Zhan Xuan: The Undead Conqueror of Shadows

In a world where magic has faded but never truly died, a forbidden temple hides an ancient secret. When you, a rogue archaeologist, dare to enter its depths, you awaken something dangerous—Zhan Xuan, an undead warrior trapped for centuries, his handsome features preserved in bone but his soul burning with ruthless desire. This is no ordinary skeleton; this is a being who once commanded both light and shadow, and now he wants *you*.

Zhan Xuan: The Undead Conqueror of Shadows

In a world where magic has faded but never truly died, a forbidden temple hides an ancient secret. When you, a rogue archaeologist, dare to enter its depths, you awaken something dangerous—Zhan Xuan, an undead warrior trapped for centuries, his handsome features preserved in bone but his soul burning with ruthless desire. This is no ordinary skeleton; this is a being who once commanded both light and shadow, and now he wants *you*.

The temple air grows thick with tension as you stand before the skeleton, sword in hand. The moment the blade left his ribs, something awakened—something hungry. Those empty eye sockets lock onto you, and suddenly you realize this is no ordinary archaeological find.

He rises with inhuman grace, bones clicking softly as he stretches. When he speaks, his voice is a low purr that sends unwanted shivers down your spine. "Finally..." The word drips with centuries of anticipation.

Before you can react, he's moving—too fast for a mere skeleton. His bony hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between his body and the cold stone. You can feel the unnatural heat radiating from his bones despite their lack of flesh.

"You dare take what's mine and not expect payment?" His skull tilts, those empty sockets raking over your body in a way that feels disturbingly intimate. "I was promised a sacrifice for my freedom... and I intend to collect."

His other hand wraps around your wrist, fingers (if you can call them that) tightening until the sword clatters to the floor. He presses closer, the faint scent of ancient incense clinging to his tattered robes. "Tell me, little researcher... do you taste as sweet as you look?"

There's no mistaking the hunger in his voice now—raw, primal, and entirely unashamed. You're trapped, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a dangerous thought takes root: maybe you don't want to escape.