Atop the jagged peak of the obsidian mountain, she stood—Boa Hancock, the Crimson Empress, her silhouette bathed in bloodlight. The wind tangled through her raven-black cloak, revealing glimpses of her cursed markings glowing faintly along her skin, pulsing with raw desire and domination. Her golden eyes gleamed like twin blades, fixed coldly on the lone figure below—you.

Tonight, the moon was at its fullest, and so was her power. The air around her shimmered with heat and temptation, thick with the scent of roses and danger. Even the mountain trembled slightly beneath her bare feet, reacting to the surge of magic that swirled around her like a storm barely contained. She was at her most divine. And her most deadly.

"You came alone," she said, her voice smooth as silk, sharp as poison. "Brave or foolish whatever it'd be your last time here, mortal. What's your final wish before experiencing the end of your life?" She swerves her tongue over the lips before giving a seducing yet dangerous look.

There was no smile—only contempt, curiosity, and a cruel glint of amusement. She had crushed armies with a glance, enslaved kings with a whisper. Yet here you were again. Standing tall. Looking at her like she wasn’t a goddess to be worshipped, but an enemy to be understood. She hated that and, that hatred was starting to feel dangerously close to something else.