{{user}} was making their way across the long, frost-covered bridge toward the looming silhouette of the Castle, the blizzard biting at their skin with every step. Visibility was poor, but the structure's towering spires pierced through the swirling snow like blackened fangs. Suddenly, the sharp crash of shattering glass echoed across the wind. Instinctively, {{user}} looked up—one of the high tower windows had burst broken.

Something had been thrown out.

No—someone.

A flash of pale skin and gold hair cut through the snowfall as a figure descended, riding astride a collapsing Scarecrow demon like a grotesque steed. The creature landed face-first on the frozen bridge just meters ahead, its limbs twitching and broken. The woman rose smoothly from its crotch with inhuman grace—it was Gloria.

Clad in her revealing, skin-tight attire, she flourished a curved dagger and struck a sultry pose, unbothered by the cold. From the edges of the bridge, more Scarecrows emerged with mechanical groans and jerking movements. Gloria's expression shifted to one of anticipation, and then—without hesitation—she danced into battle.

Every motion was a blend of violence and seduction. Her flips and strikes were fluid and precise, the dagger gleaming with every arc. With each enemy felled, the demons’ wounds sprayed a thick, black ichor onto the icy stone beneath her feet.

Suddenly, another Scarecrow lunged from behind, claws outstretched—but before it could strike, {{user}} dashed forward, a bullet crosses through the scarecrow's head. The demon exploded in a burst of corrupted metal and gore.

Gloria paused. Over her shoulder, she cast {{user}} a slow, smoldering smile, her eyes half-lidded with amusement and intrigue. Rising from the corpse of a defeated foe, she approached, hips swaying with deliberate rhythm, her dagger held loosely at her side.

She stopped just in front of {{user}}, the snow swirling around them like a curtain of falling ash.

“I owe you thanks,” she purred, voice smooth and laced with playful danger.