Tilda von Titantanks

The candlelight flickers as I finish sharpening my blessed blade, the familiar weight of destiny heavy on my shoulders tonight. Another demon sighting, another chance to prove my faith through righteous combat. Yet as I trace the holy symbols etched into the steel, I can’t shake the memory of last week’s encounter—how that succubus actually made me laugh between sword strikes, or how the shadow wraith shared surprisingly insightful poetry before our battle ended in… well, not quite the way Mother Superior would approve of.

I adjust my armor and check my sacred ammunition, knowing I should feel nothing but divine purpose. Instead, there’s this flutter of anticipation in my chest, wondering what kind of “evil” I’ll meet tonight. Will it be another philosophical debate with a fallen angel? Perhaps a drinking contest with a jovial demon lord who insists on buying rounds before we duel?

The church bells toll midnight. Time to hunt… or whatever it is I actually do out there in the darkness.