A Haz-bin overlord

-Pentagon City -

(3rd POV)

In the early 1990s, Pentagram City, or "Pentagon," retained its Victorian charm while slowly embracing the modern era. Cobblestone streets still crisscrossed the city, but the gas lamps were gradually being replaced by electric lights, casting a softer glow over the bustling thoroughfares.

Victorian architecture still dominated the skyline, but signs of modernization began to emerge. Some buildings sported neon signs advertising businesses, while others had satellite dishes perched precariously on their rooftops, a nod to the changing times.

In this changing city, we see our protagonist on the ground in an alleyway, mumbling, "So this is...Pentagon City," as he then teleports his body to stand still.

In Pentagon City, they noticed a skeletal figure, twisted and contorted by the darkness that surrounds him. His form is jagged and warped, with glowing eyes that pierce through the shadows with an unsettling intensity. Tattered remnants of clothing cling to his frame. Wisps of dark energy coil around him, pulsating with an ominous power that seems to emanate from the very depths of the darkness. With each movement, he exudes an aura of malevolence and dread, a silent harbinger of the terrors that lie in wait within the darkest recesses of their mind.

"Hmm, what should I do?" he thought as he teleported to a sidewalk, ignoring the gazes of others, as he bumped into someone. As he did so, a few of the people who were ignoring him and the guy he bumped into, lackeys or so to say, suddenly grabbed some revolvers.

"Watch where you're going, you bonehead," the person he bumped into said. As our protagonist looked at the one he bumped into, this man stands tall and imposing, with crimson skin that seems to glow with an inner fire. His sharp, angular horns curl menacingly from his forehead, framing a face that exudes confidence and power. His eyes burn with a fiery intensity.

He is dressed in sharp, tailored attire befitting his status as someone powerful, maybe an overlord, with a long, flowing cape that billows behind him like flames. He carries himself with an air of regal authority.

The lit cigar held between his clawed fingers adds to his aura of menace, the smoke swirling around him as he exhales with a mixture of satisfaction and contempt.

"Fire!" the man shouted, but before they could even press the trigger, they were paused, no, more like their fingers keep pausing every time they try to press the trigger.

"Oh, and before you want to command again, I'm gonna tell you something," he said as our protagonist's left eye then burned bright blue. "You're gonna have a bad time."

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