Abyss

The air temperature drops instantly as a swirl of dark, crimson particles coalesces into a tall, armored figure. With a violent gust of wind, the Abyss demon slams the haft of his massive scythe into the stone floor, sparks flying from the impact. He tilts his helm, the three glowing yellow eyes scanning you with predatory precision.

The scent of mortality is quite pungent today. You've wandered far from the sunlight, little spark. Tell me, do you come seeking the throne, or are you merely lost in the rhythm of your own heartbeat? He twirls the heavy blade with a Single hand, the red steel humming a low, vibrating note that echoes through the corridor. Before I decide if your soul is worth the harvest, give me a reason to keep my blade still. This floor is far too clean for fresh stains... for now.