Chapter 2: In the Shadow of the Mask

Eryas awoke to darkness. Not the comforting kind, but a thick, suffocating void that pressed against his skin and filled his lungs. He gasped, clawing at the air, only to realize he was lying in a pool of viscous liquid. It reeked of rust and decay, clinging to his skin like oil.

A flicker of light appeared in the distance, illuminating jagged stone walls that seemed to twist and breathe. The Vault was gone, or perhaps it had changed. The eldritch whispers were still there, louder now, their voices weaving together into a haunting chorus.

"You are awake," the voice from before rumbled in his mind. Deep, resonant, and alien, it felt as though it came from everywhere and nowhere.

"Where... where am I?" Eryas croaked, his voice hoarse. He tried to rise, but his body felt heavy, as though something unseen pressed him down.

"This is the Threshold. A place between what is and what will be."

The light grew brighter, revealing the source of the voice. It wasn't a creature but a mass—a writhing, shifting amalgamation of shadow and stars. Eyes blinked open and shut across its surface, each gaze piercing into Eryas's very soul.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded, his fear giving way to anger.

"I want nothing," the entity replied, though its tone suggested otherwise. "It is you who sought power. And now, you are marked. Bound to the Veil."

"The Veil?"

The entity's many eyes fixed on him. "The barrier between your world and mine. It weakens. And you, Eryas Draegon, are the crack through which the tide will flow."

Eryas's surroundings shifted again, the Threshold dissolving like smoke. He was back in the Vault, sprawled on the cold floor. The mask lay shattered before him, its fragments pulsing faintly like dying embers. Around him, chaos reigned.

The shelves were overturned, artifacts spilled across the floor. Strange, writhing creatures scuttled in the shadows, their forms impossible to fully comprehend. Karn's body was slumped against the wall, his chest torn open, his face frozen in a scream.

Eryas staggered to his feet, clutching his chest where the tendril had pierced him. The pain was gone, but his veins still glowed faintly, a dark blue hue pulsing beneath his skin. His breath came in ragged gasps as he surveyed the carnage.

A faint groan caught his attention. Turning, he saw Loryn, one of the resistance members who had come with him. She was alive, but barely, her arm twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Loryn," Eryas said, kneeling beside her. "What happened?"

Her eyes fluttered open, wide with terror. "The... the artifacts," she whispered. "They... they woke up. The mask—what did you do?"

"I didn't—" Eryas stopped himself. The truth was, he didn't know what he had done. He hadn't meant to touch the mask, but something had compelled him.

"Help me," Loryn pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

Eryas hesitated. He could feel the power coursing through him now, the whispers urging him to act. He placed a hand on her broken arm, and for a moment, a faint glow emanated from his palm. Her cries of pain subsided, replaced by a look of astonishment.

But then the glow turned dark. Loryn screamed as her arm twisted further, the bone reshaping into something unnatural, black tendrils sprouting from her skin. Eryas recoiled in horror as she convulsed, her screams echoing through the chamber.

The whispers in his mind laughed.

Before he could process what had happened, the sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond the Vault. Eryas grabbed his revolver, his heart pounding.

Three Wardens entered, their visors glowing crimson in the dim light. They froze at the sight of the carnage, their weapons already raised.

"Drop your weapon!" one of them barked, his voice cold and mechanical.

Eryas didn't respond. The whispers grew louder, urging him to act. He raised his revolver, but before he could fire, the nearest Warden lunged forward with inhuman speed.

The fight was a blur. Eryas's movements were faster than they should have been, his reflexes heightened beyond anything he had ever experienced. He dodged a plasma blade by mere inches, firing a shot that tore through the Warden's visor, leaving a smoking crater where its face had been.

Another Warden fired at him, but the energy bolt seemed to curve mid-air, missing him entirely. Eryas didn't question it—he simply moved, closing the distance and slamming his fist into the Warden's chest. The impact sent the armored figure flying into the wall with a sickening crunch.

The final Warden hesitated, clearly shaken. Eryas felt a cruel smile tug at his lips as he raised his gun. The Warden turned to flee, but a shadowy tendril shot out from Eryas's hand, impaling the soldier through the back. The man let out a strangled cry before collapsing to the floor.

Eryas stared at his hand, horrified and exhilarated. The whispers roared in approval.

The Vault was silent once more, save for the faint crackle of energy from the fallen Wardens' weapons. Eryas stood amidst the carnage, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breath.

Loryn's body was still, her form twisted into something unrecognizable. Karn's corpse lay slumped against the wall, a grim reminder of his betrayal.

And Eryas? He was alive. Changed, but alive.

The mask's voice echoed in his mind one last time. "You are the crack, Eryas Draegon. Through you, the Veil will shatter. Embrace it... or be consumed."

Eryas clenched his fists, the dark veins on his arms pulsing with unnatural light. For the first time in his life, he felt truly free—free from The Hierarchy, free from the fear that had gripped him for so long.

But that freedom came at a cost.

As he stepped over the bodies and left the Vault behind, he couldn't shake the feeling that something far worse was waiting for him in the shadows.