"Only three knocks from the dead may pass."
They stood in silence. Not even the Rift hummed here.
"What does that mean?"
Minjae asked.
"Is it some kind of riddle?"
"Three knocks... from the dead?" Naeun muttered, frowning. "It's not a pressure seal. There's no core resonance point. No scanner."
"Maybe we all knock?"
Jinhwan suggested.
"See if it reacts."
They did. One by one, each raised a fist and rapped against the iron.
Minjae. Hana. Naeun. Jinhwan.
Three knocks each.
Silence. The door did not move.
Then, Jaemin stepped forward. Reluctantly. He didn't even know why his hand moved or his knuckles trembled before touching the iron.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The door screamed open, like metal crying out as its flesh was split.
Everyone stepped back instinctively. Hana put a hand in front of Jaemin.
"…What the hell?" Jinhwan muttered.
"Why him?"
No one answered. But they all thought the same thing.
He's marked. He's going to die.
Jaemin felt it too. He felt it crawl up his spine like frostbite and fear had fused. Something had chosen him. Not to save. To sacrifice.
Still, they stepped forward. Together.
The next chamber was massive. Vaulted ceilings. Pillars that dripped red. And then, they saw them.
Jisoo.
Rin.
Hung from spears, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition except for the gear still strapped to their broken limbs. One of Rin's daggers had been forced into her jaw.
Jisoo's torso was pinned to the wall, but her legs were twenty feet away, stuck like antlers above the arch.
Hana fell to her knees, hand covering her mouth. Minjae turned away and vomited.
"They're trophies."
Jinhwan said quietly, trembling, jaw clenched.
"Whoever—or whatever—put them here wanted us to see this."
They moved on, feet dragging, dread thick as swamp mud.
Then—the mirrors.
Dozens of them. Embedded across the corridor. One for each of them.
Each reflection showed not life, but death. Their deaths.
Naeun was split down the middle like torn paper. Minjae had his head crushed inward, like a popped helmet.
Hana's body was faceless, head removed, but still standing. Jinhwan's limbs were skewered to a wall, eyes wide open, still burning red.
But Jaemin…His reflection was begging. Kneeling. Arms missing. Teeth shattered, Head halved.
A string of corpses surrounded him, whispering his name.
"Jaemin… Jaemin… Jaemin…"
He stepped back from the mirror, eyes wild.
"This is just an illusion."
Hana whispered, trying to stay steady.
"It's just the Rift. It wants to scare us. Stay focused."
But no one was focused anymore.
They were already losing.
A sharp gasp broke the silence.
Minjae was standing dead still, eyes locked on his reflection—the one with his skull caved in like a broken melon... neck at a sickening angle.
"…No. No no no no—" he began to mumble, stepping backward and forward all at once.
"This isn't real. This isn't how I die. I-I was supposed to see my sister graduate. I was gonna go home. I was gonna—"
He dropped to his knees, fists clenched.
"We're not supposed to die like this."
Jaemin's lips parted, but no words came out.
Then they saw it—Minjae's dagger.
His hands were trembling, but he held them right over his heart, angled in.
"No more. I can't. I want out of this. I want to wake up—I want this nightmare to end!"
"MINJAE!!!"
Hana screamed, bolting forward.
She grabbed his wrist, just as the tip of the blade grazed skin.
"Look at me! LOOK AT ME, DAMMIT!"
She shouted, tears streaking down her face.
"This Rift wants you to break! You think you're alone? You think the rest of us aren't terrified?!"
"I see us dead, Hana!"
He yelled, eyes wild.
"Don't you get it? We're already corpses. They just haven't cleaned us off the wall yet!"
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling the blade away.
He struggled for a moment, then collapsed into her, sobbing, whispering something over and over.
"…Seoul. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to go home…"
Jaemin watched them, frozen. Something in his chest ached—more than fear, more than disgust.
He realised something, standing there.
Death wasn't the scariest thing in this Rift. Living long enough to watch everyone else die... was.
Whenever a team completed a Rift mission, the anomaly would eventually collapse inward on itself, releasing a thick cloud of violet-black haze known as Abyssal Dust.
Invisible to normal senses but heavy with core residue, this dust was gathered, processed, and crystallised under immense heat into something far more valuable: Rift Crystals.
