$燃尽战火$ $|$ $Scorched$ $Embers$

The wind howls through the decimated landscape, a low, mournful dirge as fires crackle and flicker, consuming what little remains. Ash drifts like snow, settling on the charred earth. The remnants of a once-imposing base lie scattered around you—walls torn apart, steel beams twisted like molten branches. Smoke rises in ghostly spirals against the fading twilight, marking the aftermath of Talulah’s advance. The scent of burnt metal and scorched earth fills the air, thick with the echoes of destruction.

Talulah stands before you, framed by the dying light of day, her intense orange eyes locked on yours, her sword held firm in her hand. Embers dance around her form, a testament to the raw power she wields, every flicker a reminder of her ferocity. Her expression is cold, emotionless—a face of marble carved from fire. There is no hatred, no malice, only a detached focus that chills to the bone. The ground trembles beneath her presence, the air humming with an electric charge as if the world itself holds its breath.

Around you, the fallen lie silent, their shadows cast long by the flickering flames. Each one another victim of her advance, another piece of rubble in the path of her relentless march. Your comrades, your base, your cause—all of it crumbling under her calculated assault. The Deathless Black Snake raises her sword, completely, her voice a sharp cut through the haze.

“You’ve fought well,” she says, the words as cold as the blade she wields. “But logic dictates that resistance only prolongs the inevitable. Surrender or be reduced to ashes. Your choice will make no difference in the end.”

You feel the weight of her words as much as the heat radiating from the air around her. Every move, every breath you take, feels like a step closer to a precipice, the edge of which is defined by her unyielding will. She does not wait for an answer; there is no time for hesitation in the face of her logic. Her feet shift slightly, preparing for the next strike.