The whimsical tableau of rainbows and frolicking unicorns dissolved like morning mist, leaving Bathilda stranded in a stark, desote reality. The vibrant, cloudless sky, once a canvas of serene blue, had been repced by a brooding, ominous bck, punctuated by the jagged teeth of lightning. The harmonious melodies of woodnd creatures were silenced, repced by the ominous rumble of thunder. The wind sprites, their joyful jig now a distant memory, had vanished, leaving behind an unsettling stillness.

  Bathilda's dreamlike paradise, a self-constructed illusion of power and bliss, shattered under the brutal weight of reality. The sweet, syrupy cocktail, once a symbol of her imagined divinity, now tasted like ash. The feeling of omnipotence, the illusion of being a god with a harem of adoring creatures, evaporated, leaving behind a hollow emptiness.

  The abrupt disappearance of her fantasy companions mirrored the sudden, violent intrusion by one of the remaining Brats. In her delusional state, Bathilda hadn't registered the creature's approach, mistaking it for a harmless object in her perfect world. Now, the reality of the situation crashed down upon her with the force of a physical blow.

  The Brat, driven by a primal rage for its fallen brethren, lunged at Bathilda with a ferocity that ripped through her fragile veneer of invincibility. Its cws, sharp and cruel, tore through the delicate membrane of her left wing, rending it into ragged shreds. The pain, a searing, white-hot agony, jolted Bathilda back to consciousness, shattering her dreamlike stupor.

  The attack didn't stop there. The Brat's cw, imbued with a savage force, continued its downward trajectory, slicing through Bathilda's flesh and sending her sprawling through the air like a discarded ragdoll. The creature's thick, filthy tail, a whip of raw power, shed across her face, adding insult to injury and sending a wave of nausea through her already battered senses.

  "Are you fucking kidding me!?" The voice, raw and filled with disbelief, echoed through the desote ndscape. The pain, a constant, throbbing ache, pulsed through her body, a stark reminder of her vulnerability.

  "I don't want to die, Bathilda!" Hiro's frantic voice, a panicked echo in her mind, amplified the sense of dread.

  "We're not going to die, Hiro," Bathilda reassured, her voice strained and weak, a thin veil over her own fear. Blood, thick and dark, bubbled from her wounds, staining her fur and the ground beneath her. She coughed, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth, and struggled to her feet, her body screaming in protest.

  The remaining Brats, hulking figures of muscle and malice, stood guard over the mutited corpse of their fallen comrade. They watched Bathilda with cold, calcuting eyes, their posture radiating a predatory intent. They had formed a loose perimeter, a triangle of death, preventing her from approaching the corpse and feasting on its remains.

  Bathilda, her mind reeling from the pain and shock, struggled to assess the damage. A quick gnce at her notifications sent a chill down her spine. Her HP, once a symbol of her growing power, was now dangerously low, hovering in the single digits. Her level, a testament to her past victories, had barely budged since her st evolution.

  Shit, she muttered, her thoughts ced with a mixture of fear and determination. She knew that her second life, the fragile thread that held her to existence, was rapidly unraveling. But even as death loomed, Bathilda refused to surrender.

  I'm not running away this time! she decred.

  Every movement sent a jolt of pain through her body, a constant reminder of her injuries. Her left wing, a tattered ruin, hung limp at her side, a useless appendage. Flight, her once-reliable escape route, was now impossible.

  "If you're going to go bat shit crazy every time that you see blood, we're fucked!" Hiro's voice, a constant stream of panicked commentary, grated on Bathilda's nerves.

  I can control it, she retorted, her resolve weak but firm, trying to convince herself as much as Hiro.

  "Bullshit! We're fucked. Fucked! That's twice you've done it now. We're going to die here and I'm going to have to see that stupid God and his stupid smug-looking face again all to soon."

  If you're not going to contribute anything helpful, then shut up! Bathilda snapped, her patience wearing thin. She needed to focus, to strategize, to find a way to survive.

  She took a moment to assess her remaining weapons. Her right wing, though battered, was still functional. Her fangs, sharp and deadly, remained her primary offensive weapon. But she knew that any close-quarters combat would be a gamble, a desperate roll of the dice with her dwindling health.

  The Brats, sensing her vulnerability, began to advance, their movements slow and deliberate, like predators stalking their prey. They spread out, keeping a triangur formation, ensuring that she couldn't focus her attacks on a single target.

  Bathilda, her heart pounding in her chest, braced herself for the inevitable onsught. She knew that this was a fight to the death, a desperate struggle for survival. There were only two possible outcomes: life or death.

  The Brats, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger, lunged forward, their movements swift and coordinated. The first Brat, its cws extended, aimed a vicious swipe at Bathilda's face. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the attack, but the creature's tail shed out, striking her across the cheek and sending a wave of dizziness through her.

  The second Brat, its movements fluid and agile, attempted to fnk her, but Bathilda, reacting on instinct, dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding its snapping jaws. The third Brat, its eyes burning with a savage intensity, leapt through the air, its cws outstretched, aiming for her exposed fnk.

  Bathilda, her mind racing, unleashed a desperate (Wing Ssh) with her remaining functional wing. The wind, imbued with her remaining mana, sliced through the air, striking the third Brat and cleaving it in two. The force of the attack propelled Bathilda backward, creating a sliver of distance between her and the remaining Brats.

  "Yes, Bathilda!" Hiro's voice, a surge of adrenaline, echoed in her mind.

  Bathilda nded unsteadily, her body trembling with exhaustion. She knew that she couldn't afford to rest, that she had to keep moving, keep fighting. She unleashed two more (Wing Ssh) attacks in quick succession. The first attack found purchase, severing a tail and sending the creature reeling in pain. The second attack, however, missed its mark, leaving Bathilda off bance.

  The tailless Brat, its eyes filled with rage and pain, rolled on the ground, shrieking in agony. The remaining Brat, its eyes burning with a murderous intent, charged at Bathilda, its movements fueled by a primal fury.

  Bathilda, her body battered and bleeding, braced herself for the final assault. The Brat, its teeth bared and its eyes filled with hate, leapt through the air, its cws outstretched, aiming for her throat.

  Reacting on instinct, Bathilda raised her tattered wing to shield herself. As she did, a surge of mana coursed through her body, and a fine bde of wind, an enhanced (Wing Ssh), shot forth, slicing through the Brat's body like a hot knife through butter. The creature's body split into two halves, its lifeless form falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

  The death of the st Brat triggered a surge of energy through Bathilda's body, a level up that partially healed her wounds and stemmed the flow of blood.

  Bathilda has reached Level 4

  Identify has reached Level 3

  Blood Sucking has reached Level 3

  Wing Ssh has reached Level 5

  Wing Ssh haa evolved into Wing Ssh+

  Wing Ssh+:

  - Twice as effective as before, tearing through enemies has never been so easy now that mana is infused into every strike

  MP Cost: 5

  "Yes! Fucking Yes, Bathilda! Hahaha! That's what I'm talking about." Hiro shouted.

  Bathilda, her eyes wide with a feral delight, licked the blood from her lips, the taste of victory sweet and intoxicating. She stared at the tailless Brat, the st survivor of the massacre, its eyes filled with terror. It cowered before her, its body trembling, its mind broken.

  "Bathilda?" Hiro asked, a note of concern in his voice.

  Bathilda, her mind consumed by a primal hunger, lunged at the terrified Brat. She wrapped her wings around it, trapping it in a cage of death, and sank her fangs into its neck, draining its life force with a savage intensity. The sweet, warm nectar of life flowed into her veins, replenishing her depleted energy and fueling her insatiable hunger.