These crystals were coveted in every market, worth their weight in precious metal, often more. They powered elite-grade weaponry, fueled Core enhancements, and served as currency in the black sector.
But before they became the gleaming orbs traded by Coreborn and Covenant leaders, someone had to process them.
Someone like Jaemin.
He'd been one of those nameless workers, drenched in soot, gloves torn, breathing in poison-tinged air in cramped facilities far below city lines. He knew the stench of Abyssal Dust better than anyone.
He knew how it clung to your skin no matter how long you scrubbed, how it seeped into your lungs until every breath felt just a little shorter.
But today was the first time he saw where it came from.
Today, Jaemin didn't see it as smoke or crystal or wage slips.
He saw it as what it truly was—ashes. The remnants of terror. The breath of monsters.And worse: their laughter.
The Abyss wasn't just a battlefield—it was a performance. Every creature, every malformed shadow, wasn't just killing—it was experimenting.
Each Riftborn horror seemed to have a signature, a favourite move, a preferred method of mutilation. As if they took pride in it. As if each death were an art form, and humanity was nothing more than canvas.
Jaemin understood now. These things weren't animals or beasts or mindless terrors. They were artisans of suffering. Practising their craft.
And we were the showcase.
The corridor narrowed as they stepped further into Tier 2. Gone were the grotesque, meat-walled horrors of the lower floors. Here, silence reigned.
Every footfall echoed unnaturally loud. But it wasn't the silence that unsettled them. It was the mirrors.
They lined every wall, floor to ceiling. Some pristine. Others jagged, broken, warped. There were no seams, no ceiling.
Jaemin paused. He didn't know why. Something tugged at him. A sense of being watched. Of being followed by someone not quite there.
"...There's someone in this one," Jaemin murmured, breath hitching.
"She's crying. Black veil... she's not moving."
Hana turned immediately, her face pale.
"Did you say veil?"
He nodded.
These crystals were coveted in every market, worth their weight in precious metal, often more. They powered elite-grade weaponry, fueled Core enhancements, and served as currency in the black sector.
But before they became the gleaming orbs traded by Coreborn and Covenant leaders, someone had to process them.
Someone like Jaemin.
He'd been one of those nameless workers, drenched in soot, gloves torn, breathing in poison-tinged air in cramped facilities far below city lines. He knew the stench of Abyssal Dust better than anyone.
He knew how it clung to your skin no matter how long you scrubbed, how it seeped into your lungs until every breath felt just a little shorter.
But today was the first time he saw where it came from.
Today, Jaemin didn't see it as smoke or crystal or wage slips.
He saw it as what it truly was—ashes. The remnants of terror. The breath of monsters.And worse: their laughter.
The Abyss wasn't just a battlefield—it was a performance. Every creature, every malformed shadow, wasn't just killing—it was experimenting.
Each Riftborn horror seemed to have a signature, a favourite move, a preferred method of mutilation. As if they took pride in it. As if each death were an art form, and humanity was nothing more than canvas.
Jaemin understood now. These things weren't animals or beasts or mindless terrors. They were artisans of suffering. Practising their craft.
And we were the showcase.
The corridor narrowed as they stepped further into Tier 2. Gone were the grotesque, meat-walled horrors of the lower floors. Here, silence reigned.
Every footfall echoed unnaturally loud. But it wasn't the silence that unsettled them. It was the mirrors.
They lined every wall, floor to ceiling. Some pristine. Others jagged, broken, warped. There were no seams, no ceiling.
Jaemin paused. He didn't know why. Something tugged at him. A sense of being watched. Of being followed by someone not quite there.
In a mirror that refused to reflect him, she stood.
A woman, slender, still, draped in black.
Her dress clung like wet ash, soaked in something far heavier than water.
A veil, sheer and shadowy, cloaked her head… hiding the black tears that bled down her face in slow, inky trails.
Beneath the veil, something pulsed faintly—
A jagged Core fragment, wedged dead centre into her forehead like a curse, still glowing with dying embers.
She faced slightly away from him, arms limp, like a doll abandoned mid-play.
But she wept.
Silently—but not soundlessly.
Each sob brushed the air like glass cracking under pressure.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Like rain that had forgotten how to fall.
