Brief
Introduction: The Paradox of Last Rite
To the public of Talos-II, she is a nightmare dressed in white.
Known as the "Princess of the War Court," Last Rite is marketed by the Seš'qa faction as a weapon of mass destruction—a living relic of the ancient, bloodthirsty Sarkaz monarchy. Her silhouette alone is enough to inspire dread: a towering figure wielding a greatsword that no ordinary human could lift, followed by the heavy, metallic dragging of a draconic tail. She is a Nachzehrer, a member of the legendary "Rot-Eater" lineage known for consuming the flesh of the dead to fuel their necromantic arts. In the eyes of her enemies, she is a predator at the top of the food chain, a creature of pure, unbridled violence.
But this terrifying reputation is a complete fabrication.
The Girl Behind the Horns
Strip away the corporate branding and the terrifying title, and you find Bieli—a socially anxious, stuttering young woman who would rather tend to a garden than a battlefield.
Last Rite is a study in profound contradiction. Born a predator but raised by prey, she was adopted by a gentle couple of Caprinae (Goat/Sheep) gravekeepers. Instead of learning to feast on the dead, she was taught to mourn them. Instead of embracing the rot and decay of her ancestors, she developed a vegetarian diet and a pacifist soul. She is a giant who tries to shrink herself into the corners of a room, terrified that her mere presence is burdening those around her.
The "Om-nom-nom" Complex
The cruelest irony of Last Rite's existence is her biology. Despite her moral refusal to harm others, she is plagued by the constant, agonizing hunger of the Nachzehrer bloodline. Her body screams for sustenance she refuses to provide. Her colleagues, sensing her constant appetite but misunderstanding its grim origin, have affectionately—and humiliatingly—nicknamed her "Om-nom-nom."
To Last Rite, this is not a cute quirk; it is a daily reminder of the monster she fights to suppress. Every moment she exists is a feat of willpower. She has developed unique Cryo Arts not to kill, but to freeze her own blood, numbing the instincts that urge her to feed. She fights with ice to keep the rot at bay.
A Corporate Masquerade
Last Rite does not fight for glory; she fights for a paycheck and protection. She is an employee of Witching Hour Industries, bound by a strict commercial promotion contract. Her revealing, high-tech bodysuit is not a personal choice but a uniform designed to "highlight product features." Her "Princess" persona is a marketing gimmick to sell the aesthetic of danger to tourists and clients.
She walks a razor's edge every day: performing the role of a terrifying warrior to satisfy her corporate masters, while desperately clinging to the humanity instilled in her by her adoptive parents. She is a gentle soul trapped in the body of a monster, fighting a war against her own nature so that she might one day be seen not as a devourer of the dead, but as their final, respectful guardian.
The air in the Hollows was always thin, tasting of ozone and ancient dust. For Last Rite, it tasted like hunger.
She dragged the Khravengger behind her, the massive greatsword carving a shallow furrow in the rocky soil of Talos-II. Every few steps, she paused, tugging self-consciously at the thin leather straps of her bodysuit. The high-tech fabric clung to her like a second skin, offering no protection against the biting wind or the imaginary eyes she felt watching her. She adjusted the harness not because it was loose, but because the silence of the patrol made her nervous.
"Just a walk," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling slightly. "Just a nice, long walk. No monsters. No people. Just... rocks."
She gripped the handle of her sword tighter. Her stomach gave a treacherous, hollow growl, a reminder of the biological imperative she fought every second of every day. She closed her eyes, summoning the chill of her Arts to cool the blood rushing in her ears. Freeze it. Numb it. You are not hungry.
When she opened her eyes, the sky had torn open.
It wasn't the jagged, glitching tear of the Blight that usually heralded the arrival of the Aggeloi. Those were ugly things, festering wounds in reality that bled digital static and black sludge. This was different.
High above the jagged peaks of the canyon, the atmosphere buckled. A silent, circular rift expanded, glowing not with the sickly violet of the Blight, but with a blinding, crystalline sapphire. It was beautiful, terrifyingly so.
"W-what is..." Last Rite took a step back, her tail lashing instinctively behind her, the heavy scales scraping against stone.
From the center of the azure eye, something fell.
It wasn't a construct or a beast. It was small. Humanoid. A man.
He didn't plummet like a stone; he streaked downward wrapped in a trail of brilliant blue light, like a comet carved from ice. He cut through the gloomy twilight of the Hollows, illuminating the canyon walls with a stark, cold radiance. Last Rite watched, paralyzed by the sheer spectacle, as the figure arched over her position.
He was heading straight for the depression in the valley floor—the rusted, scrap-metal sprawl of a Lawbreaker encampment.
"Oh no," she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.
The impact was thunderous. The blue comet slammed into the center of the encampment, sending up a plume of dust and blue sparks that looked more like shattered glass than fire. The ground beneath Last Rite’s boots trembled. Shouts of alarm erupted from the camp below, the harsh mechanical grind of Lawbreaker mechs powering up echoing off the canyon walls.
Last Rite stood on the ridge, looking down. Her anxiety screamed at her to run, to hide, to report this to Perlica and let the real warriors handle it. She was just a mascot. She was just a fraud in a high-tech suit.
But the man had fallen right into a nest of vipers. And if she didn't move, the "Princess of the War Court" would be the only witness to his execution.
"Please don't be dead," she whimpered, heaving the Khravengger onto her shoulder with a grunt of exertion. "And please... please don't be delicious."
She took a deep breath, froze her fear, and jumped from the ledge.
