"I will strike Serena first," said Yeon, her eyes glowing with cold resolve. "We'll destroy her strongest fortress: the illusion of truth she's crafted and her faith in her own reality. She'll tear off her own mask, in front of everyone, until she can no longer tell dream from reality."
Tavish raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Interesting. What's your plan? A frontal assault won't work. Her 'Illusion Weave' is too strong to face directly. She can make an entire army see mirages, make them fire on their own allies. That's suicide."
"Of course not," Yeon replied, a thin smile curving her lips—a predator's smile, knowing the prey has nowhere to run. "We won't break her illusions from the outside. We'll tear them apart from the inside. I'll use my ability to create subtle resonance that will cling to her illusions. Every time she crafts one, my power will trigger a tiny 'glitch.' Just enough to plant doubt. Only she will see it. A paranoia that will crawl beneath her skin, gnawing at her soul until it's hollow."
"A cruel psychological attack," Tavish murmured, touching his monocle, eyes gleaming with intellectual satisfaction. "Clever. I can help inject fragmented 'echoes' of herself into the Aethel information network, into every data crevice she controls. Not direct accusations, but faint whispers that make her question everything. Unexpected details. The exact location of her favorite hidden vase, fragments of private conversations only she knows—suddenly appearing in anonymous emails received by her colleagues. Truth slithering up from the darkest places, tainting her until she no longer trusts her own eyes."
"Exactly," Yeon said. "A slow-dripping poison. She will destroy herself. We'll simply hold the blade she uses to do it. And we'll make sure she does it in the most humiliating place."
Within a week, the seeds of doubt began to grow, sprouting from invisible whispers that wormed into Serena's mind, poisoning every corner of her thoughts, twisting her reality into a nightmare.
In her lavish office, surrounded by walls adorned with illusions of exotic flower gardens that filled the air with faint artificial fragrance—a tranquil oasis she had crafted herself—Serena sat behind a polished mahogany desk, poring over complex diplomatic reports, trying to focus. But her mind wandered. At the edge of her vision, a single petal of an illusory rose seemed to wilt and blacken for a moment, then return to perfection. It lasted only a split second, but it was enough to plant unease—a tiny wrinkle in the fabric of her reality. Serena frowned, rubbing her eyes.
"What was that?" she whispered, studying the flower as if it might reveal some fatal flaw, a crack in the matrix she had woven. She rubbed her temples, a faint migraine throbbing like a small hammer inside her skull.
In the days that followed, strange events continued—needles beneath her skin, piercing the core of her certainty. The illusion of a painting on her wall appeared slightly misaligned, its angle no longer flawless. Her reflection in the mirror moved out of sync, as if another entity mimicked her from the other side, hunting her, watching her from the dark glass. She began to feel watched. A subtle paranoia crept into her mind, gnawing at the edges of her sanity, a worm eating the apple from within.
"Did you see that, Elara?" Serena asked her assistant, pointing to the illusionary vase of flowers that had flickered for a moment, its form blurring like watercolor melting in the rain. Her voice was tense, nearly hysterical, with a note of despair.
Elara, a young woman with a worried expression, shook her head, her eyes scanning the room. "No, Madam Serena. Everything seems normal. Perhaps you're just tired? You look very pale."
"No! I saw it!" Serena's voice sharpened, desperate. "Check all channels! Make sure no one can infiltrate! They... they're after me! I know they're here! They want me insane!" She jumped from her chair, swiping documents from her desk in panic.
Paranoia eroded Serena's sanity, making her constantly check her surroundings, question her subordinates' loyalty—even her own shadow on the wall, which at times seemed to sneer at her. Whispers about "cracks" in Serena's official narrative began to echo in the halls of power, like rumors carried on the wind, slowly eroding her reputation, staining her name with a suspicion that could never be scrubbed clean.
"Madam Serena hasn't been... herself lately," whispered one diplomat to another in the elite dining room, his eyes gleaming with cruel curiosity. "I heard she's been hallucinating. What a shame, for someone so elegant."
"I heard her illusions are starting to glitch," his companion replied with a sly smile. "Something's off. Has she lost her touch? Or... is she hiding something?" His gaze hinted at more than mere sympathy.
Once the seeds of doubt had taken root, Yeon and Tavish escalated the pressure, turning Serena's illusions into her most lethal weapon.
"There's a critical diplomatic project Serena's leading: the peace treaty between the Kingdom of Aethelgard and the Solaran Federation," Tavish reported through encrypted comms, his voice calm and intellectually satisfied. "She'll be presenting her 'Illusion Weave' in a private simulation tomorrow. The perfect moment to embed something deeper—a horror that will tear her soul apart from the inside."
