The plaza twisted.
The ground splintered, debris rising into the air like it had been plucked by invisible hands.
The body at the center of the battlefield shifted, its flesh peeling away like burnt paper, revealing a thin, skeletal figure underneath.
It stood tall, its body wrapped in pale, bone-like plates, the joints creaking as it straightened.
Seven masks grew from its chest like grotesque relics, each one reflecting a previous face they'd fought — their twisted expressions frozen in agony.
But what stood out the most were the strings.
Hundreds of them.
Black, vein-like threads extended from its fingers, stretching into the sky and latching onto every piece of rubble in sight. The threads hummed with faint energy, vibrating like they were alive.
Seul staggered back, her breath hitching.
Her hand instinctively went to her leg — the exact spot where the string lady had controlled her.
Her chest tightened.
She swallowed, shaking her head.