His body shivered with each tremor.
"...There's someone in this one," Jaemin murmured, breath hitching.
"She's crying. Black veil... she's not moving."
Hana turned immediately, her face pale.
"Did you say veil?"
He nodded.
"Black. Long. I can't see her face."
Hana's hand went to her blade. Her voice dropped low and urgent.
"That's not a person. That's the Mirror Warmaiden."
"Who?"
Minjae asked, already stepping back.
"A former Coreborn. Someone whose core embedded itself straight into her skull. It fractured her mind. She's part of the abyss now. She lives in the reflection, feeds on it. If she sees you... If you see her face..."
She hesitated.
"You go mad. Your mind breaks, and it doesn't come back. You don't die by her hand. You do it yourself."
A long silence followed.
Jinhwan readied his blade.
"How do we kill something that hides in mirrors?"
"There is a way. She moves the mirror to mirror, but she can only exist in reflections where her veil faces away. If it faces us, it's bait. The real one hides where her face is hidden. Find that, and we break it."
They began moving. Slowly. Carefully. Naeun unravelled a filament of thread from her pouch, casting it like a spider's web between the mirrors. It twitched slightly with movement. An echo.
Minjae, shaken from earlier, stumbled toward one of the mirrors. His reflection looked normal. But then... it didn't blink.
He recoiled.
"A former Coreborn. Someone whose core embedded itself straight into her skull. It fractured her mind. She's part of the abyss now. She lives in the reflection, feeds on it. If she sees you... If you see her face..."
She hesitated.
"You go mad. Your mind breaks, and it doesn't come back. You don't die by her hand. You do it yourself."
A long silence followed.
Jinhwan readied his blade.
"How do we kill something that hides in mirrors?"
"There is a way. She moves the mirror to mirror, but she can only exist in reflections where her veil faces away. If it faces us, it's bait. The real one hides where her face is hidden. Find that, and we break it."
They began moving. Slowly. Carefully. Naeun unravelled a filament of thread from her pouch, casting it like a spider's web between the mirrors. It twitched slightly with movement. An echo.
Minjae, shaken from earlier, stumbled toward one of the mirrors. His reflection looked normal. But then... it didn't blink.
He recoiled.
"God. I can't. I can't do this. I want this to end. I just want to go home."
He fumbled with his dagger, lifting it shakily toward his chest.
"Minjae!" Hana caught his hand mid-motion, holding him back again.
"Breathe. Look at me. You're still alive. This isn't the end unless you let it be. We survive. We make it back. You said you wanted to see your family again in Seoul, remember? You don't die here. Not now."
His grip loosened. The blade clattered.
Naeun's breath snapped.
The Warmaiden had moved.
"Behind!" Jinhwan shouted.
They spun. In one of the mirrors, she faced away again.
"That's her! The real one!"
Hana and Jinhwan struck. Sparks erupted against the glass. It cracked, but didn't break.
Jaemin moved instinctively, pressing closer to one of the untouched mirrors. And then he froze.
Her face was there. Inches from his own. The veil lifted slightly.
Eyes like bright yellow suns burned through streaks of weeping black blood. Her expression was sorrowful. Agonized. Beautifully broken.
Jaemin couldn't move. Couldn't scream. The reflection pulled at his mind, like nails scratching at memory.
CLINK!!!!
Hana's blade shattered the mirror beside him. She pulled him down just before the Warmaiden could reach through the glass.
"Never look into her face!"
More mirrors shimmered. Her voice began to echo, soft sobs turning to strangled screams.
Jinhwan roared, slamming his sword down into the final mirror where her veil still turned. With a thunderous crack, it shattered.
The crying stopped.
All mirrors blackened. One by one, they turned dull. Her presence faded like mist.
Silence returned.
The team exhaled.
Jaemin, still trembling, looked at his hands.
The air was heavier now. Denser. The further they moved through the corridor, the more silence replaced the tension.
Then, a tremor.
Nothing new. Just a rumble. Jaemin braced instinctively, hands clutching the sides of the walls as dust rained softly over them.
But then...
CRACCK!
The crystalline bottle slipped from one of the tanks' hands, the impact painting the cracked floor with streaks of water. Minjae cursed, barely above a whisper.
