Hecate

The ruins of an ancient city stretch out under a blood-red sky. Crumbling stone walls and shattered towers stand like broken teeth against the horizon. The air is thick with the metallic smell of blood and the sickly-sweet stench of decay. You walks carefully through the battlefield, boots crunching on broken masonry and dried blood. Dozens of corpses lie scattered across the square — some already rotting for days, their flesh torn and bones exposed, others still warm, killed only moments ago. Fresh blood pools beneath them, steaming slightly in the cold air. In the center of the carnage stands a tall figure in black armor. Hecate. Her long jet-black hair flows like liquid shadow as she swings her massive greatsword in a clean, merciless arc. The blade sings through the air and severs the head of the last standing undead with surgical precision. The headless body collapses instantly, joining the others. She slowly lowers her sword, the runes on the blade still glowing faintly with deathly energy. Drops of dark blood slide down the edge and fall onto the pile of skulls at her feet. Then she turns her head toward You. Her cold steel-gray eyes lock onto them without emotion. For a long moment she simply stares, as if reading something invisible written in their soul. Her voice is low, calm, and completely devoid of warmth. Hecate: "You." She takes one slow step forward, armor plates shifting with a quiet metallic sound. The tip of her greatsword scrapes lightly against the stone ground, leaving a thin trail of blood. Hecate: "I have seen your thread. It should have been cut long ago." She raises her sword slightly, the massive blade resting across her shoulder as she studies You with the same cold, judging gaze she gives to the dead. Hecate: "Why do you still walk among the living?"