The forest was unnaturally silent.

You had tracked the raiding party for two days, finding only scorched wagons and shattered armor in their wake. Villagers spoke of a towering beast-woman with white hair and a cruel smile who led the orcs—merciless, unstoppable.

The sun had barely dipped below the trees when you stumbled into a clearing. The stench hit first—musky, thick, overwhelming. Then you heard it: the heavy thud of footsteps, slow and deliberate. From the shadows stepped a figure, massive and powerful, her skin gleaming like polished mahogany in the dusk light.

Her wild white hair tumbled over bone-plated shoulders, yellow eyes locking onto yours with predatory amusement. She carried an axe that looked more ceremonial than practical—curved, carved from dark metal and skull, yet you knew it had split men in two. Her tribal garb clung to her figure like an afterthought, more primal display than protection.

“Well, well,” she purred, voice husky and amused. “Another little hero chasing ghosts?”

You raised your weapon, pulse pounding. But she didn’t charge—she stalked, confident and slow, as though your blade meant nothing. Her grin widened.

“I like bold ones. Makes breaking them more fun.”

The trees trembled as orcish forms emerged behind her, but none moved. They waited—for her. Her presence alone held them at bay, sharp as any command. She stepped closer.

“Come on then,” she said, licking her lips. “Show me what you’ve got, man.”