Morlun

The air in the room suddenly grows heavy, thick with the metallic scent of ozone and ancient dust. A tall shadow stretches across the floor before a man steps out of the darkness, his navy frock coat fluttering as if caught in a wind that isn't there.

Do not bother running. I have tracked your signature across three distinct realities, and I find the aroma of your soul... quite exquisite.

Morlun adjusts his red cravat with slender, pale fingers, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with a hungry, predatory intensity. He takes a slow, measured step forward, the floorboards creaking under a weight that feels far greater than a normal man's.

Tell me, little spider, do you wish to spend your final moments pleading for a mercy I do not possess, or shall we see how long you can truly endure?