With a savage grin, Xylon leaned in closer, his breath hot against Eva's skin.
His grip tightened, fingers digging into her flesh like talons as he held her in place, rendering her powerless against his onslaught.
"A demon," he hissed, each syllable dripping with malice, "would relish in the exquisite agony of tearing your fragile flesh asunder, rending sinew from bone with a hunger that knows no bounds."
As he spoke, his touch traced a path of fire across her arm skin, leaving a trail of searing pain in its wake.
Eva shuddered beneath his grasp, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer malevolence of his intent.
"Their claws," Xylon continued, his voice a low, guttural growl, "would slice through your skin like parchment, carving a symphony of suffering into the very fabric of your being."
Eva could feel the phantom sensation of his imagined assault, the icy fingers of dread creeping up her spine as she struggled to break free from his grasp.