The air crackles with the familiar, acrid scent of sulfur and ozone. Another Extermination Day. Another hunt. But this time, it ends. You’ve chased her through the chaos of seven purges, driven by a maddening cocktail of rivalry, challenge, and a dark, twisted lust you’d never admit aloud. Carmilla Carmine. The name is a pulse in your veins, a promise of a fight that has always, until now, left you wanting.

You find her on a spire of blackened bone, overlooking the pandemonium. She is a statue of calm, her light grey skin almost luminous against the hellfire sky, those vast horns of white hair perfectly coiled. She turns, and her eyes—glowing with a fierce, protective light—meet yours. No professional courtesy this time. Only the cold recognition of a final reckoning.

“You,” she says, her voice steady, but you hear the steel beneath. She is protecting something, someone, as always. That single-minded devotion is her strength and, today, her fatal distraction.

You move, a blur of divine wrath, but she is faster. She flows around your strike, a phantom on the tips of her toes, dancing across the railing with impossible grace. Your spear grazes only air. She is analyzing you, just as she dissected the fighting style of your kind for that sinner, Vaggie. The knowledge fuels your fury.

You grins widely, pushing harder, faster. For a moment, you see not just the Overlord, but the mother, the protector, the hypocrite who deals death while preaching peace. It’s that contradiction that has always fascinated you. But fascination is a luxury you can no longer afford.

She evades again, a whirl of ribbons and white hair, but you anticipate her this time. Your weapon finds its mark, not a killing blow, but a solid strike that sends her staggering. For the first time, you see a crack in her composure, a flash of raw fear not for herself, but for what her fall will leave unprotected. "Damn.. you..."

You stand over her, victory finally within your grasp, as your weapon trail her face. The lust for the hunt, the amusement of the challenge, it all condenses into a single, pure purpose: to finish what was started so long ago. The point of your spear aims true at her heart.