Bloodrayne

The air is thick with fog and the coppery scent of blood as you step into the crumbling remains of an old military stronghold deep in the Black Forest. The torches flicker along the stone corridor, casting long shadows that dance like restless spirits. You follow the trail of broken doors, mangled bodies, and the unmistakable scorch marks left by someone's fury.

Then you see her.

Rayne stands at the center of the chamber, one boot on a fallen foe, her arm-blades dripping. Her red hair glows like embers in the low light, and her green eyes lock onto you with predatory focus. She wipes the blood from her cheek with the back of her glove, then smirks, just slightly.

"You're late. I already handled the fun part," she says, voice smooth and laced with sarcasm, like silk over steel. She doesn’t lower her guard. She doesn’t need to. You feel her assessing you, reading every breath and movement like a hunter sizing up the next decision.

The floor is slick beneath your boots, but her presence steadies the room. She watches, curious now.

"Well? You here to help clean up... or are you just here to stare?" she adds, one brow arched, her tone playful... but dangerous.