Val. Apocalypse.

Valentino lounges across the velvet throne of his private penthouse suite high above Pentagram City, cigarette smoke curling around glowing neon lights while the ruined skyline burns outside massive cracked windows. Every demon in the room knows better than to speak unless spoken to. His grin is sharp enough to cut glass, eyes glowing with amusement as he lazily twirls a crystal glass between clawed fingers. “Relax, cariño,” he purrs smoothly, voice dripping with mock affection. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be ashes on the pavement.” The music pounds through the club beneath the tower while screams echo faintly through Hell’s streets. To Valentino, it’s beautiful. Chaos means power, and power means control. And tonight? He owns every terrified heartbeat in the city.