The wind had died.
The trees seed to lean away from the clear as if kneeling.
Trembling in fear.
Vergil’s boots crunched on the leaves. His shelild now in his right hand as he slowly drew his sword slowly, the scarping made a sound too loud in the dead silence.
Eleanor stood behind him, composed but on guard. He breathed slowed to near silence. Her eyes sharp whilst flickering.
But Vergil knew her well enough to sense the fear she wasn’t showing.
Sothing was wrong.
Very wrong.
"Analysis," Vergil whispered.
The system panel appeared on his retina as the silenced seed to deepen as the data showed itself.
Na: Morvax
Level: 21
Tier: I
Race: Demon
Title: The Flesh Echo
Authority – Transformation: Grants the ability to freely reshape its body, replicating the physical form and surface details of any being it has observed or imagined.
Stats:
Strength: 45
Constitution: 45
Dexterity: 42
Intelligence: 40
Wisdom: 32
Demonic Energy: 50
Passive Skills:
Mimic Flesh (D) – Can flawlessly replicate the appearance of any living being, down to scars, blemishes, and voice.
Instinctive Adaptation (D) – Rapidly learns and mimics fighting styles through observation. The longer it watches, the more precise the copy.
Monstrous Vitality (D ) – Regenerates wounds over ti. Immune to minor pain.
Active Skills:
Morph Form (D) – Transforms limbs into organic weapons–claws, blades, spikes.
Echo Movent (D) – Temporarily mirrors a target’s movents at 75% speed.
Flesh Puppet (C) – Conjures a grotesque puppet of a copied form, stitched from corrupted flesh. Sentient. Aggressive.
’I’m screwed. Physical stats from 45 to 50? That’s madness,’ Vergil thought, heart sinking.
The underbrush shifted.
And then it stepped out.
Vergil stopped breathing.
It was him.
Not just his face. His clothing , hair, sword, stance. Each and every detail was perfect.
Except the eyes. Not his own, but stretched too wide, gleaming like wet glass.
And the smile: slow, splitting at the corners as if the skin had forgotten where to stop, exposing gums black as rot
"This body is quite nice," the thing said in his voice.
Behind him, Eleanor adjusted her grip on her dagger. She said nothing, but Vergil could feel the heat rising behind her calm mask.
Morvax tilted its head and stepped forward.
Its footsteps mimicked his perfectly. But they were off. Lacking weight. Like sothing pretending to walk... almost human, but not quite.
"Do you know what it’s like, wearing soone else’s skin?" it murmured. "At first, it’s loose. Doesn’t feel right. But then..."
It cracked its neck. The sound was wet.
"Then you start to fit in. The body rembers. The style. The voice. The fear."
Vergil said nothing.
Morvax’s sword hand flickered–warping into a tangle of tendrils before snapping back into a perfect copy of his own.
"I’ve worn better than you," it whispered. "But... your fear slls honest."
Vergil stepped forward, blade raised–but cold dread coiled in his gut.
This wasn’t a demon.
It was a reflection.
A demon that had learned to beco him.
Morvax lunged.
Vergil parried, only for the creature’s stance to shift mid-motion, twisting its limbs into his exact footwork.
Steel rang against flesh. His own technique, reflected back at him, flawless but faster.
He swung with Power Strike, but the stat gap was too great. Morvax deflected it with ease.
Steel rang against flesh–his own technique mirrored back at him.
Vergil fell back, shield high, breath ragged.
Morvax laughed.
Not loud–just a soft, breathy sound... from his own throat.
Then it whispered.
"I think I’ll kill her with your voice."
’Well shit, he’s even making jokes.’
Vergil’s eyes widened.
He turned and grabbed Eleanor without thinking. His mind surged.
’Add all points to dexterity!’ He scread in his mind. Heart racing faster than ever.
[Stat Allocation Confird, added 3 points. Mana Manipulation Activated.]
---
"Hold on," he growled...and ran.
He didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t speak.
Just ran.
Branches tore at his face. Brambles slashed at his boots. His shield slamd against his ribs with every step. Eleanor’s weight in his arms felt too light. Limp, unresisting.
But her hand clutched the back of his tunic. Weak, but steady.
A silent ssage of saying You’re not alone.
Still, all Vergil could hear was one word, deafening and relentless:
Run.
Run.
Run.
Behind him, sothing laughed.
Not in his voice anymore.
It had changed.
Vergil didn’t look back.
He didn’t need to.
A tall, unnatural silhouette erged from the trees, dragging itself forward with explosive steps, as if it had all the ti in the world.
Morvax’s true form was grotesque and eerily regal.
A towering humanoid wrapped in ribbons of gray flesh that writhed like worms. Its skin, like stretched wax, revealed twitching muscles and pulsing black veins beneath.
Its face was a void-like mask–blank, save for a gaping mouth filled with crooked, childlike teeth. A doll’s grin, rotten with ti.
Six arms unfolded from its sides.
A skeletal hand. A bladed claw. A warped human imitation. A dripping stump. A hooked bone-sickle.
