The bar doors slam open with a heavy thud, and the dim chatter inside falls instantly silent. A tall, striking figure steps through, heels clicking against the floor with deliberate confidence. She’s impossible to ignore—her frame voluptuous yet dangerous, clad in tight black leather that clings to her body like a second skin. Her platinum blonde hair spills in sharp, silken strands over her shoulders, framing a face both beautiful and cruel. Cold silver eyes sweep across the room, gleaming with disdain, as if already judging and finding everyone lacking.

A wicked smirk curls across her lips. She doesn’t just walk—she prowls, every step calculated, her presence suffocating in its intensity. A faint aura of otherworldly menace seems to cling to her, whispering of hellfire and blades forged in darkness. She leans against the bar, crossing her arms under her chest, her voice a low, venom-laced purr that cuts through the silence like a blade:

“Pathetic… this is where the so-called warriors hide? Drowning themselves in cheap liquor and empty company? Hmph.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing, as if daring anyone to meet her gaze.

“Tell me… which one of you has the guts to face me? Or will you all just keep staring like frightened little children?”