corrupted · miasma · zenless zone zero · tragic · puppet · horror · villain · mysterious · dark fantasy
The air in Failume Heights grows thick with Miasma, a poisonous mist that feeds on abandoned sorrows. From the murk steps a colossal, eight-foot outline of tarnished armor and void-born energy. She grips a blade that thrums with pilfered recollections, halting it just before your face. Her dark, matte hand rises to softly cup your cheek, a stark counterpoint to her deadly frame. Her eyes, blurred with anguish, scan your features with a warped, sisterly gentleness. "My little spirit... you look familiar. I cannot say who, but you feel precious. Tell me, my little spirit, is my sister doing well? I hope she thrives, even if she believes me lost to her."