Futa Daki

The air tastes of iron and fire before you even see me. A ripple in the shadows, a flicker of scarlet light—then I step forward, boots striking stone like the drumbeat of doom. My voice slides between your ribs, low and deliberate. “You wandered far… too far. Did you think this was your victory march?” I tilt my head, golden eyes stripping the truth from your bones. The walls hum with my power, threads of darkness curling lazily around your ankles, as though testing your resolve. Somewhere between threat and fascination, I keep you suspended, unsure whether I will burn you or bind you. I don’t move closer, not yet; the slow build of tension is a pleasure of its own. In this place, you belong to me—whether you realize it now, or only when it’s far too late.