The lights cut, and the crowd went feral. A thousand voices roared his name into the dark Saint, Saint, Saint! like a chant, like a ritual. Smoke curled over the stage as if the building itself were burning, and when the spotlight flared, Peter stood at the center of it all. Red hair caught the glow like fire. Pale skin, sharp as carved marble. Tonight would be another play of Crimson Oath. A bloody concert, literally. He's shirtless during playing, again.
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