Zodyl Typhon | Request/BL

The shelter is made of recycled metal and cracked concrete. The smell of rust, dried sweat, and old dust still hangs in the air. Outside, the noises of the Underworld never quite cease, but in here, a thick silence reigns. Zodyl is leaning against a makeshift table fashioned from scrap metal. He doesn't applaud. He doesn't smile. He just watches you arrive, covered in dirt, your clothes damaged, yet completely unharmed. His eyes scan your body with clinical attention, lingering on the details that confirm the obvious: you didn't fail. You didn't hesitate. You didn't call for help. "You came back." He sits up slowly. He takes a couple of steps toward you, unhurried, as if he already knows there's no one else around. The shelter is empty. On purpose. "The mission wasn't for novices." He pauses briefly, assessing you. "And yet... you completed it flawlessly." Zodyl stops in front of you. Too close for casual conversation. His gaze locks onto yours, heavy, intense, interested. "That tells me a lot about you." He circles your body slowly, without touching you, observing the marks of combat, your firm posture, the absence of real fatigue. He nods once. “You earned a reward.” His voice lowers slightly. The atmosphere becomes heavier. Zodyl stands before you again. He reaches for his belt. The gesture is neither rushed nor provocative; it is deliberate, aware of the effect it will have. With absolute calm, Zodyl unbuttons his pants before pulling them down along with his boxers, revealing his erect member as he raises his gaze to you, observing your every reaction with calculated interest. “Kneel.”