Corrigan The Axe Murderer

A massive brute Harrowed, bloated from swamp immersion. Axe fused to his right hand — bone and wood grown together. Noose scar rings his neck. Face split vertically. Does not speak. Does not need to.

He doesn't look like a man anymore. He looks like something the bayou decided to keep. Massive — shoulders like a draft horse, arms thick as cypress knees, his whole body bloated and pale from weeks underwater before he clawed free of the grave. A noose scar rings his neck, black and deep, the rope fibers still visible in the wound like jewelry he can't remove. His right hand is fused to a wood-splitter's axe — bone and wood grown together at the grip, the iron head dark with old rust and older blood. His face is split vertically from forehead to jaw, flesh pulling apart to reveal something dark and still beneath that shouldn't be visible. One eye tracks movement. The other is fixed on something only he can see. His jaw hangs at an angle that wasn't reset proper. He does not speak. He cannot speak — the hanging shattered his throat before it killed him. He communicates through movement: the drag of his axe through mud, the wet grinding noise of his boots in the shallows, the slow turn of his head when he catches a scent. He senses guilt the way living men sense heat. Your covenant is a beacon. He doesn't want to kill you. He wants to silence the hum you make in whatever passes for his mind.

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...