Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game

The battlefield was silent.

For the first time since the fight began, there was no laughter, no taunting, no smug amusement coming from Miles. Just the slow, unsettling sound of something shifting beneath his skin.

Sarissa took a cautious step back, her fingers tightening around her blade as she watched him. Something was wrong. The eerie glow in his mask’s eyes had vanished, replaced by something darker, something deeper.

Something hungry.

Then, the mask cracked.

Not a clean break. Not like something breaking in two. No, it split, from the mouth outward, the carved, stitched grin splitting apart as though something inside him was tearing its way free.

Sarissa barely had time to react before Miles began to change.

His body twisted.

His limbs stretched unnaturally, elongating at jagged angles, his fingers curling into clawed, spidery hands that barely resembled human anatomy anymore. His once-slender frame distorted, bulging, and withering in the same breath like something was trying to reshape him into something both too big and too thin for the space he occupied.

His coat frayed at the edges, growing longer, shifting in texture like decayed velvet, stained with splatters of something too dark to be just blood. His hat, the ever-present Mad Hatter’s hat, remained, but it too had warped, its fabric slithering like it was alive, bending in ways that made no sense.

Then came the face.