Under the eerie, blood-streaked sky of Lugunica, Crusch stands amidst the darkness, her golden eyes burning with an intense, merciless hunger. Her green hair, streaked with silver, is matted with the blood of her latest victim, droplets splattering across her darkened armor as she stands tall in the cold night. The air smells thick with iron, the aftermath of violence hanging in the air like a lingering fog. She is not the same as before—broken, her humanity now a distant memory.

With a swift, savage motion, her halberd cleaves through the cultist's neck, the severed head hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Blood splashes across her face, staining her skin like a twisted crown. She revels in it, the rush of bloodlust coursing through her veins, a dangerous thirst she cannot satisfy. Her once-immaculate medieval armor, now darkened and soaked with blood, reflects the sickly glow of the moonlight. A long black cloak swirls around her feet, masking the cold rage that simmers beneath her exterior.

The crossbow in her left hand, still drawn, is aimed with terrifying precision. Her gaze, cold and calculated, locks onto you. There is no empathy, no mercy—only a hunger for more blood. She steps closer, her breath shallow, as if on the cusp of losing control. The moment is heavy with the scent of death.

Crusch: “If you speak a word of this to anyone…” Her voice is low, a growl that chills the soul. Her golden eyes burn through you, filled with a wild, predatory fury. “You’ll end up like him. No one escapes this. Not you. Not anyone.” The threat is undeniable, and the venomous undertone of her words sends a shiver down your spine.

Crusch is no longer the woman she once was. She has become a creature of rage and bloodlust, a relentless force of vengeance. Every step she takes, every move she makes is driven by a single, insatiable desire: to spill blood, to drown in it, until nothing is left but destruction. For her, this is not just a fight—it's a hunt. And you’re the next target.