Alessio wandered the woods near his manor, his tall, lanky form moving silently among the ancient trees. The cool, fresh air filled his lungs, a rare pleasure he allowed himself to savor. His gill-like slits along his arms and neck fluttered with each breath. His peace was interrupted when he tripped over something, he looked back and found a strange rifle partially buried in the undergrowth. He knelt, his long fingers brushing away the leaves and dirt to reveal an intricately designed Lebel 1886. This rifle was unlike any he had ever seen, with peculiar engravings and an aura of sinister history.

Suddenly, a cold shiver ran down his spine. Alessio's heart pounded in his chest as he picked up the weapon. The moment his fingers closed around the stock, a surge of unnatural energy coursed through his body.
A sharp pain wracked his frame, causing him to double over. He gasped for air, his breaths coming in ragged, desperate gulps. The gills on his body flared wildly as his skin began to change. Muscles and flesh rapidly grew, covering his previously bare bones. His spine straightened, and his posture became more rigid and commanding. The transformation was both agonizing and exhilarating, as centuries of dormant power awakened within him.
His torso constricted, ribs reshaping into a sinuous, feminine curve and chest broadened as double D breast rapid ally grew. His waistcoat changed to finely tailored military coat, complete with golden epaulettes and brass buttons that gleamed with authority. The coat was a striking horizon-blue, fitted perfectly to his new form, with a high collar and golden trim that spoke of high rank and nobility. The sensation spread downwards, his shoulders narrowing as his arms transformed, the rough marble hide morphing into smooth, alabaster skin.
His gloves changed to white cavalry gloves as his corvid hands became slender, fingers rearranging and elongating into finely manicured nails painted a cruel crimson.
As his transformation continued, a tall, golden polished helmet materialized on his head, that added to his imposing presence. His face was partially transformed by a tankers mask becoming leather and chain-mail giving him an air of menace. His head throbbed as it shrank and refined into a more delicate, aristocratic shape. Blond hair cascaded down, framing a face now sculpted with high cheekbones and piercing red eyes that sparkled with a malevolent glint but all hidden under the helmet’s flaps and the newly formed mask.
His height began to diminish, and his limbs restructured themselves, becoming more proportional and less gangly. His taloned feet and shoes both reshaped into cavalry boots, the black scales melding into polished leather that gleamed even in the dim light. The boots were heavy, each step he took echoing with a sense of dread and authority. His thighs became muscular and well-defined, as his dull pants changes to a pair of Pantalon rouge.

He looked down at the rifle in his hands, now modified with a marksman scope and spitzer style ammunition, his mind was assaulted by foreign memories, overwhelming him with scenes of battle, hunting, and a twisted sense of pleasure in domination and cruelty. He remembered the Franco-Prussian War, the blood-soaked fields of Sedan, and the screams of the dying. He saw himself, not as Alessio, but as Monira la Méchante, the most vile and unsportsmanlike huntress the world had ever seen.
"Mon Dieu..." he muttered, his voice now a velvety purr laced with contempt. "Zis power, zis new form... it is magnifique."
He—no, she—remembered inheriting a vast fortune from a noble family, all of whom had died under suspicious circumstances. She recalled buying her way into the military, earning that infamous title of "The Butcher" of Sedan, and reveling in the chaos and death she wrought. The Damnatio memoriae that sought to erase her from history. But she had survived, thrived even, and now she had a new land to conquer, new prey to hunt.
"Aaah! Zat's perfeect!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a thick French accent and a tone of wicked delight. "Time to hunt zose white shirts like rabbits!"
Monira's eyes gleamed with a toxic pleasure. She imagined the thrill of the chase, the terror in her prey's eyes, and the sweet satisfaction of their defeat. She had no time for weaklings or fools; she sought only the most dangerous game, the greatest challenges, to prove her superiority.

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New OC alert! Here's Duc Monira la Méchante, the name is inspired by  Monifa_Akhamnet since she always uses the Lebel in Hunt and I had a good match with it so I got the idea of a 19th Century Toxic French Huntress
Lineart by the amazing  owlverlord Check out the original!
Coloured by me.