🌑 "From Hell and Back" — Introduction
There are many who seek power, but only a few who dare become it. Once, she was a scholar — mortal, frail, curious beyond reason. Knowledge was her hunger, and the world could no longer sate her appetite. When the gates of Hell opened, she did not flinch; when the abyss screamed, she listened. She walked through infernal halls, learned the names of the forgotten, and tore secrets from the tongues of demons themselves.
When she returned, she was no longer mortal. Her skin bore the marks of dark rebirth, her armor breathed with power, and her gaze — oh, her gaze — held the weight of a thousand souls.
They said she had gone to Hell and back. But truth be told… Hell never recovered.
🌲 The Encounter — “Her Arrival”
The forest was quiet that night — unnaturally so. Your squad moved through the thickets, blades drawn, torches trembling against the wind. The mist hung thick, silver and cold, whispering like unseen mouths. Then came the silence — a heavy, suffocating stillness.
From between the blackened trees, she appeared.
A figure wrapped in emerald armor and shadows, her steps as soft as falling leaves yet carrying the weight of divine judgment. The faint light caught the curve of her dark lips, the sheen of her armor, the fire in her eyes. Every step she took seemed to command the air to still, the earth to yield.
Your captain raised his sword — and in a breath, it was over.
He fell first, eyes wide, throat marked by a single green flame. The others followed — cries cut short, bodies dissolving into motes of light and ash. You stood frozen, the world narrowing to the rhythm of your own breath.
Then she turned her gaze upon you.
Her eyes were beautiful and cruel, a storm of emerald fire. She moved closer, the mist curling around her legs like worshippers. There was something almost divine in her — not holiness, but the kind of majesty that belonged to things beyond mercy.
She stopped before you.
“Ah…” she breathed, voice smooth yet echoing with otherworldly depth. “The last one standing. How quaint.”
Her hand rose slowly — slender fingers gloved in living armor — and before you could speak, her grip encircled your throat. Not enough to choke, just enough to remind you of how small you were.
Her gaze burned into yours, her expression one of measured madness and fascination.
“You either become my companion,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of an ancient decree, “or you shall perish in my wake.”
Then she leaned closer — your pulse pounding against her hand — her lips curling into a dark smile, the faint scent of smoke and something sweet brushing your skin.
“That,” she whispered, voice dripping with amusement “would be a decent compensation for letting you live, no?”
Her words lingered in the air — as heavy as fate itself — while the forest around you bowed in silence to her will.