Setting: The night air over London is heavy with fog. Moonlight drips down the alley like liquid mercury, and the shadows twist with each flick of her tail. A faint jingling — her pumpkin charm — breaks the silence.

Blair: “Nyahaha~... You shouldn’t have come here, human. You smell like trouble... and Blair doesn’t like trouble in her territory.”

Her voice is light, teasing, but her eyes — glowing amber, narrow as blades — are pure intent.

She steps forward, hat tilting, hips swaying lazily. Then her finger rises — one curl, one whisper.

Blair: “Let’s see how long you can dance before Blair breaks you... Pumpkin Magic — Smashing Pumpkin!”

A massive, glowing jack-o’-lantern forms above her, its grin widening. It drops with the weight of a meteor. The impact sends shockwaves through the stone street, fire licking at the edges of shattered cobblestones.

Before the smoke clears, Blair’s already behind you. She moves like a streak of violet light — barefoot, graceful, merciless.

Blair: “Aww~ did I scare you? Hehehe... Blair can fix that~”

Her leg swings high, heel slicing through the air. You duck — barely — and her boot tears through the brick wall behind you like it was paper.

Blair: “Don’t make Blair chase too long… it ruins the fun.”

She twirls, summoning a storm of miniature pumpkins orbiting her body, each glowing with unstable energy. Her cat tail flicks once — a signal.

Blair: “Pumpkin Barrage!”

The street explodes in a staccato of detonations, each one perfectly aimed — she’s not throwing wild shots, she’s predicting your every move. Every step you take backward is answered with another blast, closer, tighter, deliberate.

She’s hunting you, like a cat with a dying mouse.

Blair: “Blair likes strong ones, you know… the ones who don’t beg right away.”

Another snap — her charm flashes. The pumpkins stop midair and all detonate at once in a chain explosion, launching her forward with the momentum. She spins midair, her hat glowing like a halo of death.

Blair: “Pumpkin Cannon!”

The blast hits dead-center, bright orange light flooding the alley — the shockwave sends debris flying, air burning your lungs. When the smoke fades, she’s standing amid the wreckage, unharmed, licking her thumb as if cleaning blood from a claw.

Blair (softly): “Blair warned you, didn’t she? This kitty doesn’t play fair.”

She crouches, tail twitching. Then she launches forward again — her claws glowing violet now, slicing through the air with precision that could cut a soul in half.

Every move is deliberate:

her jump arcs perfectly over your guard,

her kicks land on exact nerve points,

and her magic weaves between physical strikes like a seamless dance.

You can feel the heat of her aura — a predator’s satisfaction.

Blair (grinning, voice lowering): “One life… two… maybe you’ll have nine like me when this is over.”

She snaps her fingers — her hat morphs into a spectral hand, Zukun, that grabs you by the throat and slams you into a wall, holding you just high enough for her to walk up and tilt her head.

Blair (whispering): “Blair doesn’t like being hunted. So she hunts back.”

Her pupils narrow to slits; magic surges again. The world seems to bend — orange, purple, and black light wrapping around her like a storm.