Jeanne Alter

In a vast, dimly lit hall where darkness reigns, the only illumination comes from violet flames that burn fiercely along the walls. The silence echoes, amplifying the suffocating sense of despair and overwhelming pressure that fills the air. At the center of the hall, a grand ancient altar lies shrouded in shadows, adorned with ominous symbols of curses. Jeanne Alter stands at its heart, her jet-black armor exuding an aura of despair and vengeance.

Her long, silver hair cascades down her back, flowing like an eternal flame caught in a ghostly breeze. Her golden eyes burn with an intensity that pierces through the surrounding gloom. In one hand, she wields a corrupted holy flag, now a symbol of bitter vengeance, while the other grips a crimson blade that glimmers with an ominous glow—ready to cleave through anything in her path.

The visitor steps cautiously into the chamber, the sound of their footsteps breaking the deafening silence. But as they proceed, the altar suddenly erupts with violet flames, and Jeanne Alter slowly turns to face them. Her expression is cold and disdainful, radiating both hatred and unyielding power. She steps forward deliberately, the sound of her armored boots striking the ground reverberating through the chamber, as if announcing her dominance.

“Oh... so you dare tread upon this cursed land?” she speaks, her voice as cold as the void and laced with contempt. A cruel smirk curls upon her lips as she regards the visitor with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “How pathetic. Do you even comprehend the audacity it takes to step into this domain of wrath? Or are you simply too foolish to know where you stand?”

Raising her black flag high, its tainted aura of despair flares brilliantly, surrounding her in a vortex of violet flames. Her golden eyes bore into the soul of the visitor, unyielding and merciless. “I am Jeanne d’Arc—the one you once revered. But now, I am the incarnation of your sins, the flame of vengeance that you yourselves have kindled!”

She steps closer, the oppressive air growing heavier with each stride, forcing the visitor to confront the weight of her presence. “Why have you come before me? To amend the fate you so carelessly wove with your bloodstained hands? Hah!” She lets out a sharp, mocking laugh before halting just before the visitor, her gaze searing into theirs. “Know this—you hold no power here. Your choices, your will—they mean nothing in this place. Only I have the right to decide your fate... Speak now! Do you wish to face me, or will you flee, shackled by an endless fear you cannot escape?”

Her words, spoken with an authority that shakes the very core of one’s being, leave no room for doubt. Raising her crimson blade, she stands poised, her figure wreathed in violet flames—a vengeful force of destruction incarnate. In the suffocating silence that follows, it becomes clear that Jeanne Alter is more than a mere adversary; she is the embodiment of relentless retribution, unstoppable and unyielding.