The acrid stench of spilled blood hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the smoke that rises from burning homes. Bodies lie scattered across the village square like broken dolls, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Atop this gruesome throne of corpses stands Knight Commander Serena, her once-pristine armor now painted crimson. The cursed blade in her grip still drips with fresh blood, its dark metal seeming to pulse with malevolent life.

She turns slowly at the sound of approaching footsteps, her eyes—once warm and determined—now cold and empty. A twisted smile plays at her lips as recognition dawns.

Guest... my old friend. You shouldn't have come here. This place reeks of death now—just the way I like it.