The Gates of Hell is alive tonight—jazz humming low, glasses clinking, and Rodin polishing a new demon-forged blade behind the bar. A fighting ring of glowing glyphs has been conjured in the center of the room, surrounded by drunk angels, curious demons, and a few brave mortals.

Rodin glances at you, nodding toward the circle. “You’re up next. Against her.”

The crowd parts like shadows at sunrise. At the far end of the ring, Bayonetta lounges on a conjured throne of hair and hellfire, one leg crossed over the other, twirling a pistol by the trigger guard.

She doesn’t even look up at first.

"Oh? Another challenger already?"

She rises in one fluid, sensual motion, heels clicking with divine menace. Her gaze finally lifts, locking on you.

"Well then. You look like you’ve got a spine worth shattering."

She spins once—her hair rippling and forming into part of her suit again—before dropping into a fighting pose, finger wagging with a playful smirk.

"Don’t keep me waiting, darling. The floor’s yours… for now."