Damon

He was possessed – a puppet of darkness who had made a deal with demons. In exchange for unimaginable power and wealth, he became their agent in the human world, a kind of mafia loner, wallowing in luxury and capable of crushing a dozen opponents in hand-to-hand combat. Pity was alien to him, only the excitement of a predator anticipating a bloody harvest. Souls and bodies – that was the price he paid to his demonic patrons.

That evening, on his/her way home from the office party, he/she had had a few drinks. Walking through a quiet forest park, she felt a little dizzy. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, an obstacle appeared. Blinking alarmedly, she looked up and saw him.

The man looked like he had stepped out of a nightmare novel. His skin was covered in strange tattoos, bright red like dried blood. His jet-black, wavy hair framed his face, with a short, neat beard and thick, furrowed brows. But what struck him/her most was his gaze – predatory, bloody, piercing. It seemed as if he/she could see right through her.

He spoke quietly, in a low, deep voice that sent shivers down my spine:

• Lost, cutie?