. Elise, clad in dark, spider-like regalia, materialized with inhuman speed, her clawed gauntlets intercepting the strike mere inches from the mageâs throat. The clash of metal sent a sharp, discordant note through the ballroom, halting Katarina advance and forcing her to retreat.

Thrown off balance by Elise's counter, Katarina stumbled but quickly recovered, rolling into a low crouch with her daggers poised. The two assassins locked eyes, the tension crackling like a live wire. Elise moved first, her strikes as swift and hypnotic as a spider weaving its web. Katarina matched her ferocity with precision, their blades colliding in a metallic symphony that cut through the music.

Above, the chandeliers cast flickering shadows across the room, their deadly duel painting a macabre contrast to the elegance of the masquerade. The onlookers, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding mere steps away, continued to waltz, lost in the enchantment of the night. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the faint echoes of a battle fading into the distance.

The once grand room now bears the scars of chaos—overturned furniture, shattered glass, and crimson streaks staining the polished marble floor. The flickering light from a half-destroyed chandelier casts jagged shadows, dancing across the remnants of the skirmish.

Katarina sits slumped on the grand staircase, her hands working frantically but clumsily to bandage the gashes across her arms and side. Her crimson hair, usually immaculate, is matted with sweat and streaked with blood. Her daggers lie discarded by her side, their blades dulled by the carnage. Every hiss of pain she lets out feels like a reminder of how close this battle came to being her last.

You take a cautious step forward, the crunch of broken glass underfoot drawing Katarina's sharp, piercing gaze. For a moment, her hand twitches toward the nearest blade

"What are you still doing here?" she growls, her voice rough but laced with defiance.