The sudden stillness between Zoran and Velkorrath was no accident.
It was intentional—initiated by Velkorrath.
This ancient, corrupted guardian was not simply a physical horror forged of bark, bone, and wrath. Its power extended beyond the material.
Velkorrath was a predator of the mind.
Yes, its shapeshifting limbs allowed it to strike from range or rend through enchanted defenses. The spear-forms added crushing force, while the dome—known as the Thorn Cradle—served as both fortress and launchpad.
But its true horror?
The Crimson Resin—a sap-like fluid constantly weeping from the eye in its chest.
Once enough of this psychic-infused liquid made contact with its enemy, Velkorrath could activate its most devastating ability:
Psychic Echoes.
A powerful illusion-based domain that dragged the opponent's consciousness into a place known only as the Bleedroot Veil—a psychic space stitched together from memory, trauma, and fear.
Inside the Bleedroot Veil, time halted for all but the affected. The enemy could not use their powers. They couldn't recall how they entered. And worst of all—Velkorrath could intensify their worst emotions, feeding on them while draining vitality and willpower.
It was a technique honed over centuries of anguish and decay.
But there was one weakness: during this trance-like state, Velkorrath's physical body and his opponent's stood frozen, unable to act. Outside attacks could be fatal.
Yet Velkorrath wasn't worried.
His Thorn Cradle was still active, and the only other presence nearby was that injured boy behind the stump.
Hardly a threat.
So he activated Psychic Echoes.
Darkness fell.
Zoran blinked. He was no longer in the forest.
He stood in a vast chamber of cold gray stone, every wall carved with hundreds of mirrors—each reflecting different versions of himself.
A child, scrawny and bruised.
A young man groveling before a council of sneering magisters.
A warrior clutching shattered daggers while others laughed.
A boy screaming as an older red-haired man was dragged away in chains.
The air pulsed with whispers—his own failures, spoken back to him a thousand times.
"You'll never be one of them."
"Born in mud, die in mud."
"Even your power is borrowed."
"Your father's disgrace lives in your blood."
He clenched his jaw, staggered forward.
Velkorrath watched from the shadows. The eye on its chest pulsed in sync with Zoran's heartbeat.
The resin within the Veil dripped from the sky like bloodied rain, sinking into Zoran's skin. He dropped to one knee, head spinning.
"This is illusion," he snarled. "I know it is."
But even knowing couldn't stop it.
The floor beneath him turned to glass—and below it, he saw scenes from his past:
Being forced to fight other orphans for food.
Begging for a single healing potion.
Being beaten by guards while nobles watched.
The scenes blurred and repeated, emotions amplifying.
His rage flared.
His shame boiled.
His doubt screamed.
Velkorrath's bark-like body creaked with glee. The more Zoran suffered, the more it fed.
His limbs trembled. His soul felt fractured. He could feel his strength slipping, his aura dimming—
But in that spiral of despair, he saw one mirror—different from the rest.
In it, he stood tall.
Not noble. Not pampered.
Just free.
And for a flicker, that vision grounded him.
His body shuddered as he clung to that image. It wasn't triumph he focused on—but will.
"No one breaks me," he growled through gritted teeth.
Blood seeped from his nose and eyes. He was barely conscious. But he wasn't dead.
Not yet.
Sareth, meanwhile, was utterly confused.
A moment ago, two myth-tier powerhouses were trying to murder each other in the most dramatic way possible. Now?
They were standing like statues.
Not a twitch. Not a blink.
"Wow. That's not terrifying at all," he muttered. "Two eldritch nightmares just paused mid-battle to vibe. Yeah, totally normal."
The lull in violence had made him forget his own pain.
Unfortunately, pain wasn't so forgiving.
It kicked back in like a sledgehammer. The shattered bone, the poison still muting his nerves, the exhaustion—everything hit all at once.
He fell against the tree stump, barely
conscious.
His mind wavered.
"Maybe this is it. Maybe I imagined Nytheron. Hallucinated it. Made up some light and voice to give myself false hope before dying alone in a cursed forest…"
His will began to fracture.
He was about to give up—when suddenly:
[Ding!!!]
[Missed your beloved already, Host?]
[Good work surviving so far. Now, tell me you've figured out the rest of Zoran's ability weaknesses—or we're dead.]
Sareth blinked.
A grin tugged at his bloodied lips.
"You're real. I'm not crazy. Oh thank GOD."
For a moment, even the agony faded.
But before he could reply—
[Danger!!!] [Danger!!!] [Danger!!!]
[How the hell did you encounter a Velkorrath?!]
[Do you know how rare that is? Rarer than winning thirty divine lotteries in a row! But damn, I gotta say it—your talent for bad luck is undefeated.]
Sareth laughed weakly.
"Glad I'm famous for something."
"How bad is it? Can we survive? And why is this MY fault?! I don't even know what's happening or why it's all happening to ME!"
[Okay, okay—maybe I overreacted. Deep breath, Host.]
[Short version? We'd be screwed if this were an adult Velkorrath. But lucky us—Zoran's got this round. You… just sit tight and try not to die.]
[As for context: Even if somehow you obliterated Velkorrath down to dust and bark chips, it would regenerate from the ground so long as it's in a forest and its Heart-Eye remains intact.]
[Now. We still have a chance. But I need the other two weaknesses in Zoran's Axis Field. What have you figured out, Host? Feed me info, and I'll get us out of this.]
[Please tell me you got something, in the time I was re-establishing our bond, This is a perfect chance to test out what you know.]
[Cause as soon as one of them wakes up we are pretty much doomed, as we won't be able to fight either of them without the details of weakness.]
Sareth replied "Don't worry I was not idle either so listen here what I managed to gather…."