In a village where everyone had blond, curly hair, a lady with long, black, straight hair was an interesting sight. Her eyes, a beautiful aquamarine, enticed the men that gazed upon her, though were all, strangely, kept at a distance as though by some unseen force. All the same, her exotic qualities held their attention.

A large group had passed through not half and hour ago, many with foreign qualities, but the militant nature of the group failed to exude much charm.

Her form-fitting pants and vest showcased her slender form perfectly, ultimately drawing over a man able to ignore the fictitious barrier.

“A lady ought to have a companion,” the swordsman smiled, stepping into her path. “I assure you, with my presence you’ll need never feel—”

“I don’t have time for your pompous speech. Get out of my way,” she growled, not at all amused.

Taken aback, the man placed a hand upon his hilt and struck a fighting pose. “Insolent bitch; perhaps I should teach you your place in the world.”

Before one inch of his blade left its sheath, she lashed out with a turning kick to his throat.

Surely enough, the man dropped to his knees; not dead but would be, should he be unable to force himself to draw breath.

Turning her flank to the crippled man, she brought her right leg up into her stomach before striking; performing an exceptional sidekick to the face that removed the skull from its perch upon the neck.

It wasn’t until a sufficient amount of blood had poured out that she finally smiled.

Interrupting her appreciation of her favorite color spilling out, the village’s ‘law’ attempted to stare her down.

“Although you were justified with the first strike, a fatal blow was beyond what needed to be done. I must insist that you come with me and spend a week in jail for your crimes, otherwise I shall be required to use force,” the monk announced.

“A week would be—”

Cutting off her own sentence, she performed a thrust with her right hand towards his ribs. He deflected the blow with his forearm, preventing a collapsed lung, though his ulna was sore.

“Quite some power behind your moves,” the monk frowned, clenching his fists. “And you’re remarkably fast. Luckily, I have this to ensure no matter the speed I can follow.”

Staring into his eyes, she found not a single pupil, but one with many black lines adjusting their size like that of a cat.

Switching from a fist to an open palm, she launched another attack for the chest.

“Futile!” he laughed, deflecting it and letting her palm slide along his forearm and harmlessly past him.

As she brought back her hand, she grinned as blood ran from his exposed muscles and dripped to the ground.

Strong enough of a man not to scream out in pain, the monk kept his focus and turned his torso to avoid the next strike, which saved him from a direct hit and instead only let the woman’s palm brush. Despite his best attempt, the skin still peeled away from his body and left him with another terribly wound.

This time, his will faltered and he screamed.

With a couple more slaps, his face was missing its flesh and he succumbed to severe blood loss.

No one dared interrupt her from that point on, and so she left the village.

---

A few minutes from town, her ears alerted her of some unusual noises. Carefully moving as to not make a sound, she peered through the bushes and past the trees to find a lady pinned down by a fenjir.

It took only a second for her to determine the nature of the encounter.

“Perverts…”

Stepping back onto the dirt road, she found a terror knight standing in the path with a paladin smirking as he leered at what was not far into the forest off the path.

“That’s a nice show, though a little hairy. I wouldn’t mind watching the rest but…I suppose it would be best not to waste your time,” the paladin scoffed.

“You’re smart, holy one. If you’re here to claim the White Watcher’s bounty, I assure you it will be difficult.”

“No, no, nothing like that; my boss would like you to join him on his quest…yadda, yadda…you interested? This guy here will fight you if it comes to it. Not me, though. I could care less. Plus, I heard from the boss that you do something nasty with just a touch. My companion here may be ironclad, but I’m not.”

“For a paladin, you have no conviction,” the terror knight snapped. “Let me show her my might and she’ll have no choice but to join us.”

Not in the mood for a third fight this day, Serenade casually walked down the path straight towards the waiting opponent. After a few steps, her body lost all color, opacity, and substance. Like a contained body of steam, the ghostly woman walked through the terror knight before regaining her physical form.

The knight didn’t move. Instead, his suit of armor allowed him to stay standing, even though he had lost every scrap of flesh upon his body and his blood oozed from every opening on his armor.

“A nasty talent there, Miss,” Miguel whistled. “I suppose I don’t even need to wish you a safe journey.”

Nodding, Serenade walked on. She had seen so much of the world already, nothing was of any interest, but the next step was always slightly more intriguing than where she had been before the move. And so, she would keep on walking.