In the video, the petals scattering everywhere were clearly—
a metaphor for spurting blood,
the ultimate collision of brutality and tenderness.
Despite being a story drenched in slaughter, it blended seamlessly with Kafka's innate elegance.
["I bloom in the midst of slaughter, like a flower at dawn!"]
[I'll pay you 50 cents to let me post this!]
[This phrase popped into my head unprompted. It fits too well!]
By now, the "Watch Party" bullet comments were flooded with this line.
Kafka reached the end of the room, glanced back, and swept her right hand downward.
The screen flashed white—another reminder that
every guard in this room had been eliminated by Kafka alone.
As the guards fell one after another, the footage desaturated.
Only the crimson roses remained, bathed in red overhead light.
Kafka stood like an actress, bowing to an audience that had just witnessed this massacre.
From the start, the video had been sending a message:
She was dangerous, yet mesmerizing—impossible to look away from.
"This web is so fragile."
Now centered on-screen, Kafka seemed surrounded by invisible threads.
Countless guards struggled like prey trapped in cocoons, their hands reaching out desperately.
The camera began rotating, the perspective shifting with each flicker of darkness.
Kafka lay at the center, eyes closed, evoking the illusion of a spider lying in wait.
Then—her gaze locked onto the lens, her fingers brushing against it as if she could see you through the screen.
She whispered, "One touch, and it shatters."
A spiderweb transition effect appeared, smoothly cutting to Kafka boarding an elevator.
But—
the transition wasn't over. The web pattern glowed purple.
"What she can cut... are even more fragile things."
Before the words faded, Kafka descended from above.
"For example—"
Another extreme close-up of her face.
This time—
a sword in her left hand, a gun in her right, her eyes glinting with light.
Elegance now edged with lethality.
[This is SO cool!]
[Those round glasses paired with Kafka's sharpness create such stark contrast!]
[The cinematography is chef's kiss! So many cuts in just a few lines—pure art!]
[Director, you absolute legend!]
[I've got my eyes on you, MiHoYo Film & TV Development Co.!!! Drop the series already! Hurry!]
[One pleasant surprise after another. Every element—acting, lighting, costumes, sets—is flawless. What kind of dream team made this?!]
[Honestly, it feels like this role was tailor-made for Kafka. No one else could pull it off like her!]
——
The battle began.
On-screen, guards barely had time to aim before Kafka's blade found their heads.
Flying petals replaced splattering blood—
beautiful yet bloodless.
Dual-wielding guns, Kafka faced a hail of bullets with eerie calm.
Every movement was precise, every strike lethal.
Of course, the air filled with "petals."
With each enemy felled, a clock hand ticked backward.
Finally, not a single foe remained.
As Kafka stepped out of the elevator, sword in hand, viewers realized—
the reversing clock had counted down their lives... and the elevator's descent.
Then came a scene everyone appreciated.
The camera focused solely on Kafka's lower half—purple stockings on full display.
Paired with heels and endless legs, it was intense.
A sudden red flash interrupted many viewers' impure thoughts.
When the frame cleared, Kafka stood on the second floor. Though petite,
the composition framed her like a spider at the center of her web.
No matter how many guards surrounded her,
the message was clear: their fates were sealed.
"Ah, destiny has a thousand faces..."
As Kafka spoke, the visuals shifted to vintage film grain.
Then—
an extreme close-up of her hand. The ruby on her sword glowed,
morphing into a spider's eyes in the dark... then into slashing blades.
"Yet why..."
"...does it only show us this one?"
One moment, Kafka poised to draw her blade.
The next—two flashes of steel, two guards dead before they hit the ground.
Threads lashed out from her fingers, weaving a deadly web.
Then—a snap of her fingers.
The scene cut to a room with a projector, its screen showing Kafka's face.
"Are you the one watching me?"
[HOLY SH*T! MASTERPIECE!]
[Now I get why it's called Dramatic Irony!]
[Goosebumps! The more you think, the scarier it gets!]
[OMG, it all connects! When Kafka touched the lens earlier, she was touching this projector!]
["Are you watching me?" Who's "you"? The enemy leader? Or us, the audience?!]
[WHO MADE THIS?! GODLIKE!]
[Follow them now! Early followers = OG fans!]
[I love Kafka even more now!]
——
A brief flash of "INTERMISSION"—vintage film text—paired with the projector deepened the cinematic aesthetic.
But.
The real climax was just beginning.
The camera circled Kafka as bullets rained around her, shells piling at her feet.
Each shot that found its mark birthed a blooming flower.
"Now, let's see where the hiders are..."
Another close-up of Kafka's face.
Eyes downcast, then suddenly lifting—
"BOOM!"
An explosion erupted, revealing new "information":
["MACGUFFIN!"]
["NON-LINEAR STRUCTURE!"]
["ONEIRIC STRUCTURE!"]
The progress bar couldn't take it anymore. The camera zoomed out violently,
revealing an empty projection room. On the screen:
"FIN!"
Darkness.
A collective sigh from viewers—surely, it was over.
But.
The violin played on.
The screen lit up once more.
Kafka approached the last surviving guard. "All good shows must end."
"Thud."
She planted a foot beside his head—a foot pin.
The coin from the beginning—the one the video had emphasized—flipped through the air toward him.
"As for the ending... care to guess?"
Black. A gunshot echoed.
After a beat, Kafka stood in a hallway, umbrella in hand.
The camera closed in as she tilted her head slightly.
"Hero or villain? Did you guess right?"
The Astral Express logo appeared.
The PV was truly over.
——
[GODDAMN IT! WHY IS IT OVER?!]
[I won't sleep tonight!]
[Quick, check MiHoYo's update! They posted news!]