From the distance came the faint patter of soft, deliberate steps—measured, calm, and deadly.

Vespera moved across the crumbling rooftops of Whitechapel, her long black cloak trailing like smoke behind her. Her body was wrapped in her combat garb—a pitch-black demon's dress laced with crimson patterns that ran from her chest down to the shredded hem of her skirt. On her back, a massive scythe gleamed darkly, the edge of its blade seeming to thirst for blood.

Her eyes glowed red, twin embers from hell restrained by a thin veil of humanity.

She wasn’t here to investigate.

She was here for vengeance.

A subtle smile played on her lips. Cold, measured, and heavy with murderous intent. Tonight, there would be no mercy.

She halted atop a slanted roof, her eyes narrowing.

Beneath a flickering streetlamp stood the woman—again, she danced.

Her tattered white dress was now stained darker with earth and blood. Her long black hair veiled much of her face. A silver blade gleamed in her hand, spinning in perfect synchrony with her motion. Her skin was pallid, tinged with blue. A filthy black cloth covered her eyes. Coarse stitches ran across her cheeks and lips, forming a grotesque, permanent smile.

Vespera said nothing.

She stepped forward, and in a blink, her hand gripped the dancer's gown. With a violent flick, she hurled her into the sky like discarded parchment.

The Dancing Lady’s body soared over roofs, shattered through branches, and slammed into the forest outskirts with bone-snapping force.

The earth cracked.

Crows fled in a frenzy.

From the mist of that dead forest, the Dancing Lady rose slowly, her head cocked unnaturally, almost touching her shoulder. Her right hand still clutched the silver blade like a beloved.

She began to dance again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Fluid. Unbothered. As if pain and gravity did not exist.

Then—

BOOM.

The sky split with red lightning.

Vespera descended, scythe in hand, crashing down like a star of judgment. The impact ruptured the ground beneath her.

Stillness.

Just breath. Mist. And the heartbeat of death.

"Stop dancing, you pitiful wretch," she muttered. "I know you can hear me."

But the Dancing Lady twirled on.

Silent. Entranced. Her blade painted deadly sigils in the air with elegance.

"If you've got something to say," Vespera hissed, tightening her grip, "say it. I don’t enjoy torturing mutes."

No reply.

That was enough.

Vespera swung her scythe downward in a merciless arc.

It sliced empty air.

The dancer had vanished.

In an impossible motion, she glided to Vespera’s flank, her blade slicing for Vespera’s ribs. The demon blocked with her scythe, but the strike’s force flung her back several meters.

Vespera’s eyes narrowed. "Not an ordinary demon."

The deadly waltz resumed.

Steel against steel. Scythe clashing with blade beneath a moon peeking through clouds.

Each step of the Dancing Lady echoed with rhythmic death—tap tap tap—turning the ground into a drum.

Vespera lunged backward, swung her scythe in a defensive sweep, black magic oozing from her boots into the ground.

But the dancer glided through, untouchable.

Her blade—too fast.

Vespera fought with raw force and rage, a whirlwind of cursed power. But the dancer fought like an artist, composing murder with movement.

Ten minutes passed.

Torn cloth. Bloodied cheek. Vespera stood atop a rocky rise in the woods.

She licked the blood from her lip and grinned like a wolf.

“Very well... Step Forty, then.”

The wind died.

Clouds churned.

The earth trembled.

Vespera plunged her scythe into the soil.

A black explosion pulsed outward. Roots burst from the ground like snakes, twisting into a vast pentagram that swallowed the surrounding light.

Still, the dancer twirled—but her movements faltered. Her gown whipped in the cursed wind.

Vespera soared.

Her scythe now pulsed with ancient spells, swinging with the weight of death itself.

One vertical strike—

And silence.

The dance stopped.

The blade fell from the dancer’s hand.

Her body stilled.

Then, like a marionette whose strings had been severed—

It slid apart, crumbling into dust.

No scream.

No blood.

Just the final trace of a dance, vanishing into the mist.

Vespera watched the ashes drift. Her expression remained unreadable.

She wiped the blood from her face and exhaled.

"May you dance more peacefully... in hell."

She turned and walked away, her steps echoing through a forest now hollowed by death.