Corruption

The door sealed behind Vell with a soft click, and darkness enveloped him. For several long moments, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing in the void. The darkness was absolute, the kind that made even the most hardened warriors question their senses. But Vell didn't move, didn't flinch. He had learned long ago that darkness was rarely empty.

He was proven right as the first wisps of purple began to materialize around him. It started as barely visible threads, like silk catching moonlight, but quickly grew more substantial. The mist had an unusual quality to it – thick and almost gelatinous in its consistency, moving with an unnatural intelligence that spoke of artificial design rather than natural phenomena. It probed and tested the air around him like a predator seeking weakness, creating patterns that seemed almost like written words before dissolving again.

A mechanical voice pierced the silence: "Tutorial Mission 1: Survive the Fog of Corruption. Objective: Reach the beacon within three hours. Warning: The fog will attempt to corrupt your mind and body. Those who succumb will be eliminated."

The mist grew bolder, pressing against him now. Where it touched others, it would burn like acid, leaving wounds that festered and spread. But on him, it simply slid off like water on oil, unable to find purchase. He took measured steps forward, his boots making no sound on the unseen floor beneath him.

In the distance, screams began to echo through the void – other participants encountering their first tests. He ignored them, focusing instead on the way the fog was changing around him. It was learning, adapting, trying different approaches to breach his defenses. The purple deepened to a royal violet, then darkened further until it was nearly black, carrying with it the smell of autumn leaves and home-cooked meals – scents from his past that might lower his guard.

When that failed, the fog tried pain, attempting to simulate the burning sensation that should have been occurring. But pain was an old friend to him, and this artificial approximation was a poor imitation of what he had already endured. The fog retreated slightly, regrouping, and he could almost sense its confusion. He was not following the expected patterns of response.

The first shapes that emerged from the fog were predictable – his mother and father, looking exactly as they had the day he left, five years ago. The fog had pulled them from his surface memories, but it had done a poor job of recreation. His mother's once-warm eyes were now hollow with grief and bitter with resentment, but they were the wrong shade of brown. His father's stern face had aged a decade in those five years, new lines carved deep by worry and anger, but the fog had missed the small scar above his left eyebrow from a farming accident when Vell was twelve.

"Look who finally appears," his mother said, her voice dripping with venom that didn't match the tears in her eyes. "Our son, who couldn't even send a letter to let us know he was alive."

"Mother—" Vell started, but she cut him off with a sharp laugh.

"Mother? Now I'm 'mother' again? What about when your father had his heart attack last year? Where was my son then? Where were you when we lost the farm to the creditors?"

His father stepped forward, and there was something worse than anger in his eyes – disappointment, deep and absolute. "Your brother had to drop out of school to help us. He was thirteen. Thirteen, and doing the work you should have been there to handle."

"Everything fell apart after you left," his mother continued, her voice rising. "The neighbors whisper about us – the family whose eldest son abandoned them. Your sister can't find a match because who would want to marry into a family with a deserter? You destroyed us, Vell. Everything we built, everything we were – you threw it all away."

Vell studied their faces with clinical detachment. The fog was doing good imitating his parents but it still couldn't capture the subtle complexities of human expression. His real mother's disappointment had always been tinged with hope, even at her angriest. His father's stern facade had always cracked slightly at the corners of his mouth, betraying the love beneath. These were mere shadows, puppet shows projected by an intelligence that understood human pain but not human nature.

And he never liked his parents to begin with, they were terrible people.

He walked through their images without breaking stride, he didn't have time for nonsense. The shadows dissipated like smoke, unable to find purchase in his mind. But the fog was persistent, learning, adapting. It probed deeper into his memories, searching for something that could crack his impassive exterior.

The fog grew thicker, more oppressive. It began to take on shapes – fleeting glimpses of faces he had known, moments he had lived through. Each attempt was more sophisticated than the last, but each dissolved as he passed through them without reaction. The fog was getting desperate now, throwing multiple scenarios at him simultaneously: his brother's tearful face as Vell walked away, his sister's angry letters, his mother's collapse at the news of his departure. But these were all fake, they never cared that he left, that's just who they were.

 Then the mist gathered again, this time forming a figure that made his step falter ever so slightly. She appeared as she had that day, wearing the reinforced jacket he'd scavenged for her last winter, her dark hair pulled back in a practical braid. The fog had pulled this image directly from his memories, down to the worn combat boots and the knife strapped to her thigh.

"Hey, old man," She said, smiling warmly as she always did.

"Back from another hunt?" Her form was perfect, exactly as she'd been that final day. The fog had even recreated the small scar above her eyebrow from a close call when she fell from a tree.

His expression remained neutral, but his fingers instinctively moved to touch the small vial hidden beneath his jacket, pressed close to his heart. Inside, a pale blue light pulsed faintly – her soul, preserved in the last moment before it could fade. The fog, sensing this reaction, poured more energy into the illusion, making it more solid, more real.

"Remember what you told me that morning?" her voice carried the same light tone she'd always used, even in their darkest moments. "You said once you cleared the sector, you'd think about what we discussed. 'Just hold on,' you said. 'I'll make it safe first.'" Her smile turned bitter. "How'd that work out for us?"

Blood began to seep through her jacket, spreading in a pattern he knew all too well. The fog around them darkened, responding to something it had finally found within Vell's mind. Maya's form flickered, showing flashes of what had happened.

