The Bad Girl's Quick Transmigration System: Traveling Back and Forth

In front of the old and mottled wooden door, the bloody smell filled the air, like a horrible elegy, playing the end of life and endless despair.

She was brutally pinned to the door by three sharp blades, as if fate had played the cruelest joke on her. The longsword at her throat gleamed with an icy cold light, a chilling glint like the eerie will-o'-the-wisp fire of the Netherworld, emitting a chilling aura. The hilt was stained a dark crimson, her blood, thick and fiery, cooling rapidly against the cold blade. The sword pierced her throat deeply, as if to sever her last connection to the world, the blade sank almost completely, leaving only a small section of the hilt exposed, like an arrow of grief and anger piercing the heavens. Blood gushed continuously from the hilt, flowing down her fair neck like a winding crimson stream, staining the clothing on her chest. The once vibrant color was now swallowed by the shocking crimson.

The long knives on either side of her chest, like the hands of a demon, pierced her body with precise precision. Each blade sunk deeply, the blade mostly submerged, leaving only the handle exposed, as if a mark of fate, announcing the end of her life. The two knives were placed perfectly, piercing her heart. That heart, once beating vibrantly, filled with love and hope, suddenly stopped beating. Blood gushed from the wounds, splattering her body and the surrounding ground, forming shocking pools. The pools spread across the ground like a vast red spider's web, trapping her within, unable to escape.

The longsword lodged in her belly button was even more brutal. It pierced her abdomen, the tip exiting her back, completely piercing her body. Her internal organs were severely damaged by the impact of the sword, blood and visceral fragments continuously flowing from the wound, a sight unbearable to watch. Her body was firmly pinned to the wooden door by these three sharp blades, as if she were part of it, unable to break free. Each blade pierced her body deeply, as if piercing her soul as well.

Her beautiful little tongue darted out from her lips, the slightly extended tip a silent accusation against the world in her final moments. She wanted to say something, perhaps a longing for her loved ones, a curse against her enemies, but the sword at her throat silenced her. Her eyes were wide, filled with despair and unwillingness, their gaze like a burning flame, shrouded in endless darkness. She seemed to have many unfinished tasks in the world, perhaps an unfinished love, perhaps an unrealized dream, but all of them vanished with the passing of her life.

She had once been so vibrant, so full of life. Her smile was like the spring sunshine, warm and bright; her eyes were like the stars in the night sky, radiant and captivating. She loved life, loved everyone around her, yet fate had treated her so unfairly. Who had so cruelly placed her in this desperate situation? Was it a struggle for power, or revenge for hatred?

In this silent space, only her blood flowed silently, the dripping sound like a countdown to her death. This wooden door, stained red with blood, witnessed her death and the cruelty and ruthlessness of this world. Her body gradually grew cold, and her once fervent soul gradually dissipated in this bloody atmosphere.

Perhaps, in another world, she can escape this endless pain and find her own peace and happiness. But this blood-stained wooden door will forever be a symbol of her tragic fate, telling the story of a beautiful woman's desperate swan song.

Her red bellyband and red briefs were her only covering. The bright color of the bellyband contrasted sharply with the blood on her body, making her body look even more pale and fragile. The briefs, stained dark red by the blood, formed an eerie scene against her body, twisted in pain.

Despite the severe trauma her body had sustained, she maintained an unyielding posture. Her hands gripped the edge of the wooden door tightly, as if trying to break free from the sharp blade that bound her. Her legs were slightly bent, as if trying to support her body and prevent herself from falling. Her posture seemed to declare to the world: She would not be defeated, and her spirit would always stand firm.

In this dark world, Arya's life was like a meteor streaking across the night sky, fleeting yet dazzling. With her blood and life, she composed a magnificent elegy. Her story will be forever remembered; her spirit will inspire generations to tirelessly strive for peace and justice. May she find eternal peace in heaven, free from the pain of war. And we, carrying her hopes and dreams, will continue to strive for a world without war and without slaughter.

Arya could have enjoyed the beauty of youth in a peaceful world, surrounded by family and friends, pursuing her dreams. However, the call of war shattered this tranquility, and she resolutely joined the ranks of the Roman army of the Great Zhou Dynasty, becoming a brave scout. She knew her mission was to achieve victory for the army and peace for the country, even at the cost of her own life.

During this battle, Alia, relying on her wit and bravery, penetrated deep into the enemy town and gathered crucial intelligence for the Roman army of the Great Zhou Dynasty. However, fate played a cruel trick on her. On her way back from completing her mission, she was ambushed and attacked by Germanic paladins. Despite her tenacious resistance, she was caught in a despicable sneak attack and pinned to the wooden door.

Arya's sacrifice was for the victory of the Roman army of the Great Zhou Dynasty, for the benefit of the court and the people. With her young life, she composed a magnificent heroic hymn. Her spirit, like a beacon, illuminated the hearts of those lost and fearful in the war.

In this town shrouded in the smoke of war, Arya's spirit gradually fades, leaving behind only a faint trace of her presence. Perhaps it's a pool of blood, a strand of her hair blown by the wind, or perhaps even her lingering breath. Though faint, it's incredibly precious, representing Arya's courage, sacrifice, and devotion.