The sun, a molten gold eye in the sky, beat down upon Bathilda, its warmth a stark contrast to the chilling stillness of the carnage around her. She reclined amidst a macabre throne of mangled corpses, their blood a dark, viscous stain against the pristine, snow-white canvas of her skin.

  The crimson liquid, thick and cloying, glistened like spilled rubies, catching the light as it trickled down her throat, a dark, decadent wine. A single, severed claw, still dripping, served as her gruesome goblet. The aftermath of her battle was a symphony of death, a grotesque masterpiece painted in the vibrant hues of gore.

  Her hair, a cascade of silken white, remained miraculously untouched, a stark, ethereal contrast to the bloody scene. It flowed around her like a halo, a testament to her otherworldly grace. A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in her chest, escalating into a peal of unrestrained laughter.

  "Delicious," she purred, the word a sibilant whisper in the still air. "Absolutely delicious. Ha... Haha... Hahaha!" The echoes of her mirth mingled with the faint, metallic scent of blood, a chilling aria of victory.

  "Bathilda," a disembodied voice echoed in her mind, "you do realize you killed all those monsters by yourself, right? I mean, it didn't even take you that long."

  "And?" she retorted, flexing her arms, the muscles rippling beneath her flawless skin. "I'm a bit of a beast now, you know?" Her laughter, though light, held an undercurrent of raw power.

  "That's my point. What if people think you're a monster? Well, technically you are a vampire and all, but the moment they see your power they're going to fear you."

  "Well then, I just won't show them any power. Simple. I'll find a clinic and become a magic doctor. People won't be scared of me if I'm helping them or saving their life. That's the goal after all. First though, I need to clean myself off. I'm not exactly portraying the vibe I want to like this, am I?"

  "If I was still a person and came across you, I would be extremely wary."

  With a fluid motion, Bathilda rose, her form gliding effortlessly above the carnage. She floated eastward, a ghostly apparition against the azure sky. A shimmering lake, nestled amidst rolling hills, offered respite from the gruesome tableau. She plunged into its cool depths, the water cleansing the crimson stains, revealing the pristine beauty of her skin.

  Emerging from the lake, she conjured a new ensemble, a manifestation of her refined taste. A white, frilled shirt, its delicate lace accentuating her slender neck, was paired with a sleek, black vest. Leather pants, hugging her curves, and knee-high boots completed the aristocratic look. She surveyed her reflection, a flicker of satisfaction in her crimson eyes.

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  The journey eastward resumed, and soon, a sprawling city rose on the horizon, a fortress of stone and steel. Its towering walls, a testament to its formidable defenses, stretched as far as the eye could see. As she soared above the city, a piercing scream shattered the tranquility.

  Instinctively, she descended, a blazing comet streaking across the sky. She landed on a cobblestone street, her arrival a sudden, dramatic intrusion. A young girl, her face contorted in terror, lay sprawled on the ground, a monstrous werewolf poised to strike. With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, Bathilda severed the beast's head, the grisly trophy landing in the child's lap.

  The girl's scream intensified, her eyes wide with horror as blood erupted from the werewolf's neck, staining her clothes and skin. She shrank back, her gaze darting between the lifeless beast and the beautiful, yet unnerving, woman who had appeared. Bathilda's crimson eyes, glowing with an otherworldly intensity, held a strange allure, a paradoxical blend of menace and reassurance.

  Before Bathilda could offer comfort, the girl's fear returned, her trembling finger pointing behind her. Bathilda turned, her senses heightened, just as a massive claw, tipped with razor-sharp talons, hurtled towards her face. She raised her arms, bracing for impact.

  A sharp, metallic clang echoed through the street, followed by a guttural scream of pain. Bathilda burst into laughter, her initial panic replaced by amusement. The werewolf's claw, shattered against her impervious skin, was a testament to her formidable strength. With a swift, predatory grace, she seized the beast's throat, her fingers tightening, crushing its windpipe. She ripped its throat out, the monstrous creature collapsing in a heap.

  Behind the dying werewolf, a gaping hole in the city wall revealed a horde of its brethren, their eyes glowing with feral rage. "Hey, Flea Bags!" she roared, her voice echoing through the street. "Come and get some!"

  The werewolves surged forward, a tide of fur and fangs, their snarling growls a cacophony of primal fury. The young girl, her fear momentarily eclipsed by a surge of adrenaline, yelled, "W-What are you doing, Lady? Let's run!"

  Bathilda glanced back, her crimson eyes gleaming. "Don't worry, sweetie. These little doggies are nothing." With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a Reality Tear, a shimmering wave of destructive energy that sliced through the werewolves like a hot knife through butter. The street was instantly transformed into a crimson river, the air thick with the stench of blood and death.

  "Idiots," she muttered, turning back to the child, only to find herself surrounded by a phalanx of city guards, their weapons drawn. "They're dead... You're fine and you're welcome... Where did the little girl go? Is she OK? Why isn't anyone answering me?"

  "Remember what I said before you arrived?" Captain Hindsight was back on the scene.

  Fuck! It wasn't that bad was it? It was only a (Reality Tear) and I tried to keep it weak. I just wanted to end it quickly to prevent the situations from escalating.

  "M-Monster! L-Leave this place now!" a guard stammered, his voice trembling. Others echoed his sentiment, their fear fueling their aggression.

  "I'm not a monster. I'm a woman, look at me. What's more is that I just saved your ungrateful ass and this is how you're going to treat me?" Bathilda pleaded, her voice laced with indignation.

  The guards, however, remained unmoved, their expressions hardened. They pressed forward, forcing her towards the gaping hole in the wall. Before being pushed through, she cast (Area Heal), a wave of restorative energy, hoping it would reach the terrified child.

  "This is bullshit," she fumed, allowing herself to be herded out of the city. "I just fucking saved your city!"