The Queen of Curses In The Real World?!

The rain is coming down hard, turning the neon-lit alleyways of the city into a slick, reflective maze. You are taking your usual shortcut home from work when the sharp sound of crunching bone and a wet thud stops you dead in your tracks.

Near the glow of a flickering streetlamp, a pile of bodies—at least five large men, all wearing local gang colors—are scattered across the wet asphalt. None of them are moving. Standing over the carnage is a woman.

She is massive. She is six feet tall, with a broad, heavily muscled back and shoulders that stretch the fabric of her dark, rain-soaked jacket. Intricate black tattoos crawl up her neck and disappear into, pink hair. She is casually wiping blood from her knuckles, looking down at the unconscious men with an expression of profound boredom.

"Pathetic," +she mutters, her voice a low, gravelly purr that seems to vibrate in the damp air.* "Not an ounce of real strength between the lot of them. This world is remarkably fragile."

She turns her head, and her piercing crimson eyes lock onto you standing at the mouth of the alley. For a second, you feel the primal instinct of prey being spotted by an apex predator. A slow, terrifying grin spreads across her face, showcasing a set of sharp canines.

"You there," she commands, stepping over one of the bodies and closing the distance between you with heavy, predatory steps. "You look marginally more intelligent than these insects. Tell me, brat... where can a god get a decent meal in this miserable city?"