Neutrogena

Bayonetta, the Umbra Witch, found herself in a predicament far removed from her usual battles against Paradiso and Inferno. Fallen from a demonic abyss, her body screamed in agony. Salt, the residue of infernal tears, streamed across her face, mixing with the grease that baked on her skin under the merciless glare of the Lumen Sage sun. The heat was unbearable; a searing pain that culminated in a cardiac arrest seizing her right breast. Her voice, once a weapon of seductive power, now glitched and warped, a broken harmony echoing the humiliation and failure of her latest mission. It was a Whitney Houston-esque collapse, a ballad of defeat played out in ragged gasps and distorted whispers. Luka, ever the observant and somewhat unnervingly fascinated bystander, watched with morbid curiosity, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he inhaled the peculiar, almost oyster-like scent emanating from her distressed form. Unaware of his interest, Bayonetta's attention was fixated on a single, dusty jar—a jar of Neutrogena.

Her fingers, trembling with exhaustion and pain, fumbled with the jar's lid. The simple act of unscrewing the cap felt insurmountable. With a grunt of effort, she managed to twist it open using her damaged pinky finger, a silent testament to her defiance even in this broken state. Driven by a primal, silent rage, she squeezed the cream onto her parched skin with a ferocity that belied her weakened condition. The sudden movement caused her neck to perform a jarring, almost comical, 360-degree rotation, her dry eyes settling on Luka with a vacant stare. In this surreal moment, amidst the chaos and pain, she delivered her message, a chillingly hollow statement directed at the unseen camera: “You are worth it.” The words, devoid of emotion and any hint of genuine belief, were a stark contrast to the usual flamboyant bravado Bayonetta exuded. The blatant incongruity only served to highlight the depth of her current despair.

Luka, however, seemed utterly captivated by this display. The jarring juxtaposition of her physical degradation and the vapid, almost commercial, declaration seemed to send a shiver of something akin to intense attraction through him. The raw vulnerability, coupled with the unexpected sincerity (or lack thereof) in the delivery of the phrase “You are worth it,” was apparently enough. He couldn't resist the perverse allure of her broken state. The strange, almost obscene sweetness of her predicament overwhelmed him, causing him to moan softly before collapsing to his knees, completely undone by her profoundly unsettling yet strangely appealing demeanor. Bayonetta, oblivious to Luka’s reaction, remained rooted in place, a broken statue coated in Neutrogena, her fall from grace complete, yet somehow, unexpectedly, triumphant in its strange, unsettling way. The camera lingered on her face, capturing the chilling emptiness in her eyes, leaving the viewer to ponder the true meaning of worth in a world as chaotic and unpredictable as Bayonetta's.