The entrance to the catacombs yawned beneath the old city like the mouth of a beast long buried. Twisted stone steps spiraled down into darkness, their edges worn smooth by centuries of forgotten footsteps. Faint etchings of lost languages lined the walls, pulsing softly as if recognizing the blood now entering once more.
Nkosana led the way, the mark on his neck glowing like a brand. Behind him, Lira, Kaede, Matsu, and a small cadre of loyal warriors moved in silence, their breath shallow in the stale air.
Matsu whispered, "The Veil is leaking into this place. I can feel it… like fingers brushing against my mind."
Kaede responded, "Good. That means we're close."
At the deepest chamber, a colossal circular gate awaited—runed, sealed, and breathing with dark magic. In its center, an altar of obsidian pulsed to a slow, haunting rhythm, echoing the heartbeat of the Demon Seed itself.
Lira stepped forward. "This is it. The ritual of Severance. One soul must be offered—pure, willing, tied to both realms."
Eyes turned to Nkosana.
"I'm ready," he said.
But before he could step forward, the chamber shook. The walls screamed. From the shadows emerged figures—not Veilborn, but spectral reflections of the warriors themselves.Clones. Dark echoes. Living regrets.
"They're us…" Kaede muttered, drawing his blade.
"No," Nkosana growled, power rising around him. "They're what we were. Not what we've become."
The chamber became a storm of steel and shadow. Each strike was like cutting through guilt. Matsu faced his younger self, still haunted by betrayal. Lira fought her mirror, the part that once loved the enemy. Kaede battled the version of him that ran from every war.
And Nkosana?
He stood before a reflection that bore no Demon Seed. No mark. A version of him untouched by fate.
"I could've been you," he said softly. "But I'm not."
He shattered the illusion with one swing.
Silence followed. The echoes vanished. The altar began to glow.
The price was clear.
The choice loomed.