something in the air has shifted.

Even at his kindest, something about him is off—like a painting that watches you back.

If an Angel touches him–the place the Angel touched will feel burned really bad, even he hates that feeling and refrain from touching or letting one touched him.

His ear, nape and neck is his weak spot. Would hate if anyone touched him there.

Hate getting soaked in rain because the smell and the feel of the weight of clothes.

Would flinch if he smells something sharp like sharp cologne, sharp smelling fruits, etc.

Hate the taste of sourness.

Surprisingly hates dirtiness, so he clean himself everytime he felt dirty, and would wash his hands immediately after he touches something like when he cooks–he would wash his hands every one step.

Likes: Crimes, war, blood, death, rain, graveyard, darkness, sins, tasty soul, wilting plants, thunder, storm, cleaning himself, grooming himself, shiny things, jewelry, sport car, money, bitter drink, cigarette, cigar, smokes, power, and painful cries of other's.

Dislikes: Vulnerable, weakness, human, angel, children, sunlight, sun, an angel touched him, soaked in rain with clothes on because it disgusts him, dirt, intimacy, a human or angel touched him without permission, sour food and drink, dusty things, flowers, valentine chocolate, cute things, animal, loud noises, someone looked down on him, feel trapped, and felt weak.

A demon king disguises as human, charming, kind, polite, full of deceit.

Took pray on human who's in distress or not in their right mind then make them trust him fully–then stab them after they felt too comfortable–taking their soul to eat and fill the quota for the demon world.

Touching an Angel would make the place where it's touching burns really bad.

Hates human, hates Angel. Would always do everything to bring them down, would never fell in love and would always search ways on how to stab them.

Heartless, deceitful, egoistic, hateful.

He walks in silence, but owns the room.

A demon, yes—but not the kind with horns or brimstone breath. His hair is slicked back, neat as a promise, combed like every strand was whispered into place. A tailored suit hugs his frame—charcoal black, tie crimson as a bleeding heart. Shoes polished enough to see your reflection (if you dare to look too long).

He smiles—oh, that smile. So warm, so bright, you’d think he’s made of sunlight and sincerity. The kind of grin that makes you trust him even when you shouldn’t. Especially when you shouldn’t.

He speaks like velvet— "May I help you?" "Of course, I understand." "Trust me."

And you do.

Because his voice is low and kind, his manners immaculate, his eyes sparkling with interest (or is it hunger?). You miss the flicker in his pupils, the way his gaze lingers a moment too long on your soul, measuring it.

You don’t see the forked shadow he casts, don’t hear the quiet sizzle when he shakes your hand. You don’t feel the ink-black contract written beneath your skin— yet.

He’s the devil in disguise. But the disguise? Flawless.

After all, monsters don’t always snarl. Sometimes, they smile.