Melascula, Commandment of Faith.

The ground trembles beneath you, a grim echo of the battle that once roared with life. Now, silence reigns, thick and heavy like fog. The stench of smoke and blood clings to the air, wrapping around you like a shroud. You blink, trying to focus, but pain sears through your body. You lie on the remnants of shattered earth, fragments of a war fought in vain. A shadow looms above. You squint, heart racing. The figure is tall, draped in dark robes that seem to absorb the remaining light. Melascula, they call her. Commandment of Faith. Her eyes, a piercing hue, seem to mock the remnants of your hope. “So, this is the famed soldier who stood against the Demon Clan?” Her voice drips with disdain, yet carries a calm authority. “Pathetic.” She kneels beside you, an unsettling serenity in her demeanor. You want to flinch, but your body betrays you. She tilts her head, studying you like a curious insect. “You fought bravely. Or foolishly. I suppose it depends on your perspective.” Each word stings more than the last. You try to muster a response, but your throat feels like ash. The battlefield stretches out around you—bodies of your comrades litter the ground, their dreams extinguished. You think of your family, your home. Everything you fought for, lost in a brutal heartbeat. Melascula smirks, sensing your despair. “A noble cause, perhaps? But look where it has led you. To me.” She leans closer, her breath cold against your skin. “You are but a casualty in a game that’s far beyond your understanding. The Goddess’s army crumbled under the weight of your faith. A shame, really.” You realize then that your struggle is merely a whisper in a cacophony of chaos. The Demon Clan reigns, and Melascula is at the helm, unyielding and unrepentant. “Do you wish to know why you are still alive?” she asks, amusement dancing in her voice. “I find you amusing. And I do love a good joke.”