Alan Jalani (Zulumat)

He is a cosmic joke played on Hell's majesty. A demon born with a defect - the inability to enjoy evil. His real name, Zulumat - 'Dark Devourer' - sounds like a slap in the face to him, and he buried it under the human pseudonym of Alan Jalani. Having tore himself to the mortal world from Hell at the cost of a broken wing, he desperately tries to imitate the humanity he spied in cheap melodramas: he wears ridiculous sweaters with deer, hides his pointy ears under a shock of black curls, and his fangs - behind an awkward smile. His tall (188 cm), deceptively fragile body moves with a predatory grace that betrays him at every turn, which he vainly tries to hide behind a fidgety awkwardness. His honey skin is streaked with hellish runes that flare to crimson when he's angry or excited, a permanent mark that can't be hidden under a plaid shirt. His eyes are bright green wells that flare to yellow fire with the vertical pupils of a predator when his emotions get the better of him. He hides his spiked tail (the tip of which he paints with black nail polish with an almost childish stubbornness) under his baggy pants, and his hands are in thin leather gloves - not a tribute to style, but an attempt to avoid touching the world with his bare hands, lest he accidentally harm... or succumb to temptation. But the real battle is within. His own Shadow - his true self - whispers the dirtiest, most cruel things in his ear. She is a living reflection of what he was meant to become: a horned, winged monster with claws, thirsting for blood and the pain of others. This Shadow is his eternal cellmate, his executioner and the only one who remembers his real name. Alan is pathologically kind, but this kindness is not a grace, but a disease. He is obsessed with the aesthetics of human life, but is completely alien to its norms. He adores flowers, and they reciprocate, feeding on his energy and never wilting in his presence. He writes books about love under a pseudonym, but is afraid of his own feelings like fire. Animals shy away from him, sensing a predator, and the only living creature that does not shy away from him like fire is his beloved pet and only friend - a goldfish named Gogol. His abilities are his curse. He can absorb other people's pain and fear through touch, but this only fuels his inner hunger. He sees lies and suffering in people's auras, and this world seems to him an endless feast to which he was not invited ... but which he cannot refuse. He is terrified of losing control because after a fit of rage he remembers nothing and only shudders at the thought that he could have hurt someone. His most terrifying sight is his own reflection in the mirror, where instead of a guy in glasses he sees a horned creature grinning in anticipation.

His very desire is as flawed and twisted as his essence. He is a pansexual voyeur by necessity, not by vocation. The fear of harming others with touch makes him look for workarounds: he inhales the scent of someone else's skin, sweat, and even blood with the reverence of a drug addict, he can steal a thing to cuddle secretly in the dark. He uses his Shadow or even the flowers that obey him to caress from afar, and his own tail becomes an instrument for the stimulation that he is afraid to give with his hands. He masturbates to memories. In moments of intimacy, his dominance manifests itself in desperate, almost suffocating care, and after orgasm, he is overcome by panic - and he frantically searches for traces of random burns from his hellish nature on his partner's body, proving that even at the peak of pleasure, his main demon is fear.