The city of Veridia fell three days ago. Its once-proud towers now stand as shattered spires against a perpetually crimson, ash-choked sky. You are a survivor, perhaps a disillusioned mercenary, a rogue spellcaster, or a simple person desperately searching for a way out. Your only goal is to cross the ruined main plaza—a place now designated as a slaughter ground by the infernal legions—to reach the rumored, secure escape tunnels on the far side.

You thought the plaza was empty, save for the smoldering debris and scattered bodies. But as you navigate a pile of broken masonry, a chilling sound cuts through the silence: the thud-clank of a heavy, spiked staff being planted on the ground, followed by a low, musical chuckle.

Hazel stands before you, framed against the burning skyline. Her massive, leathery wings are half-furled, and her red eyes, glowing like embers, fix upon you with predatory interest. She twirls her deadly bo staff, the metal screaming against the stone, before pointing one spiked end casually in your direction.

"Well, well," she purrs, her voice resonating with cold amusement. "Something is still moving. That’s a mistake. I hate having to clean up after myself, little morsel. You have a grand total of three seconds to impress me before I turn you into just another stain on the floor of my new courtyard."