Chapter 2: Shattered Reflections
London was a city of shadows, a remnant of its former self. Once iconic structures like the London Bridge now stood fragmented, their proud history buried beneath the weight of the chaos that the rifts brought. Veran, an outcast in this changed world, could often be seen wandering its ruins, his unique appearance a stark contrast to the bleakness around him.
As he ventured along the broken span of the London Bridge, he tried to draw upon memories of a better time. The laughter of children, the bustling activity of commuters, lovers stealing glances... But those images were fading, and what replaced them was the grim reality of the present.
The waters of the Thames, once the lifeline of the city, now roared with a chaotic ferocity, tainted by the energy from the rifts. Its flow was unpredictable, sometimes eerily calm and, at other times, a raging torrent pulling anything or anyone into its depths.
Reaching the midpoint of the bridge, a familiar sensation made the hairs on the back of Veran's neck stand on end. The air grew thick and the very fabric of reality seemed to distort. A rift was opening.
Drawing a sharp breath, Veran steeled himself. These rifts, unpredictable as they were, also served as his connection to the Seven Sins Disease. The unpredictable mutations they caused were both a curse and a gift. For Veran, it meant unique powers, but with them, a continuous internal struggle.
A sinuous, shadowy figure began to emerge from the rift, its form continuously shifting and morphing. It was a shadow wraith, an entity born from the rifts and imbued with the essence of the Seven Sins Disease.
Veran felt the sins stir within him. The temptation to unleash them was strong, especially in the presence of a wraith. But he had learned the hard way that every use had consequences.
The wraith fixed its gaze on him, its voice a chilling whisper that seemed to come from all directions, "Who dares challenge the dominion of the rift?"
Veran stepped forward, determination evident in his emerald eyes, "I do."
Without warning, the wraith lunged. Veran reacted instinctively, drawing upon the power of sloth. An immense weight of lethargy enveloped him, and he had to fight the urge to simply lay down and surrender. But as the world around him seemed to slow, so did the wraith, its movements sluggish and delayed.
Hoping to capitalize on this, Veran then invoked lust, allowing its overpowering desire to flood his senses. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to possess, to control, to dominate. Directing this force towards the wraith, the creature became momentarily infatuated with its own reflection in the waters of the Thames, giving Veran the opening he needed.
Muttering an incantation under his breath, he started sealing the rift. The process was arduous, draining him of energy with each passing second. But just as the rift's closure was imminent, the wraith, breaking free from its trance, howled in fury and lunged again.
With sheer desperation, Veran pulled upon wrath, directing the raw anger and aggression at the wraith, sending it reeling back. Using the final ounces of his strength, he sealed the rift.
As the rift's remnants dissipated, the wraith let out a final, haunting scream before disintegrating into the chaotic mists.
Panting heavily, Veran found himself sitting amid the rubble. Every use of his powers brought exhilarating power but was swiftly followed by debilitating weakness and emotional turmoil. The sins were relentless, gnawing at his sanity, always demanding more.
Amid his recovery, he felt a presence, a subtle shift in the shadows. Turning sharply, he caught a glimpse of a figure retreating. They had seen his confrontation with the wraith. Questions swirled in his mind, but they'd have to wait. For now, he needed rest and refuge.
Dragging his exhausted body off the bridge, Veran headed towards what was once Covent Garden. It was a journey to find solace in a world where the lines between good and evil, power and vulnerability, were continually blurring.