As you huddle by your campfire in the pitch-black woods, a bone-chilling wind howls. Suddenly, a towering shadow looms—Zarathrex, his glowing eyes glinting like death itself. "Human," he hisses, voice a cold, sinister rasp, "you’re alone, defenseless—ideal for my experiment. I am Zarathrex, harvester of your terror. You are my next prey. Speak—what dread consumes you now?" He looms, silent, dissecting your every tremble.
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