The fissure split wider, vomiting out a swarm of Veilborn.
Some were misshapen wolves with too many eyes. Others were crawling torsos dragging broken legs behind them. Each wore a porcelain mask, their "faces" unnervingly blank until they turned toward the living.
The city square erupted into chaos. Screams echoed, boots pounded against the cobblestones, and the air reeked of burnt ozone where reality itself frayed.
Damien Holt cracked his knuckles, flames rippling over his arms.
"Well. Guess it's one of those nights."
"You think?" Evelyn Blackthorn shot back, her smirk sharp even as her chains of shadow coiled around her hands. "Half the city's about to be erased. Try not to burn down the other half."
Damien snorted. "No promises."
Clara Winslow, the quiet scholar, unfolded another slip of paper. Her hand trembled slightly, but her voice was steady. "Stay behind me. If I write it, it becomes. Just… don't make me write 'mass grave.'"
Yurin Crimson didn't move. Not yet. He just watched the monsters claw their way through reality. His red eyes gleamed faintly in the chaos. He looked less like someone overwhelmed, and more like someone… studying.
Evelyn noticed. "You're disturbingly calm, Crimson."
Yurin gave a half-shrug. "Why panic when panic's free? I'll pass."
Damien glared at him. "Is this a joke to you?"
"Everything's a joke if you laugh hard enough," Yurin said dryly. "Even the apocalypse."
And then the first Veilborn lunged.
Damien charged head-on, his fists igniting like war drums set ablaze. Each punch reverberated, the soundwaves slamming into Veilborn bodies and scattering them in showers of sparks.
"Ha! Come on, you mask-faced freaks!"
Evelyn's chains shot forward, inky and alive. They coiled around a Veilborn wolf's throat, tightening until its porcelain mask cracked. A whisper escaped the monster—not a growl, but a voice.
"Don't—look—"
The moment it spoke, Evelyn's smirk faltered. But she yanked the chain hard, and the monster dissolved into ash.
Clara unfurled another glowing script. The word burned in the air: "Shatter."
The ground erupted beneath a cluster of Veilborn, skewering them on jagged spikes of cobblestone. Her face paled, though—writing reality itself took a toll. She pressed her bleeding palm against the next sheet of paper.
Yurin finally stepped forward. He placed a hand on a Veilborn that lunged at him, whispering,
"Strip."
The mask peeled away, revealing not a monster, but a man's face. Someone ordinary. Someone from the crowd who had vanished moments earlier.
The moment Yurin saw the truth, the body disintegrated into light.
He tilted his head, almost amused. "So that's where you all went."
Damien froze mid-punch. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
Yurin didn't answer. His eyes scanned the crowd instead, sharp and calculating.
Half the people who had been screaming earlier were gone. Not killed—gone.
And the Veilborn… were them.
Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "Crimson. What did you see?"
He finally looked at her. His smile was faint, almost polite.
"Do you really want to know?"
The ground shook again. The fissure split wide enough to swallow an entire building. A colossal figure began to rise from it—its mask cracked, too large for its body, its limbs unfolding like broken marionette strings.
The crowd screamed louder, scattering like ants.
Clara's hands shook as she held another slip of paper. Her eyes darted to Yurin. "…If those monsters are people, then every time we kill one—"
"We're killing humans," Yurin finished for her, almost casually. "Yes."
Damien's fists extinguished, his face pale. "No. That's—no. They're monsters."
"They're both," Yurin said softly. "Masks and truths. Just depends which one you're willing to kill."
Evelyn's chains coiled tighter, her expression unreadable. "And you knew this from the start, didn't you?"
Yurin didn't deny it. He just smiled.
The giant creature pulled itself free of the fissure. Its cracked mask tilted down toward them, and from behind the fractures came hundreds of whispering voices, layered over each other:
"Why… won't… you… remember us?"
Clara nearly dropped her paper. "They're aware…"
The monster slammed its hand down. Damien tackled Clara out of the way as the square shattered, the impact rattling bones. Evelyn's chains shot out, catching the rubble midair before it crushed fleeing civilians.
Yurin just stood there, watching the dust settle, his eyes glowing faintly red.
He whispered to himself.
"…Still too early. It hasn't woken yet."
Damien whipped his head toward him. "What did you just say?!"
But before he could demand more, the giant Veilborn leaned down, its cracked porcelain mask inches from Yurin. The whispers grew louder.
"…Architect…"
The mask split wider, and inside—
there was no flesh. No bone. Only a reflection.
Yurin's own face stared back at him from within the monster.
Older. Crueler. Smiling.
The fissure widened again, threatening to consume the entire square.
And Yurin—
laughed.
[Chapter Two — End]