Veil of Corruption

The abomination lunged—its limbs a mass of writhing tendrils, each fleshy cord thudding against the broken stone as it surged forward. A thick stench followed it, like rot soaked in iron, and its every movement carried a wet, slithering sound that grated against the nerves.

Seth didn't flinch. He stepped forward and hurled a relic—a golden knife etched with ancient runes. It flashed once in the dim light and struck true, embedding itself in the creature's side with a meaty thunk. But the beast didn't slow. The flesh around the blade simply bubbled, absorbing the weapon like a stone sinking into mud.

Silia raised her hand sharply, already weaving the incantation. From the space above her palm, darkness bloomed—a clawed silhouette formed of writhing shadow and silent screams. It shot forth and clasped the abomination, its fingers enclosing the squirming mass like a vise.

Then came the color.

A sickening vermillion began to bloom across the surface of the dark hand—pulsing like infection, threading through the shadow like blood through veins. Silia's breath caught in her throat.

Her voice, soft but brittle: "It's her."

Seth's gaze shifted to her, then back to the spreading corruption. The ring on Silia's finger glinted—he could replicate its power if he wanted. But he chose not to. Whatever it was, it was becoming corrupted.

Instead, he reached into something darker.

He tried to copy the abomination itself.

His back arched. His body convulsed. Bones cracked like snapping branches. Veins bulged across his neck and face. His mouth opened in a silent scream before sound tore from his throat—raw, animal, agonized.

Silia flinched. She threw the crimson dome around him—a barrier meant to muffle pain, suppress powers—but it didn't work. His cries spilled through it, echoing like tortured metal.

The abomination was nearly upon them now.

Its tentacles lashed forward, inches from Silia's throat.

And she had no time left to move.

But the creature halted in its tracks, convulsing slightly as it staggered. A dim light began to emanate from within, and by the time its tentacles touched the armor relic and the rapier, the light grew brighter. Soon, the entire cabin was bathed in the radiant glow.

..........

Inside the crimson dome, Seth's body jerked backward, his spine bending at an unnatural angle. The air around him grew dense, distorting like a heat mirage as two opposing forces clashed within him—one cold and unyielding, the other fierce and blazing.

The dome groaned. Its light flickered.

Veins of black, glowing rot spread rapidly across his skin—his arms, his neck, his face—webbing out like fractures across a glass. Crimson energy from the dome tried to press inward, to halt the mutation, to suppress it before it bloomed.

But it was too late.

The suppression magic had become a crucible.

With a bone-rattling crack, his shoulder blades burst apart, splattering streams of boiling black ichor against the dome's barrier. From the rupture, wings emerged—immense, jagged, and pulsating with crimson energy, their edges fringed with shadow and flame. They didn't flap; they simply unfurled—like bat wings.

His skin tore apart, reshaping into black, plated armor that rose like a shell—a hardened exoskeleton born of ancient fury. His chest no longer moved with breath; instead, a single crater was carved there, pulsing with a vivid purple glow. Beneath the flesh, red and violet veins shimmered and writhed like a living furnace.

When his mouth opened, it was not Seth's voice that emerged.

It was a symphony of chaos.

Whispers. Screams. Laughter. Pleas for mercy from other timelines. Fragments of what Seth had been—or perhaps things he never was.

His eyes were gone.

In their place, scarlet hollows pulsed, from which two horns emerged—one brimming with chaotic energy, the other void-like, forming a black and menacing horn.

Above his head, the crimson dome strained, pulsing violently.

A halo ignited above his head—a ring of twisting violet flame, rotating slowly, casting warping shadows across the ground. With that, the dome cracked—not shattered, but peeled open like an egg, unable to contain what was now fully born.

Blinding light surged within the dome's cavity, illuminating the body of the newborn abomination. It raised one hand as the light dimmed and gradually disappeared. A golden knife clattered to the ground. 

Silia finally managed to open her eyes, and what she saw made her step back in shock. The black lady abomination still lingered, dazed by the golden light. The knife that had once been consumed by her flesh now lay on the ground, leaving behind a grotesque, bloody wound. Yet, the black lady abomination remained completely still. Before her stood a creature even more hideous and monstrous—a being not meant to exist, brought into the world against God's will. It was a creation born not of divine intention but of a man's twisted desires. Just the sight of it was enough to unravel Silia's mind, her sanity slipping away with every passing second.

Silia was fleeing from the abomination, her mind stuck on a single thought.

"RUN, RUN, RUN, RUN, RUN!!"

The captain of the Greywell was darting away like a rat escaping a cat. Terror consumed her face, her mind fraying the longer she remained close. She no longer resembled a sundered, appearing more like an ordinary human. And who wouldn't, when faced with such a monstrosity?

She was already in the hallway, where the lower half of Briggs' body lay discarded. Nearby, the mangled remains of a woman were strewn about, half-eaten. Silia didn't glance at them; she just kept running.

The bodies of both Martha and Briggs twitched. Martha's lips moved, uttering softly, "Mas...te...r."

.................

Carter and Lucas stood at the front of the team when they encountered a pale boy in front of them. He was smiling, but his gaze shifted to somewhere far beyond, and suddenly the entire complex shook.

While Carter and Lucas managed to maintain their balance, the rest of the supply corps were already tumbling to the ground. Yet, the pale boy remained perfectly still, unaffected by the small earthquake.

Then he turned to face the supply corps again, a mist rose from beneath the boy's feet, slowly enveloping his small figure until he vanished from sight. When the mist cleared, he was gone. The Lieutenant and the supply corps stared at the empty space where the pale boy had once stood, confusion etched across their faces.