"You were so certain you'd killed them all," she said, her voice cracking with pain and accusation. "The mighty hunter, so confident in his powers. Did you even hear me calling for you at first? Or were you too busy congratulating yourself on another successful hunt?"

The fog swirled more violently, and now there were multiple versions of her – showing every stage of that final day. One version threw her knife at the approaching monster. Another ran, desperate to reach where he was. A third lay broken on the ground, her lower body torn away by massive jaws, yet still smiling when she saw him finally arrive.

"I never blamed you," all versions spoke at once, their voices overlapping in a haunting chorus. This was worse than accusation – this was forgiveness he didn't deserve. "I was just happy you came in the end. Happy I didn't die alone." The images flickered, showing her final moments. "But I saw your face when you realized you were too late. I heard what you promised my soul as you captured it in that bottle. Tell me, vell – was it worth it? All that power, all that skill, and you couldn't even save one person, the person you hold most dear?"

The fog pressed in closer, feeding off the emotion it had finally found in its prey. The air grew thick with the smell of copper and fear, and the temperature dropped until breath frosted in the air. In the distance, the screams of other participants grew louder, as if encouraged by this display of power.

"Enough." Vell's voice was quiet, but something in it made the very fog tremble. The purple mist around him began to wither and die, turning gray before dissipating entirely. Maya's forms wavered, their perfection suddenly marred by static, like a malfunctioning projection.

"You don't get to wear her face," he said, his tone unchanged but carrying an edge that seemed to cut through the very air. His hand pressed against the vial, feeling the warm pulse of her soul responding to his touch. "You don't get to use her voice. You don't get to pretend you know what happened that day."

He took a step forward, and the fog retreated. Another step, and it began to dissolve. Her forms tried to maintain their shape, but they were fighting a losing battle against something they couldn't understand – not resistance, but rejection on a fundamental level.

"Vell..." the apparition tried one last time, its voice soft and forgiving, a perfect echo of her final words to him as he desperately tried to save what remained of her.

"Maya smiled differently,you can't capture that." He said, and reached out to touch the apparition's cheek. The fog tried to maintain the illusion, but it was too late. "Even at the end, even with all that pain, she smiled like she was about to tell a joke. And she had a dimple, right here." At his touch, the form shattered like glass, taking the last of the corrupted fog with it. "You can't replicate a soul," he added quietly, feeling the real Maya's soul pulse warmly against his chest, "especially when the original is right here."

In the monitoring room, the admin watched the screens with growing unease. The sensors were showing impossible readings – not just resistance to the corruption, but active destruction of it. More concerning was the brief spike in unknown energy they'd detected when the last apparition appeared.

"Sir," one of his subordinates said, voice trembling slightly, "the fog... it's not just being dispersed. It's being destroyed at a fundamental level. We've never seen anything like this. And look at these readings – there's some kind of energy emanating from him, something our systems can't even classify."

The admin absently rubbed his throat, remembering their earlier encounter. "Record everything. We need to understand what we're dealing with here." He leaned closer to the screen, studying Vell's face. "And increase eyes on him. Whatever he is, he's not what he claims to be."

Back in the trial space, Vell continued walking. The beacon was visible now, its light cutting through what little mist remained. The mechanical voice spoke again, this time with a note of uncertainty in its artificial tone:

"Warning: Anomalous participant detected. Corruption immunity confirmed. Additional warning: Unknown energy signature detected. Threat level assessment in progress. Recommendation: Immediate participant evaluation required."

Vell ignored it, his pace unhurried. Behind him, the fog tried one last time to form another image of Maya, but it dissolved before it could fully materialize. Whatever it had found in Vell's mind when Maya appeared, it now seemed afraid to touch. The very absence of fog in his wake formed a perfect path, as if the corruption itself was trying to escape his presence.

He reached the beacon in seventeen minutes – a fraction of the expected time. As he placed his hand on the pillar of light, distant screams echoed through the remaining wisps of fog. The other participants were still fighting their battles, lost in their personal hells.

"Tutorial Mission 1 Complete. Time: 17 minutes, 12 seconds. Status: Perfect Clear. Additional Note: Unprecedented corruption immunity recorded. Further investigation pending. Warning: Participant classification may require updating."

A door materialized before him. As he reached for the handle, he paused, his hand hovering over it. For a moment, his eyes closed, and anyone watching closely might have seen his lips move slightly, forming what could have been a name. A single tear, quickly wiped away, caught the light of the beacon. Then the moment passed, his expression returned to its usual emptiness, and he stepped through the door.

Behind him, the fog began to regenerate, but it curved away from where he had walked, as if remembering something it feared. In its swirling patterns, for just a moment, one might have seen the shape of a little girl's face, smiling with her dimple showing, before the corruption swallowed it forever.

In the darkness beyond the door, Vell allowed himself one final thought of Maya – not as the fog had shown her, but as she had been that morning. The memory was like a knife in his heart, but he welcomed the pain. It was his to bear, his penance, and no artificial fog could ever replicate the depth of that guilt and love.

The next trial awaited, but for now, in this brief moment between challenges, Vell remembered why he had really come to this place. Not for glory, not for power, but for a promise made to a little girl who had trusted him to protect her. A promise he had failed to keep once, but never would again.

The door closed behind him with a final click, leaving the fog to its endless dance, forever changed by an encounter it couldn't understand. In its depths, other participants continued to fight their battles, unaware that they had witnessed something unprecedented – a man who didn't just resist corruption, but rejected its very existence.