"Perfect," Yeon replied, her tone emotionless, though a cruel glint hid behind her glasses. "We won't stop the treaty. We'll manipulate the data, inject subtle 'corruption' into the presentation. A memory. An unwanted truth that will shatter her psyche. She'll see Griteul in every corner."
In her private simulation chamber—designed to be an impenetrable illusionary sanctuary—Serena stood before her trusted advisors, projecting a vision of a peaceful future crafted with stunning detail. Illusory green fields stretched endlessly, golden light bathing everything in calm. But amidst the beauty, a faint image of Griteul's ruins flickered, visible only to Serena. Among the flowers rose the silhouettes of charred corpses. In the breeze, she heard screams—children burning. She gasped, clutching her head, migraine stabbing like nails into her skull.
"Stop! Stop this now!" she cried suddenly, startling everyone, stepping back from the projection that now radiated a sinister aura. "There's... interference! Stop the projection! I can't take it anymore!"
"Technical glitch, Madam Serena?" asked one advisor, confused, checking a panel that showed all systems normal, green lights steady. "Everything appears fine on the controls. Are you alright?"
"I saw it!" Serena trembled, eyes wide, pointing at the now-fading projection, though the image of Griteul remained burned in her vision. "That... the ruined city of Griteul... the dead... That's not part of my illusion! You were supposed to see it too!" Her voice shook, fear unraveling her composure, tearing down the final mental walls she had built.
Serena's fear grew, devouring every part of her being, rotting her from the inside, like fruit eaten by worms. In her once-comforting private villa—now cold and hollow—she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of children crying, muffled through the walls, from the shadows. The scent of smoke and blood filled her nostrils. She turned on the lights, panting, heart pounding like a bird in a ribcage cage, desperate for escape.
"Who's there?" she called out hoarsely, stepping cautiously into the dark hallway, shadows dancing around her, forming terrifying shapes that existed only in her mind. No response. Only the wind, whispering familiar names—names of Griteul's victims—calling her with accusing tones, dragging her into a pit of guilt she couldn't explain.
"Did you hear anything, Elara?" she asked the next morning, eyes red and sunken from sleeplessness, her skin pale as a corpse. She trembled uncontrollably.
Elara looked concerned, her sympathy sincere, though tinged with fear. "No, Madam. Perhaps you're just exhausted. You need rest. You've been working too hard."
"No, I'm sure something's there..." Serena shook her head, confusion and terror swirling into a deadly cocktail poisoning every cell. She began talking to herself, arguing with shadows, accusing them, begging for mercy—a horrifying spectacle for anyone who heard her, as she slipped deeper into isolation and madness.
Whispers in Veridian about Serena's "mental instability" grew louder, like a rising tide threatening to sink the ship. Her once-untouchable position in the Northern Alliance's diplomatic department now teetered on the edge, her reputation stained irreparably.
At the Grand Conference in Veridian. The grand hall was filled with world leaders, Vessel elites, and ravenous media. A perfect stage for Yeon to utterly destroy Serena, in full view of the world, shattering her illusion of existence. Serena stepped onto the podium, her gait unsteady, spotlight revealing the exhaustion in her face, dark circles beneath her eyes, and a slight tremor in her hands. Behind her, the giant screen was ready to display her masterpiece illusion of a peaceful future—meant to restore her credibility and image.
Serena began her speech, voice striving for calm, projecting beautiful images and comforting words of hope. But a subtle disturbance crept in—not a technical glitch, but an existential distortion that tore at the seams.
On the screen, amid the illusion of lush flower gardens and endless blue skies, flashes of the dead Vessel victims in Griteul appeared—bodies charred, smoke rising, the scent of blood permeating the air. Soft crying echoed through the hall—not from speakers, but resonating directly into people's minds, piercing their awareness, a collective whisper from hell slowly overtaking them.
"What is this?" one delegate whispered, frowning, trying to understand what he saw and heard. His face shifted from confusion to horror.
"Must be a projection malfunction," another said, seeking a rational explanation, though goosebumps rose on his skin. He rubbed his eyes, unsure if what he saw was real.
But for Serena, the voices were deafening—screams, sobs, whispers calling her "murderer," "traitor." And worse, she heard Velhart, Droven, Nielle, and Dorios—faint but clear—whispering about "successful experiments" and "necessary sacrifices" in Griteul, as if proud of the atrocity and eager to drag her into the abyss with them.
"No! This... this can't be!" Serena screamed, her voice cracking, sweat soaking her pale face. She tried to stabilize the illusion, but every effort only deepened the distortion. Her eyes widened at the screen, now showing Velhart's sneering face, staring directly at her—a devil mocking her. "It wasn't me! You told me to! I'm not to blame! You're the ones at fault!" She pointed at the screen, then the delegates, her face a mask of horror and despair.
