The warped: Dark seed saga

This world wasn't real.

Lila knew it instinctively.

It wasn't just the way her body felt weightless, as though she were an unseen specter drifting through the air. It wasn't just the muted way the battlefield stretched around her, the colors washed in sepia like an old photograph.

It was the knowledge—deep, undeniable—that none of this was happening now.

This was a memory.

And she was here to witness its final moments.

The grand underground hall within the core's inner sanctum stretched wide and ruined. Its once-pristine pillars now fractured, laced with cracks that pulsed with fading energy. The ceiling had caved in places, exposing the sky beyond—a swirling void of dark clouds and eerie silver light, as though even the heavens had fractured under the weight of this war. The walls bore the scars of past conflicts—burns, shattered stone, deep claw marks from beings long gone.

And at the center stood Eri.

She did not kneel. She did not falter.

She was a wound against the battlefield itself, draped in shadows that pulsed with the remnants of the Doom Trees' power. The thorns that coiled at her feet were not passive—they pulsed like veins, spreading outward in defiance, cracking the ground beneath her.

Her Unbound stood with her—Guardians and Enforcers alike, those who had refused Sylva's rule. Their armor was battered, their breaths ragged, but their resolve remained.

They had fought against a god, and still, they stood.

But even Lila, an observer removed from time, could see it.

They had already lost.

The air smelled of scorched stone and old magic, the remnants of battles long since decided. The weight of history pressed against her, whispering in the back of her mind. This was a place where choices had been made, where fates had been sealed.

Across the hall, the victors advanced.

Kieran, his stance unwavering, shield gleaming with raw, unbreakable will.

Amara, wind coiling around her fans, sharp as razors, her expression unreadable.

Capone, stepping forward in his crisp pinstripe suit, the barrel of his gatling gun still glowing hot, its smoking chamber the only sign of exertion.

And—

Vlad.

At the sight of him, something in Lila stirred. A prickle of unease, a shadow of understanding not yet fully formed.

The Unbound made their final stand.

Eri moved first.

Her shadows erupted, roots thick as pillars tearing through the hall, twisting toward them with lethal intent. The air crackled with dark energy, a death knell in motion.

Kieran's shield held. Unyielding. Absolute. A beacon against the storm.

Amara's wind cut through the roots, severing them mid-lash, her movements precise, methodical.

Capone laughed, stepping forward, unleashing a relentless hail of bullets that tore through the battlefield like a storm of lead. His laughter was sharp, edged with something dark. Enjoyment, perhaps. A twisted admiration for the chaos.

Lila felt every moment, every strike. She watched as the Unbound fell, one by one.

The Guardians who had sided with Eri fought until their bodies failed them, still reaching for the cause they had believed in.

The Enforcers who had defected died cursing Sylva's name, their blackened blood staining the marble.

And then—

Only Eri remained.

She was breathing heavily now, her form wavering, the last remnants of the Doom Trees' power curling around her like dying embers.

And that was when Sylva entered the room.

Lila felt the shift before she saw it.

The moment Sylva's presence filled the hall, the battle was truly over.

The air grew heavier, charged with something vast, something beyond mortal comprehension. Even the dying flames of Eri's power seemed to recognize her arrival, flickering in uncertain protest.

Eri did not speak.

She merely stood—silent, waiting, watching.

But before Sylva could say a word—

Capone and Amara turned their weapons on Vlad.

Lila watched in shock. She hadn't expected them to turn on one of their own.

The click of Capone's gatling gun echoed through the chamber. Amara's fans snapped into an offensive stance, wind thrumming around them.

Vlad's red eyes flicked to them, unbothered.

A smile curled at his lips.

And Lila knew that smile.

It was the same one Carlos had worn when he toyed with them, when he acted as though everything was going exactly as planned.

Cold. Calculated. Amused.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vlad demanded.

Sylva's gaze remained unreadable, but her words cut through the room with a finality that left no room for doubt.

"This has gone on long enough."

She stepped forward, eyes locked onto him.

"Who are you really?"

The tension sliced through the room, sharp as a blade to the throat.

The remaining Unbound, barely alive, watched in confusion.

Eri's gaze flickered—brief, uncertain.

For the first time, she hesitated.

Eri recognized that smile—she had seen it before. But not on Vlad. On someone else.

Her grip on her remaining shadows tightened, the flicker of exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

"Who do I have the pleasure of addressing… behind that mask?" Sylva said, her voice unreadable.

Vlad tilted his head slightly, as though delighted that she had figured it out.

"What do you mean?" Vlad's voice softened, but his smirk remained. "I am who I am. Am I not one of you?"

It was true, Vlad had stood among Sylva's chosen—trusted, unquestioned. A leader of the Round Table.

He had been here. He had fought with them.

How had they never known?

Vlad chuckled—a low, satisfied sound, like the last piece of a game sliding into place. No words would get him out of this one.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hands.

A casual motion.

A magician revealing the trick after the audience had already gasped.

"Ah, well."

His eyes gleamed with something unreadable.

The form of Vlad unraveled.

Shadows bled from his body like ink seeping from torn parchment.

The illusion faded, peeling back layer by layer, until what remained wasn't Vlad at all.

A tailored black suit.

A lazy, amused smirk.

And those eyes—sharp, cruel, entertained.

He adjusted his cuffs, giving Sylva a mock bow.

"Let me reintroduce myself," he said, voice smooth as silk.

"My name is Mephisto."