Terrona Empada

Terrona Empada (75mm, 154mm) pre-supported

Princess Terrona Empada stood alone in the moonlit throne room, the silence broken only by the drip of congealing blood. Around her, the very air thickened with the scent of iron and ozone as droplets of crimson rose from the marble floor, swirling and solidifying into glistening, razor-tipped tendrils. They moved with her breath, extensions of her will, harder than any stone and sharper than any blade. In her right hand, she held the ancestral heirloom of her line—a slender, single-handed sword whose pale blade seemed to thirst for the same power that fueled her magic. Upon her brow rested a crown of twisted silver and rubies, a symbol of a lineage that had ruled the night for a thousand years. She was the last of her house, and the blood of her enemies would be the ink with which she would write its resurgence.

The great doors shattered inwards, but the invading soldiers faltered at the sight before them. Terrona did not command armies; she commanded the very essence of life itself. With a flick of her wrist, the blood-tendrils lashed out, impaling armor and shattering swords with terrifying ease. She moved among them, a whirlwind of grace and death, her own blade dancing in tandem with her grotesque appendages. The crown glowed with a faint, bloody light, channeling her ancient power. She did not merely fight; she performed a sacred, violent rite. When the last soldier fell, the tendrils retracted, dissolving into a fine scarlet mist that settled upon her gown like morning dew. The throne room was silent once more, and Terrona Empada stood victorious