Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game

"Who is that?" Sarissa asked quietly, not lowering her weapon.

The [Herald] still knelt, its body a shuddering mass of weeping ink and writhing larval tissue, the cathedral seemed to breathe with it, pulsing like a living wound as the heinous abomination wept.

Cheshire didn’t answer immediately. His feline body, rippling with tension, stared toward the cathedral’s crumbling dome, now dark once more.

"That," he said finally, "was one of the highest. Lightning. Judgment. Spear of Heaven. Call him what you like. He has many names, and none of them is mercy."

"Then Miles..." Sarissa’s fingers curled tighter around [Cheshire’s Gleam].

She didn’t get to finish.

Before she could say anything else, the [Herald] rose, as if hoisted by unseen hands, dragged up by strings of violation and scripture.

Its masks screamed. Not in sound, but in idea. Sarissa’s thoughts immediately fractured, even if for a heartbeat, as its shadow fell over her, massive and suffocating, even as its segmented body never moved from the dais.

"You see the storm through another’s eyes..." The Herald said. "But will you see your own truth, Daughter of Questions?"

Then, everything broke.

The [Herald] didn’t lash at her physically. Instead, the world around her cracked like stained glass. The cathedral splintered into fragments, each one a shard of reality. Each showing a different version of herself.