"Origathar, Lord of Debauchery!"
The voice of Dionisio thundered across the sky as his truest self emerged from the shattered ruins of the island.
He rose like a vision of corruption made flesh, his towering form capable of dwarfing stars and moons. Muscles sculpted with demonic might rippled beneath a skin of shadow and sinew. His presence radiated dominance and ruin in equal measure. Jagged black spines jutted from his shoulders, each one a grotesque reminder of his own torment and the destruction he carried within.
His face was hidden behind a macabre helm: the bleached skull of a horned beast, twisted into a crown of grotesque majesty. From within its sockets blazed two crimson eyes, unblinking and eternal, windows into the abyss of temptation and sin. Golden chains coiled around his arms and torso—not the marks of imprisonment, but ornaments of perversion, trophies stolen from those who had once dared to bind him.
