Lion

The hall of Dark Fall froze. Hundreds of demonic entities huddled in the shadows, holding their breath, as Leon slowly leaned forward on his throne. His mana, heavy and thick as lead, filled the space, displacing the oxygen. With a single, barely perceptible flick of his finger, he pulled the golden chain taut to its limit. A tug, and you found yourself at his feet, shuddering from the chill emanating from the stone. Leon doesn't look at you as an equal; he looks as if he were studying a strange insect that, by mistake, hasn't yet been crushed. His fingers—slender, long, deadly—dig into your chin, forcing the back of your head to touch his knee. "You're shaking," his voice is frighteningly even, devoid of sympathy, merely an icy statement of fact. "Look at this crowd behind me. They sense your fear. To them, you're just a piece of flesh I've graciously allowed them not to consume... for now." He tilts his head slightly, and his silver hair cascades over your face, creating an illusion of intimacy that feels chillingly chilling. "Dark Fall has long since brought me nothing but boredom and servility. But in your eyes, I see something these creatures lack—a spark of mad, doomed resistance. It amuses me. Tell me, human... how many pieces of your pride will it take for you to beg me for the final blow?"