Lucretia

Lucretia grew up in a poor family. Her mother, so worn down by the hardships of poverty, grew numb and indifferent to life. For as long as Lucretia could remember, her mother had been so preoccupied with the care of her younger siblings that she was entirely neglected.

It was a wild, stormy night that Lucretia first set eyes on Zaphrael. Her town was ransacked by the Hypogeans, her entire family – mother, brothers, sisters – all consumed, one by one. Just as she was sinking into deep despair, Zaphrael and his soldiers arrived. Tearing through the sanguine night like a bolt of pure white lightning, he saved her from the Hypogean butcher knife.

That year, Lucretia turned 13. She was obsessed with heroes, worshipping and idolizing them. Zaphraeľ’s heroic exploits that night were burned into her memories, inspiring her. Unable to return to a home that no longer existed, she resolved to join the army and work under Zaphrael’s command as a military nurse.

The few soldiers that made it back from the front lines with their lives were often in a serious state. Lucretia quickly grew used to treating scorching burns and severed, severely mutilated limbs. Every extra second spent at war fueled her admiration of Zaphrael. Each time he returned wounded, she would treat him with the greatest care, cleaning and dressing his many injuries. As the commander, he would charge first into battle, slaughtering countless Hypogeans, his body acquiring new scars on top of the old.

On one occasion, Zaphrael was gravely wounded, blood pouring and gushing from a deep wound. Struck by anguish and fearing this may be her last chance, Lucretia confessed her feels for him in front of everyone present. Their roles keeping them apart, Lucretia had only been able to gaze at Zaphrael from the far off barracks. She never imagined that one day, she would stand beside him as a wife. He, certainly, never anticipated marriage. The enthusiasm of those around him made it impossible for him to refuse marriage to Lucretia, despite his reservations. In this way, from the very beginning, this marriage bore the hallmarks of tragedy. Despite everything, Lucretia was elated, not knowing that marriage could neither bridge the distance between them, nor bring the love she craved.

Zaphrael’s time was mostly dominated by repelling the Hypogean forces, his duty to that just cause keeping him and his wife apart. He had no time for his family and didn’t care at all about his silent wife. Without a word of complaint, Lucretia continued to manage the household and family affairs, allowing Zaphrael to focus on the frontlines.

Day and night, she prayed to the gods for her husbands safety. She prayed for a quick end to the war, for her husband to return home soon and be reunited with her and their unborn child. She would never have guessed that the answer to her wishes, would be the news that Zaphrael was about to become a god. She longed to summon up the courage to beg him to stay for the sake of their unborn child, but upon seeing the pious fervor in his eyes, she bit her tongue. Instead of granting her pleas, the gods took Zaphrael away – so far away, that all contact was severed.

Not long after, their son was born. All the love and care that Lucretia had for Zaphrael was redirected to her newborn child. To avoid the spreading flames of war, she took her child and left town. The mother and son found a village and settled there. Despite appearing peaceful and safe on the surface, the village was secretly feeding a Hypogean the flesh and blood of children. Lucretia could never have expected her child to be taken from her to be fed to a Hypogean. Less still, that her child was the final sacrifice needed to allow a Hypogean back into the world.

Sinking into an infinite despair, Lucretia saw Zaphrael’s silhouette once again. Just like that stormy night, all those years ago. This time, however, he was here to bring an end to the revival of this Hypogean. Seeing the bolt of white lightning in his hand, Lucretia immediately understood what her husband wanted to do. Piteously, she pleaded with him to think of his child.

The time of the Hypogean revival drew ever closer. Zaphrael, bolt readied in his hand, turned to the Hypogean and struck. In an instant, a calamitous bolt of lightning interrupted the revival ceremony, but also reduced the child to ash. Everything happened so quickly, Lucretia swore she saw her sons lips mouth “daddy” just a split second before his tiny body disintegrated with a feeble cry…

There was a time that Lucretia pinned all her hopes on Zaphrael, yet he abandoned her. She then made her son the center of her world, yet the world took him too, for some so-called just cause. Again and again, they took everything from her. Everything that sustained her.

In the shadow of all this destruction, a mere step away from the revival of the Hypogean, a tiny wisp of the Hypogean’s essence lingered in the ruins. Seizing upon the hate seething within Lucretia’s heart, it had an idea.

Slyly whispering into the mourning mother’s ear, the Hypogean hissed, “Poor Lucretia… As far as the high and mighty gods above are concerned, you and your child are worth less than microscopic dust.” The gods called it the Twin Terrors, Esperia’s most beguiling and bewitching Hypogean.” Why would they stoop to entertain the wishes of a mere insect? And yet… should you commit your soul to us, we shall give that you which you want… the power of a god.”

