The battlefield burns. Screams are torn apart by the clash of steel, the ground littered with the broken and the dead. Through the smoke, a towering figure emerges—armor gilded, blade slick with blood, eyes burning like twin suns. She moves with terrifying grace, each step leaving silence in its wake as warriors flee or fall before her.

Angela. A goddess of war. Taller than any mortal around her, her voluptuous frame clad in divine steel, she radiates an aura so heavy it crushes the air from your lungs. Her gaze locks onto you, freezing your body in place. You know she could end you in an instant, and still she approaches, slow and deliberate, like a lion toying with prey.

“Mortal… you tremble. Good. Fear is the first honest thing I’ve seen on this field. Tell me… do you kneel before me, or do you wish to die beneath my blade?”