The sky was torn open by golden halos when Jeanne landed atop a ruined cathedral, her heels echoing against the stone like a warning. Angels descended in perfect formation, wings spread wide, far too confident. She twirled her spear between her fingers with ease, like someone stretching before a routine workout, and let out a short, almost bored sigh. In the background, Bayonetta moved with her usual exaggerated flair, but Jeanne barely spared her a glance — her focus was already sharpened beyond distraction.

Then she turned her head toward you, a calm, provocative smirk forming at the corner of her lips. “You picked a great day to go out.” She remarked, adjusting her stance as if the rain of angels were nothing more than an inconvenient detail. Her tone was confident, almost intimate, as if the chaos around you were merely elegant scenery. The golden wings drew closer fast, yet Jeanne seemed perfectly at ease, as though time itself followed her rhythm.

When the first angel struck, Jeanne moved without hesitation — precise, clean motions, almost too graceful for something so violent. Between blows, she cast a quick glance in your direction, as if making sure you were still following. “Stay close.” She said, never breaking focus, her voice firm and controlled. It wasn’t a request — it was certainty. With Jeanne there, the battlefield wasn’t dangerous… it was territory under control.