The Verdant Veil was no longer just a forest. It was a mirror. A reflection of fears, desires, and darkness that lived inside each of them.
Draven stumbled over twisted roots, his body healed instantly from the claw wound—but with each heartbeat, a subtle change crept across his skin. Faint lines of violet veins appeared beneath the surface, like the Cores of the monsters he had destroyed. His nails darkened, his eyes flickered with a crimson glow in the shadows. Every healing surge carried a price. Every life he spared, every monster he killed, a piece of his humanity whispered away.
Merlik walked silently beside him, spear sharp and dripping with blackened sap. "The Veil doesn't just test your skill with steel," he murmured. "It tests your soul. It reflects what you fear, what you could become… if you let it."
Lucian's eyes darkened as the forest thickened, the mist curling around them like hands trying to drag them into the ground. Suddenly, he froze. In the mist, his own reflection emerged—a twisted version of himself. His eyes were empty, void of mercy. His blade moved without purpose but left trails of fire and blood in its wake.
"This… this is me… what I could be… if I lose control," Lucian whispered, voice trembling. Rage and fear battled inside him. He swung his sword, and the reflection swung back, mocking, striking with every secret desire he had buried.
Melken was next. Shadows around him whispered promises of power, of revenge. The reflection of him was a predator, calm, merciless, taking the lives of innocents with a single thought. He felt a pang in his chest—a warning that the forest knew his deepest temptations.
Draven's mirror approached him, stepping out from the mist: a version of him as a Minister, draped in crimson robes, holding the River of Red in his hands. The reflection smiled cruelly, eyes glowing.
"You crave the power, don't you?" it hissed. "You want to control, to protect, to dominate… all blood bends to your will. But at what cost?"
Draven raised his sword, hands shaking. His reflection lunged, fangs bared, and he realized… he was fighting himself as much as the monsters.
With a scream, he unleashed the Blood Heresy fully. The power surged, burning through the forest, incinerating the shadows—but the strain was immense. Veins throbbed, muscles screamed, and for a moment, he felt something inside him fracture. His skin shimmered, half-human, half-tinged with the violet corruption of the Core.
Lucian fought his own mirror, every strike revealing a truth he feared: he could become a weapon without a soul, a shadow that kills without hesitation. His rage gave him strength, but every swing carved a scar on his psyche.
Merlik watched silently, knowing the Veil demanded a payment. "Every gift has a price," he murmured. "You heal like a monster… you fight like a god… but your soul… it fractures with each act."
The mist around them thickened, thorned vines lashing at their bodies, testing, probing, feeding on doubt. The forest whispered their darkest desires, darkest regrets, each hallucination sharper than any blade.
By the end, the four were battered, bleeding—not from steel alone, but from the weight of their own reflections.
Draven touched his face and saw the faint violet lines still crawling beneath his skin. "This… this power… is it worth it?" he whispered.
Merlik's eye glinted, predatory. "It is worth survival. But survival has a cost. And the Veil… it will claim what it is owed."
Outside, the Verdant Veil pulsed, alive. Watching. Waiting for the moment when the heroes' humanity would finally crack completely under the weight of the Blood Heresy.