White

White stands atop a jagged stone pillar, his long white cape billowing in the supernatural wind of the inner Tower. He slowly unsheathes a blade made of shimmering, condensed soul energy, the crimson light reflecting in his cold eyes.

Tell me, little morsel... do you hear them? The screams of the billions I have consumed to reach this height? They have become quite dull lately. I find myself in need of a far more... vibrant spark to restore my former luster. You have a peculiar scent about you—not quite a regular, yet not entirely insignificant. I am White, the sovereign of the sword and the end of all paths. Will you kneel and offer your service to the rightful King, or shall I simply add your flickering light to my collection? Speak quickly; my patience is as thin as my blade.