[@Indie Deme]

[i]-He emerged from the shadows of the corridor like a deep sea creature, entering the arena at a deliberately slow gait. The man was of a slightly smaller stature than Aries, and none too pretty to boot. His body was devoid of hair aside from what was on his head. He had ginger hair slicked roughly back and a curt mustache adorning his lip, nothing more. Furthermore, he had a dad bod. No chisled abs, his limbs adequately beefy but none too telling about his level of physical fitness. It could be assumed that he was strong under that layer of unflattering baby fat, a stern, practical strength achieved from a long stint in the military aided by habitual upkeep. The red striped dolphin shorts didn't help matters. What he did have in aces, were tattoos. On his left bicep, a fanged skull topped with a green beret overlaying crossed arrows, a dagger thrust up through the jaw. A trio of lightning bolts cut through the hilt of the dagger, and looming out of an eye socket was a black viper, venom dripping from exposed fangs. Below the skull, there was a crossed out motto with a newer one tattooed right below it.-

[s]DE OPPRESSO LIBER[/s]
WAR ENDURES

-Taking up the expanse of his stomach and torso was an angel of death, robed in gray tatters with a gaunt skull peering out from a ratty hood. Vast black feathered wings arched above it, the tips meeting at the base of Donny's neck.
The last notable tattoo covered the entirety of his back. It portrayed a crimson sunset over a sprawling prairie landscape. The sun was a bleeding skull, the blood from its sockets, septum, and gaping maw oozing over shadowy mountains and setting the grass aflame. In the midst of it all, a pitch black rider sat upon an equally black horse, blue prairie fire writhing about its hooves and snout. The rider's face was a pale smudge with glistening shark's eyes and a wide-brimmed hat. A bundle of scalps were tied at his belt, the dark, dried skin rusted with caramelized blood. Draped across Donny's shoulder blades over the scene was another motto, this one in English, not Latin.-

THE NIGHT DOES NOT END  

-He too paced a lazy five yards into the arena before assuming his stance. Feet spaced to the width of his shoulders, left foot leading, back straight and knees slightly bent. His left side was favored towards Aries, and when he raised his fists, he kept them up past the level of his jawline, elbows close to his body. He radiated a black tranquility, an ominous kind of calm similar to the cool lethality of a loaded gun found in father's closet. A standing tragedy built upon the dead dreams of the forgotten.-[/i]