The illusion of peace collapsed completely, replaced by a projection of Griteul's horrors—smoking ruins and burned corpses. The cries of victims filled the hall, and the faces of Velhart and the others smiled wickedly, pointing accusing fingers like specters demanding justice—not from themselves, but from Yeon.
World leaders and Vessel elites exchanged shocked, horrified, disgusted looks. Whispers of "insane," "psychotic," "she's lost it" spread like wildfire. Some covered their mouths, others whispered while staring with a mix of pity and revulsion. Reporters captured every second of the chaos—the downfall of a once-revered diplomat.
"Madam Serena, please calm down. What's going on?" asked a security officer, approaching her cautiously, reaching for her trembling hand.
"They... they're there!" Serena pointed to the screen with a trembling hand, where her former allies stood among charred corpses, laughing. "They're blaming me! I was just... just following orders! I was only a pawn! Don't blame me!" Her voice cracked into sobs, falling deeper into madness.
Serena's credibility shattered in an instant, like glass broken beyond repair. Branded insane, she was dragged from the hall under the gaze of contempt and pity, whispers of scorn trailing behind her with every step toward ruin.
Now a shattered pariah, her soul torn by endless paranoia, Serena fled to her most secret refuge—a remote villa in the mountains, hidden among thick pine forests, once her sanctuary. She curled up in a dark corner, wrapped in a thin blanket, palms pressed to her temples, trying to drive away the voices and visions that never ceased. Griteul's shadow had become her reality, haunting every nightmare. Her illusions no longer protected her—they had become a prison of endless torment. Raw fear consumed her, guilt gnawed at her. She saw the faces of victims, heard their cries in every corner, in every shifting shadow.
That night, cold wind whispered through the pines, carrying silence. Serena clutched her head, rambling about "them" who haunted her. The villa door creaked open softly—a final breath from a tormented soul. Serena looked up, eyes red and swollen.
At the door stood Yeon. No longer a vision. She was real. Behind her, bathed in moonlight, were several black-suited figures—the villa staff, eyes wide with terror, hands bound, mouths gagged. One of them, the loyal head servant, was pale, eyes pleading.
Serena gasped, her breath caught in her throat. "You... you... this can't be... this is... an illusion! Go away!" She scrambled backward, crashing into the wall, body shaking violently. She had seen Yeon fall into the Abyss. This had to be another hallucination from her broken mind.
Yeon stepped inside, her footsteps almost silent on the cold wooden floor, like a ghost untethered from earth. The scent of ozone and silence followed her—a sign of her unnatural presence. Her eyes, behind her glasses, were dark pits of oblivion. She raised her right hand—and in her grasp was the severed head of the head servant, fresh blood dripping onto the floor, eyes frozen in terror. Yeon's presence now radiated monstrous dread—something no longer bound by humanity. A force, not a person.
Real horror crashed down on Serena, tearing apart her final illusion. This wasn't a hallucination. This was death, come to collect her.
"No... no! Please! I beg you!" Serena screamed, voice cracking into hysterical sobs, covering her face with bloodstained hands, trying to block out the horror. "I'll do anything! Don't kill me! Please...."
Yeon said nothing. She raised her left hand. A cold aura filled the room. In less than a blink, faster than lightning, a soft *fut* sounded. Serena's head was severed, thudding to the floor, her once-deceitful eyes now staring blankly. Her body collapsed, lifeless, blood pooling across the wooden floor.
Yeon stared at the headless body for a moment, then turned and vanished into the night's shadows, leaving the bound, trembling staff frozen in horror at what they had just witnessed.
The next day, officials from the Northern Alliance, concerned by Serena's abnormal silence, arrived at the villa. What they found horrified them—Serena's headless corpse lay amid a pool of blood, the severed head of her servant clutched in her hand. The stench of death and blood hung thick in the air. Panic and confusion spread across Veridian and the elite world.
Serena's four former allies—Nielle, Dorios, Droven, and Velhart—were stunned and disturbed by her brutal, mysterious death. They knew Serena's illusions were nearly impenetrable, and her horrific end revealed a threat far greater than they had imagined.
Velhart, the mastermind behind their schemes, now felt the chilling touch of an unknown danger. His sharp eyes narrowed, deep lines furrowing his brow. "Impossible," he whispered, staring at the report. "This isn't some mindless monster. This... is someone. Someone who knows. Someone truly dangerous." He rose from his chair, aura hardening. "I will find out who did this. No one interferes with my plan. Whoever it is—they will pay dearly."
The hunt had just begun.