Veil of Corruption

The black-armored lady looked exactly like Silia. It was a mirror copy—the height, the weight, and most of all, her relics were all replicated. But would they function or were they merely for show? 

The black-armored woman, rapier in hand, lunged toward Silia, but Silia was ready. The black ring she held began to glow with a dark light, swiftly engulfing the armored figure. Shadows erupted into a swarm of hands, gripping her tightly and immobilizing her. Two of the hands crept toward her neck, intent on choking her life away. Before the scene could reach its grim conclusion, a dome of vile crimson—thick and unnatural, resembling coagulated blood with a purplish hue—oozed into existence, casting a sickening gleam.

Silia scowled. "What is that? Some kind of ability?"

The blighted crimson engulfed her completely, halting the black hand moving towards her. The grip that had locked her so tightly began to weaken. Rot was spreading through those dark hands as the crimson dome forced the darkness to decay. Vermilion rot crept across the black hands, and with the loosened grip, the black lady wasted no time charging at her enemy. But her opponent didn't wait for the rot to consume the hands entirely; she was already preparing her rapier for a crimson beam. However, it was too late—the black rapier would strike her before the beam could be unleashed.

Silia smirked as the rapier pierced her flesh deeply, missing her heart by mere inches. It was all part of her plan. Grabbing the black lady by the shoulder, she unleashed her crimson beam directly into her chest. The impact sent them both flying—Silia was flung into the hallway, while the black lady crashed through the cabin wall and out into the open. 

"Aghhh, that hurts."

When the abyssal creature was captured by the dark hand, she realized her initial crimson shot had failed to harm him in his goo-like form. However, now that these tangible hands could seize her, the crimson beam might also have the power to hurt her. It was the vermillion rot, though, that drove her to make the grim choice of using her body to get closer. She needed to finish it quickly, as the enemy had not only copied her appearance but also her abilities and relics, corrupting them into more sinister forms. It was preferable to endure the strike of a regular rapier to the chest than to face the vile crimson beam wielded by the abysmal creature.

Silia slowly turned her head to the right, glancing down the hallway.

Footsteps echoed loudly, unmasked and deliberate, as the man approached. They grew closer and closer until they stopped. With hazy eyes, he glanced at Silia, a frown etched on his face.

"Are you alright, Captain?" he asked.

Silia's eyes burned with anger. Normally, she would have concealed her emotions well, but after fighting monsters and sustaining injuries, she couldn't hide it this time.

"Do you even know where you are?" she snapped.

Seth tilted his head, startled by her tone. "Your cabin? Or maybe the hallway outside it?"

Silia glared at him before glancing down at her wound, which was already starting to heal. "We're on the battlefield. Mimic a useful ability if you don't have one from me or my relic. And don't call me Captain."

Just as she spoke, a creature appeared near the wall that the black lady had torn through.

The creature's body towered like a living boil risen from the earth itself—an unholy coagulation of crimson, pulsing with a sick internal rhythm. Its flesh, if it could be called that, looked more like molten resin fused with blood, slick and semi-translucent in some places, revealing twitching cords of darker matter that pulsed as if remembering a heartbeat. From its bloated torso stretched long pseudopods—tendril-like growths that flopped heavily to the ground before recoiling, dragging it forward in slow, pulsing lurches. They weren't limbs; they were expressions of need, reaching out not to strike, but to possess.

The surface of its body writhed ceaselessly. Faces sometimes formed beneath the skin, pressing outward with blind eyes and screaming mouths before dissolving into ripples of bruised purple. It gave off a smell like wet copper and rotting parchment, and wherever it passed, the ground underneath blackened and cracked, as if rejecting the very thing that touched it. The air around it shimmered faintly—not with heat, but with fever, distorting vision and sound in slow, nauseating waves.

The face emerged slowly from the shifting surface of its upper mass, as if pushed forward through thick syrup. At first, it was just a bulge—swollen and pulsing beneath the skin—until the outer layer split with a wet, sucking sound. What came forth wasn't quite a human face, but something that had clearly tried to be one.

Its skin was a pale, waxy color, stretched too tight in some places and sagging in others, like melted candle fat forced into the vague shape of a skull. There were eye sockets, but they were too deep, too dark—empty hollows rimmed in raw, purplish tissue that seemed to glisten with wetness. Thick, black tears oozed out slowly, not falling, but sliding down the sunken cheeks in slow, sticky trails.

The nose was collapsed, barely more than a slit above a gaping mouth that hung open slightly, as if caught in the middle of a word or a scream. Its lips were thin, torn in places, and the corners of the mouth trembled with a twitch that seemed more reflex than expression. The jaw didn't move—not even slightly—but there was a sound. A low vibration, like the hum of broken machinery, pressing against the eardrums more than actually heard.

There was an odd, sour heat radiating from it, like the air hovering over blood abandoned too long in the sun. The sharp, metallic tang filled the nostrils, potent enough to taste. And through it all, the face simply... stared. Then, it gave a crooked smile.

"Do you know him or her, ma'am?"