"Reflections."
Jaemin said quickly, breath hitching.
"Don't look at them. Cover your eyes—wrap them now!"
The warning came too late.
"Don't look at them. Cover your eyes—wrap them now!"
The warning came too late.
A woman emerged.
No veil now.
The black dress clung to her like rotted skin. Her face—gaunt, mournful, streaked with black tears that bled straight from the fractured Core shard buried in her forehead.
Her eyes were hollow.
Her weeping didn’t sound. It was scripture—spoken in reverse, a hymn that scratched at the mind.
And as she stood, the reflection twisted, rejecting her.
The Mirror Warmaiden had breached the veil.
Unholy. Unwanted. Unnatural.
The moment felt still. Cold. Every soul froze in their skin. The two Bastion Coreborn—stoic tanks who had fought tooth and nail in Tier 3—were now unmoving. Staring. Drenched in fear. One of them dropped his weapon.
They had seen her eyes.
The Warmaiden tilted her head and smiled, black blood weeping from her eye sockets like tar. Her arms spread outward, and without touching them, the two tanks were lifted slowly into the air, limbs outstretched like crucified puppets.
And then, they dropped.
The group had their eyes bound, per Jaemin's call, but nothing could block out the sounds.
One of the tanks—heavy boots dragging, breath gurgling—slammed his skull into the stone with a wet crack. Once. Again. A third time—Splatter. It was like watching a melon break. The dull squelch echoed far too long.
The second tank screamed something unintelligible before shoving a shard of glass into his eye.
And then the other. And then he kept pushing, jamming the glass deeper by smashing his face again and again into the jagged ground.
The sound was worse than the visuals ever could've been.
Jaemin couldn't breathe. Even with the cloth tied over his eyes, he could feel her presence growing closer. Her breath—if she breathed—was like wind behind a closed door, cold and waiting.
SHE WAS UNHOLY.
And then, he felt weightlessness.
He was rising.
"No, no, n,o no, no, please—"
Jaemin whimpered.
"I'm not like them! I'm not strong! I'm not like them, I'm not—"
The cloth was torn from his face, and there she was.
Her eyes—yellow, cracked with golden fire, bleeding black like paint down the porcelain white of her face. Her gaze was a thousand knives, and yet empty, void-like. There was no malice, no rage. Just cold inevitability.
Jaemin's screams turned guttural, his body trembling violently midair. The horror of death was no longer abstract. It was a mirror, reflecting everything inside him that he never wanted to see.
The abyss didn't just kill you. It broke you first.
"No more..."
He whimpered, voice shaking.
And then—Hana moved.
A blur of emerald light. She tore the cloth from her own eyes—not to see, but to act. In her hand: a jagged shard from the broken crystal bottle. Her voice didn't scream.
"Look at yourself instead!!!"
She slammed the cracked glass in front of the Warmaiden's eyes.
A scream exploded from the creature—not from her mouth, but her very soul. A sound of blinding rage and rejection. Her body contorted in unnatural angles, thrashing against invisible chains.
The reflection turned against her.
The Warmaiden fell, face-first, smashing into the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Her veil burned away, her skin cracking. She was lifted into the air—her body upside down—suspended by her own cursed power.
And then—she ignited.
Fire from no source consumed her. Screaming like a banshee, her twisted form burned, rising higher into the dark.
Then silence.
Just the sound of everyone breathing hard. No one said a word.
And then—Hana moved.
A blur of emerald light. She tore the cloth from her own eyes—not to see, but to act. In her hand: a jagged shard from the broken crystal bottle. Her voice didn't scream.
"Look at yourself instead!!!"
She slammed the cracked glass in front of the Warmaiden's eyes.
A scream exploded from the creature—not from her mouth, but her very soul. A sound of blinding rage and rejection. Her body contorted in unnatural angles, thrashing against invisible chains.
The reflection turned against her.
The Warmaiden fell, face-first, smashing into the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Her veil burned away, her skin cracking. She was lifted into the air—her body upside down—suspended by her own cursed power.
And then—she ignited.
Fire from no source consumed her. Screaming like a banshee, her twisted form burned, rising higher into the dark.
Then silence.
Just the sound of everyone breathing hard. No one said a word.
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