From the swirling miasma, a figure slowly emerged.
She descended like a drifting petal. Weightless, graceful. A young girl in a pristine white dress landed at the center of the glowing magic circle, her feet barely touching the ground.
Silvery hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, almost glowing against the dungeon's dim ambiance. Her pale blue eyes shimmered, holding an unnatural brightness. Too pure for this place.
But the mask.
It hung off the side of her head like a parasite. Jet black with gold-glinting eyes, and a carved, crooked smile that never moved. But looked like it wanted to. It didn't belong to her. It clung.
She curtsied, slow and elegant, holding the edges of her skirt with practiced grace. As she rose, her gaze settled on Leo.
"Shall we begin?" she asked sweetly.
The mask replied, boyish, cold. "Yes. We should copy him."
Their voices danced, taking turns like children sharing a secret rhyme.
"Will you start?" the girl whispered, her hand moving toward the mask.
"We will start," came the boy's voice again. "By copying you."
"By becoming you."
With every word, her fingers traced the edge of the mask. Then, in one fluid motion, she placed it over her face.
"Defeat lies within one's true self," they chanted together, now in eerie harmony. "For the true body holds many limits. Battles fought within the mind… Freed from these, we are limitless."
The magic circle pulsed beneath her feet. The air tightened.
Leo stood his ground, his grip around his sword firm. The temperature dropped. The girl—no, the being, took a step forward, now masked fully. Her tone deepened, layered with both voices at once.
"We are," she said.
She paused, her head tilting slightly.
"I am… the Mask of Truth."
But something was wrong.
There was a tremor in her fingers.
The grace from earlier cracked. Barely noticeable, but enough for Leo to catch. Each movement after that looked rehearsed. Mechanic. Forced.
Then it broke.
She fell.
Her knees gave out, slamming to the stone floor. Her hands flattened against it, trembling violently. She let out a sharp gasp, her shoulders convulsing as if something inside her was ripping apart.
Leo took a step back. Cautious. Silent.
The mask twitched on her face, and a deep, distorted scream tore from her throat.
She levitated suddenly, jerked up by invisible strings. Black mist spiraled up her body, and her head snapped back with each spasm. It wasn't possession. It was a war. One being torn from another.
The pain twisted her limbs, her whole frame writhing. The dungeon responded. Shaking, humming. The energy was alive. Angry.
With a sound like tearing metal, the mask flew off, and a shockwave slammed through the chamber.
Both the girl and the mask were flung apart like broken dolls. They crashed into the stone walls, splitting the altar in two, dust and debris rained down. Cracks webbed across the floor like lightning frozen in time.
Then silence. Except for crying.
Soft. Childlike.
The girl clutched her arms to her chest, curled up where she landed. "A monster," she whimpered.
"A monster appeared…" the boy's voice echoed faintly from the mask, now lying face down on the stone.
Leo's heart thudded. The chamber felt heavier, colder.
"We're scared…" she sobbed, voice trembling.
"Help… Mama… help us…"
The plea rang out like a haunting melody, wrong in all the right ways. The words weren't for him, but they reached him anyway.
And then came light.
Twin sparks ignited from opposite corners of the room, floating upward like embers. They traced looping arcs in the air, weaving toward each other. As they met in the center, a shape began to form. A doorway. No—a gate.
The structure materialized from the light itself, edges shimmering.
Then came the voice.
Smooth. Velvet-soft. Teasing.
"Oh my~" it cooed, playful like a purring cat.
Leo stiffened.
"That's the first time my babies have lost," it said, "without even fighting."
The gates groaned open. Thunderous.
The girl stirred beneath the rubble. She rose slowly, trembling but determined. The mask floated back to her, hovering by her side like a shadow drawn home. Without looking back, she ran through the gate, straight toward a lone throne resting in the shadows beyond.
Leo didn't move. He just watched.
She dropped to her knees beside the throne and rested her head against its arm, like a child seeking refuge. The mask lowered beside her, gently pressing to her temple like an affectionate touch.
And then the treasure box moved.
It had sat there, ordinary, unnoticed. Until it sprouted a limb.
A single, spindly hand reached out. Its wooden surface creaked as it brushed the girl's head with sickening tenderness. Almost… motherly.
And then the box's jagged mouth opened.
"Mama is proud of you," it said.
Each word chillingly soft.
Leo's breath hitched. His whole body tensed. That voice. Gentle, soothing, wrong.
His fingers loosened slightly around his sword. Not out of ease. But disbelief.
This wasn't just another trial.
This dungeon… was alive.