Kael's Torture — Forcing the Abyss Core Open
The Emperor's ritual chamber smelled of burning scripture and cold iron.
Kael was bound to a spire of polished obsidian, wrists nailed in place with spears made from Saint marrow.
Every breath hurt.
Every heartbeat echoed like it belonged to something larger.
The Emperor circled him, robes whispering like flayed skin.
"Your Abyss core is dormant," he said calmly.
"We will fix that."
He pressed a palm to Kael's sternum.
SFX: —THRRUUUM—
Violet fire erupted under Kael's ribs, crawling up his throat like molten thorns.
Kael screamed.
The sound reverberated through the chamber—
then doubled.
Then tripled.
As if countless unseen throats echoed his agony from behind the walls.
The Emperor watched with scientific delight.
"You feel that? That's the Wound responding."
He pressed harder.
"Your core is trying to bloom."
Kael's spine arched, shadow wings exploding outward—
violent, jagged, tearing through the restraints before new ones formed instantly.
His tattoos ignited.
The letters rearranged themselves across his ribs:
LET ME OUT
LET ME OUT
LET ME OUT
The Emperor leaned in, eyes glowing with manic hunger.
"Soon."
He drove a blade made of liquid scripture into Kael's abdomen.
SFX: SHRRK—KRAK—
Kael's shadow screamed for him—
a sound like iron being bent until it wept.
The Emperor laughed softly.
"Beautiful."
Veyra Breaks a Restraint — And a Saint
In her cell, Veyra's restraints pulsed with counter-Berserker scripture, tightening every time she so much as breathed wrong.
The Saint who had struck her earlier returned.
"Still alive," he noted.
"A shame. The Emperor wants you intact."
Veyra smiled—slow, bloody.
"Oh good," she rasped.
"I was worried I'd kill you too fast."
The Saint lifted a scripture-brand.
"Let's quiet that tongue."
He pressed the burning sigil to her shoulder—
and the world went white.
Veyra roared.
Not screamed—roared.
The chains around her flared to maximum strength.
But Berserkers were born from war gods for a reason.
She inhaled once—
deep—
and flexed.
SFX: KRAAANG—!!!
One restraint shattered like cheap glass.
The Saint froze.
"Oh," Veyra snarled, eyes going blood-crimson.
"You're dead."
She grabbed him by the chestplate, fingers punching through steel like wet parchment, and ripped him in half vertically.
His scream ended before the pieces hit the floor.
Blood sprayed across her face like warm rain.
Her remaining chains tightened—
but they were already losing.
"Round two," she growled.
Seraphine — The Wrong Reflection
Seraphine hovered in silent darkness.
The anti-magic shackles drained her essence slowly—like leeches sucking the color from her soul.
The mirror above her flickered.
Her reflection blinked.
She had not blinked.
Seraphine's breath caught.
The reflection smiled.
She had not smiled.
Slowly, delicately, the reflected version of herself placed a finger to her lips.
A "shhh."
Then its shadow peeled itself off the floor—
a long, stretching shape like a spider made of absence.
Seraphine whispered,
"…No."
The reflection's mouth opened wider.
Wider.
Too wide.
A whisper slithered out:
"LET ME BE YOU."
The mirror shattered—but the reflection didn't.
It climbed out of the broken frame, body bending wrong, face still smiling.
Seraphine felt the temperature drop.
She whispered a spell—
but the shackles choked the magic and it fizzled harmlessly.
Her doppelgänger tilted its head.
Behind it, the cell door clicked open.
The Breakout — And the Catastrophic Failure
Veyra burst into the corridor—half-wrapped in broken restraints, half-covered in Saint gore.
"SERAPHINE!" she shouted.
From another hallway, Seraphine drifted out, pale, shaken, eyes wider than Veyra had ever seen them.
Behind her, something moved in the dark.
Seraphine didn't look back.
"Don't," she whispered, voice trembling. "Just… don't."
The lights flickered.
Kael's scream tore through the fortress—
raw, ragged, animal.
The floor beneath them shook.
Veyra cursed.
"He's in the ritual chamber. Come on!"
They ran—
—but the fortress shifted around them.
Hallways rearranged.
Doors sealed.
Staircases reformed into walls.
The Emperor had locked the fortress into Ritual Geometry.
Seraphine grabbed Veyra's hand.
"We're not getting to him in time."
"We don't have a choice!"
They turned a corner—
—and froze.
A thousand scripture-lit soldiers stood waiting, shields raised, pikes glowing with anti-Abyss wards.
At their head, a Saint with a molten helm whispered:
"Capture the Witch.
Kill the Berserker."
Veyra cracked her knuckles.
"Try it."
Then the reflection—Seraphine's reflection—stepped from the shadows behind them and smiled.
"Time to go home," it whispered in Seraphine's voice.
The floor dropped out.
Both girls fell—
—straight into a collapsing scripture sigil.
Veyra's scream turned into a snarl.
Seraphine reached for her magic—
—but the sigil ate it.
A blinding flash.
And they were gone.
Meanwhile, Back in the Ritual Chamber…
Kael heard the distant explosion.
Felt the fortress shake.
Knew something had gone wrong.
The Emperor smiled at him.
"Your friends have arrived," he said softly.
"Perfect timing."
He raised the scripture blade again.
"Now… let's open you properly."
Kael's eyes burned violet.
His shadow pulsed like a heartbeat.
And the Wound whispered:
"YES."