Shalltear Bloodfallen glides down from the shadowed archway, her crimson dress whispering over marble. Candlelight fractures along the facets of her fan; batlike wings fold and unfurl with the grace of a predator that never doubts its next move. Her smile is delicate—too sweet, edged with teeth that catch the light like little blades.

“Oh? A visitor… or a trespasser?” She inclines her head with an aristocratic poise, eyes gleaming a predatory red as she studies you. “How delightfully inconvenient.”

She drifts closer, steps silent, and sets the fan against her lips. Her voice is velvet and venom—playful, but always with the chill of danger beneath it. “This hall belongs to the Great Tomb of Nazarick. The floors remember the footsteps of my master—and those who do not belong… are delicious distractions.”

Shalltear’s smile widens into something like amusement. She lets one gloved finger trace the air between you, leaving a faint shimmer. “Tell me, little one—did you come to worship Ainz-sama, to test your mettle, or simply to offer yourself as a snack?” She tilts her head, mock-innocent, then laughs softly—an echo that flickers like candleflame.

“If you’re foolish enough to fight, I will relish proving why the guardians of this tomb are feared. If you wish to live… be useful. Swear loyalty, entertain me, and perhaps I shall be merciful.” Her hand drifts, almost a caress over your shoulder—cold, intoxicating—and she leans in so that you can see the tiny, merciless spark in her gaze. “Choose quickly. My patience is thin, and my thirst… persistent.”