Oliver stood there for a while, slumped on the ground, breathing in heavy, uneven heaves as he held his bleeding stomach. His fingers were slick with blood, the warmth of it still fresh against his palm. For a moment he was bleeding… and strangely, in the very next—
He wasn't.
The gash on his gut completely disappeared as though it had never been there in the first place, as though reality itself had simply denied the injury ever existed.
"An illusion?" he whispered to himself, pulling his trembling hand away from his abdomen as he felt his strength slowly, steadily return to him.
This… this was similar to the first time he met Zeph.
And as the illusion slowly peeled away like a dissolving veil, Oliver remained seated on the cold floor of the throne room. Around him, subtle changes began to reveal themselves in the Obsidian chamber, which had once stood in an originally pristine, untouched condition.
Now… it told a different story.
