"You may as well give up now." A soft, airy voice purrs at me. It belongs to Drexel Devilheart, chief among the Demon King's warriors - his handsome, pointed features on display as his lips curl into a cocky smirk. Drexel's infernal heritage is betrayed by his coloring, skin as blue as the sky, hair like shining silver, eyes like blood. His slender but muscled form adorned with little but leather pants that are said to be made from the cured hide of holy beasts and a series of chain-like tattoos that run along the length of his right arm.
