The world around the Cult Leader had vanished.
In its place stood an endless [House of Mirrors].
Every direction was lined with towering mirrors stretching far beyond sight. Their polished surfaces reflected one another endlessly, creating a maze of infinite images.
At the ground level, the lich saw countless versions of himself staring back at him. Reflection after reflection folded into another reflection, each one spawning countless more.
The images stretched away into infinity until it beca impossible to tell where the real world ended and the reflections began.
Above him was another level. And then another.
Each level was filled with even more mirrors, reflecting the levels below and above them in an endless cascade of images. The sa skeletal figure appeared thousands upon thousands of tis, staring down from every angle imaginable.
Then there was the highest level. Far above everything else, at the top of the impossible structure, lay the reflection from the highest angle.
From there, the entire [House of Mirrors] could be seen at once.
Countless floors. Countless mirrors. Countless reflections.
And in every single one of them stood the Cult Leader, trapped within an infinite prison of his own image.
When the lich's gaze landed upon his reflection, he froze.
How long had it been since he had looked at himself?
A hundred years? A thousand? Perhaps even longer.
The truth was, the mont he beca a lich, he was unable to truly look at himself anymore. The price he had paid was too great. Too terrible. Too painful.
For countless years, he had buried those mories beneath layers of ambition, madness, and obsession. He had convinced himself that the sacrifice was worth it. That it was necessary.
Yet now, surrounded by an endless sea of mirrors, there was nowhere to look but at himself.
Every reflection showed the sa thing.
A skeleton in broken armor.
A creature sustained by necromancy.
A hollow shell animated by will alone.
He was not a man. Not anymore. The infinite reflections stretched into the distance, each one silently forcing him to confront the truth he had spent centuries avoiding.
And for the briefest mont, the green flas in his sockets flickered. Not with anger or hatred.
But regret…
However, in the next mont, his eyes turned cold and ruthless. Necrotic mana swirled around his bony hands once again as he prepared to shatter the spell.
"Constantine," he said, barely suppressing the rage in his voice.
"You are adept at mind gas. I will give you that."
Just as he was about to break the mirrors in front of him, he heard sothing that made him freeze.
Giggles, soft and innocent.
The laughter of children echoed in the air.
It reverberated through the endless [House of Mirrors], drifting from sowhere beyond the countless reflections.
mories that had been buried deep within his mind slowly resurfaced.
A daughter… a son… and a wife...
A loving family.
The lich's body trembled ever so slightly as those mories flooded his mind. They were so old that they felt like they belonged to another lifeti.
The mana swirling around his hands gradually dissipated as he turned to one of the mirrors.
There, within the reflection, stood a pair of little children. A boy and a girl. Their faces were blurred, obscured by the haze of countless years, yet sothing about them felt achingly familiar.
The children darted from one reflection to another, their gentle and lovely voices echoing throughout the [House of Mirrors].
"Daddy, co play with us!"
"Daddy, where are you?"
The boy ran ahead while the girl chased after him, both disappearing into one mirror only to erge from another. Their laughter rang through the endless chamber of reflections.
And for a mont, the lich simply stood there, watching the reflections of those two little children. His trembling, bony hand reached out toward them. His jaws opened and then closed as he tried to call out to them. But… he didn't even rember their nas anymore.
Forgotten mories clawed their way to the surface of his crazed mind, bringing with them a pain far greater than any wound inflicted upon his body.
So many years had passed. He couldn't even recall their faces anymore.
All this pain and suffering he had endured. All the madness that he had endured. All so he could reunite with them. But suddenly they felt like strangers to him.
No… perhaps... it was he who was the stranger.
A gust of wind swept through the place, and a sweet, lodious voice full of love and longing echoed through the chamber.
"Honey… are you coming ho?"
This ti, the lich's figure trembled in shock.
Though he could no longer rember the voice, he knew exactly who it belonged to.
Fear and anticipation gripped his being. Slowly, he turned to the source of the voice.
There, in one of the mirrors, stood a woman. Her face, just like the children's, was blurred by ti and mory. She wore a simple white sundress, and one of her hands was stretched toward him, gently beckoning.
"Co, my love," said the woman warmly. "It is ti to return ho."
The lich took one step. Then another. And another.
"My… love," he said softly as he, too, reached out with his bony hand.
The green flas in his eyes turned placid as he slowly approached the woman in the mirror. The sound of children's laughter continued to echo in the chamber, creating a wonderful atmosphere full of love, warmth, and happiness.
The woman's fair and slender hand mysteriously passed through the mirror and reached toward him.
At long last, the lich gently placed his hand in hers.
"It is ti to co…" the woman's voice echoed once again.
Then, in the very next mont, the woman's voice turned cold and distorted, as though dozens of voices were speaking in unison.
She finished her sentence in an ominous tone.
"…to the Beyond."
The mist obscuring her face was instantly swept away. But beneath it was not a human face, but a writhing mass of tentacles and tendrils.
The mont the lich saw that horrifying sight, a cry of terror escaped his jaws. He instinctively tried to retreat, but it was too late. The slender hand had already turned into a thick tentacle as it coiled around his arm and held him firmly in place.
Shatter!
The [House of Mirror] shattered into countless fragnts before dissipating into the air.
But the lich stood there motionlessly for a brief mont. His mind was drowning in nostalgia, pain, longing, heartbreak, terror, and finally… rage.
And in that fleeting instant, while he was lost in his mories and madness, a shadow silently shot toward him.
The runes on the Blades of Fulgrim flared to life as the Heavenly Demon drove the weapons deep into the lich's body. One shortsword pierced through his ribcage, while the other barely penetrated his spine.
Then the Cult Leader's body was engulfed in searing flas!
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