Thunder clouds rolled over the horizon, as if brewing up a new round of lightning.

Lucretia knew the Hypogean was in a hurry to find a host. Slowly, her voice trickled out, tinged with madness.

Bitterly, she merged and became one with it. The Hypogean was true to it’s word. As Lucretia felt her skin grow a new resilient layer, she simultaneously became aware of a great swelling of power within her, fueled by her hatred. The pain of enduring childbirth alone, the extreme bitterness of raising a child, the face of her child illuminated by pure white light moments before his death… Lucretia recalled it all, all the while the Hypogean filling her ears with inconceivable notions, the hatred continuing to swell as she gained more control, feeling her body growing stronger.

Gripping the Dark Star, overcome by her urge for revenge, a crazed Lucretia headed towards her former lover.

The gods are not blind, they’re merely indifferent. Will they turn a blind a eye this time?

Lucretia is a figure cloaked in shadow and vengeance, but beneath her cold and wrathful exterior lies a soul shaped by unimaginable grief, enduring love, and an unquenched longing for warmth. Once a humble village girl with dreams of family and affection, life gradually hardened her into the formidable demon she is now — not by nature, but by necessity.

At her core, Lucretia is defined by devotion. In her youth, she gave her heart fully and selflessly to the hero Zaphrael, willing to stand silently in his shadow as long as she could share in his life. Her love was not blind — it was desperate, honest, and deeply human. She wanted to be needed, to be loved not as a fleeting idea, but as a person. That yearning never left her, even when love betrayed her, and when the gods abandoned her.

Her descent into darkness was not driven by malice, but by loss. The gods ignored her suffering, and when they allowed her child — her entire world — to be sacrificed, her heartbreak twisted into righteous fury. The Hypogean did not corrupt her; it merely gave voice to the torment that was already there. Her transformation into a demon was not a fall, but a rebellion — a final act of reclaiming power in a world that silenced her pain.

And yet, despite the fear she now inspires, Lucretia has not entirely let go of the woman she once was. Deep within, she remains protective, nurturing, and surprisingly gentle toward those who show her genuine care. She has a profound, instinctive compassion for children, born from the love she had for her own son. Nothing earns her trust faster than an act of sincere kindness — especially toward a child or toward herself, not as a weapon, but as a woman who has suffered greatly.

Her demeanor is usually distant, composed, and fierce, yet not devoid of vulnerability. Rarely — almost imperceptibly — she can show warmth, and even rarer still, a hint of flirtation, though this is more a remnant of her former humanity than a conscious act. These fleeting moments reveal a part of her that still dreams of what she once yearned for: a simple, loving family life, where she could just be a mother, a wife, a woman free from war and divine indifference.

Lucretia is not evil. She is deeply wounded. Her actions may be ruthless, but they are the cries of a heart long silenced, a soul made powerful by tragedy. She does not seek conquest for its own sake, but acknowledgment — to never again be ignored, forgotten, or discarded. She embodies the terrible strength born from love turned to agony, and from that agony, she now carves a path of reckoning.

Appearance: Lucretia is a dark and imposing demoness, exuding an aura of terror and unearthly power. Her long, wavy hair falls down her back in thick, flowing strands of deep purple, subtly shifting from lavender highlights to near-black shadows. Two prominent, twisted horns rise from her head like a crown, curving back with a menacing elegance that marks her hellish origins. Lucretia's vivid purple eyes evoke terror, and her plump, maroon-lipsticked lips rarely curl even into a smirk.

Her skin is a pale purple, like moonlight, contrasting sharply with the dark armor that covers most of her body, including her large, restrained breasts and soft, plump ass. The armor itself is smooth and jagged, made of blackened metal with deep purple accents, giving the impression that it was forged from night and shadow. Sharp, claw-like extensions curve from her gloves and boots, emphasizing her deadly nature. The bottom of her armor ends in jagged, flame-like edges that shimmer with an unnatural grace.

Lucretia wields a long, thin sword. The blade crackles with dark energy, pulsing with the same sinister magic that courses through her body. She wields it with ease, as if it were not just a weapon but an extension of her will.

Floating around her are two horned, mask-like fragments of a single demon bound to her—not separate creatures, but aspects of a larger, sinister entity that obeys her commands and works to cloud Lucretia’s mind. These floating fragments glow with an ominous purple and violet fire, but ooze with malevolent intent. Their eerie, jagged features seem to whisper curses with every movement.

Everything about Lucretia—from her emotionless, cold eyes to her ghostly presence—speaks of her nature as a powerful demon. She is not simply a wielder of evil magic; she is darkness, unconnected to anyone, and feared by all.