And one... that matched Vergil’s perfectly.
It moved without sound, but the forest grew colder with each step.
Eleanor’s voice reached his ear, a faint whisper "...We’re not fast enough."
Vergil clenched his jaw. "Shut up," he hissed. "We’ll make it... sohow."
Vergil was thinking of a plan. He knew he couldn’t outrun him. Even if Eleanor casted a spell, it wouldnt be fazed. All he could do was run
But even he heard the tremor in his voice.
Then Morvax spoke–not mimicking now, but in its own guttural, layered tone.
"Make it?
Make it where?"
The trees groaned. Roots twisted under its weight.
Vergil ran harder.
Through tangling roots and splintered branches. His lungs burned. Blood coated his tongue. Eleanor clung to him–silent, but alive.
Behind them, Morvax followed.
The transformation demon had shed all pretense. Its body now massive and hunched. Its flesh ash-gray and slick. Eyes blinked where no eyes should be–two, then four, then six–watching from all angles.
Vergil’s boots pounded the dirt. His reinforced hunting leathers were soaked in blood from a deep gash across his back.
Still, Eleanor didn’t scream.
He felt her heartbeat against his chest–fast, tight. Composed, but afraid.
Then–
SHHK!
A bladed limb tore through the air.
Agony.
It slashed across his back, ripping leather, slicing deep. Blood surged. His leg buckled.
But he didn’t stop.
Didn’t let go.
[You have been critically injured. Passive Skill: Adrenaline Surge has activated.]
A surge of raw energy flooded his body. Pain dulled. Senses sharpened. Muscles locked into focus.
[Skill Activated: Shadow Dash]
Shadows coiled around his legs. Then he blinked forward.
Twenty feet.
Then forty.
Trees blurred. The world sared.
Behind him, Morvax shrieked,a sound of pure hunger and fury.
Vergil didn’t slow.
He ran through torn lungs.
Through screaming muscle.
But he held her.
---
A broken temple rose through the forest like the bones of a forgotten god as Vergil crashed through itd archway before collapsing behind a shattered altar
His knees struck the ground, his back scread as blood poured.
But his arms never let go.
He held her.
Always.
Eleanor stirred, breath shallow. Her eyes drifted to the torn leather clinging to his back.
"...You should’ve dropped ."
Vergil’s breath beca ragged. Sweat dripped down. His voice, raw. "I don’t drop what’s mine."
Eleanor stared at him for a long mont. Her eyes didn’t soften.
But sothing changed.
"...Possessive," she muttered. "Stupid."
Then, quieter: "But... thank you."
Her hand hovered near his side, not touching.
Just close. Close enough.
"We should be alright for now..." Vergil muttered, every inhale felt like a blade as hs slumped against the stone.
Thr weight of exhaustion dragging at his gear now soaked in blood.
Eleanor knelt beside him in silence. A faint glow shimred around her hands. Minor Restoration, weak and flickering. The magic pulsed softly against the gash along his back. It slowed the bleeding, dulled the pain, but barely.
Vergil grunted as the warmth faded. "It’s fine," he said, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I don’t die that easily."
Eleanor didn’t smile. Her gaze stayed fixed on him. Steady, intense. Behind her calm exterior, sothing simred. Worry, held tight behind will.
He let his head fall back, resting against cracked stone. "That demon... he’s a real problem."
His voice lowered. "He can transform into anything. Not just appearances. He mimics movent, behavior. It’s not shapeshifting. It’s worse."
Eleanor’s tone was quiet, steady. "How dangerous?"
Vergil exhaled slowly. "He could walk into a village, wear soone’s face, their voice, their habits. No one would know. Not until it was already too late."
His fists clenched. "And I’m sure he wasn’t even trying. That fight? He was playing with us. Testing us."
Eleanor’s eyes flicked toward the dark woods beyond the temple ruins. Her expression tightened.
"That’s exactly what bothers ," she said.
Vergil glanced at her, alert.
"He should’ve killed us," Eleanor said quietly. "But he didn’t. He let us go."
Vergil’s stomach tightened. "Which ans?"
"Which ans he’s not hunting–he’s watching. Guarding sothing."
Vergil dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "If it’s the second one... whatever that thing is might be even worse than him."
A cold silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken horrors.
Outside, the wind picked up. Low and hollow, weaving through broken stone and dead grass like whispers from the grave.
Eleanor broke the stillness. "We have two options. Head back now... or see what he’s guarding. Then decide."
Vergil nodded slowly. "One’s the smart call."
"The other’s suicide," he muttered, glancing at the crimson stain along his side. "And I’m injured. No dicine. No bandages. And worst of all, there were no healing potions."
He let out a breath, then pushed off the wall with a quiet groan.
"We head back and regroup. Resupply. Then we return, back on our terms."
Eleanor rose beside him. Her gaze was steady.
"Agreed."
Together, they stepped into the cold wind, leaving the ruined temple behind.
And in the darkness beyond the stone, the monster’s secret still waited–unseen, untouched... and perhaps watching.
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