It was reflecting possibilities . In the glass, she saw herself—older, scarred, kneeling before a throne made of antlers. A crown of thorns and circuitry was being lowered onto her head. A voice, ancient and androgynous, whispered from the walls:
The first mercenary lunged from the fern grove. A clean, mocap-perfect motion—too slow. Lara pivoted on her heel, the mud splashing in a photorealistic spray. Her elbow connected with his temple. Crack. He fell. The second fired a burst from an assault rifle. The rounds tore through a giant taro leaf, shredding it into a thousand green polygons of debris.
Lara reached for the mirror. Her fingers touched the glass. Lara Croft- Island Of The Sacred Beasts - 3DCG-...
And she was riding the beast.
Carved into the weathered lintel was a creature she didn't recognize. Not a dragon. Not a tiger. It had the body of a deer, the antlers of a stag, and the single, unblinking eye of a storm god. It was reflecting possibilities
Lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the sheer basalt cliffs behind her. In that frozen millisecond of digital light, she saw them.
The rain hit the jungle canopy like shrapnel. Each drop was rendered in hyper-realistic 3DCG, catching bioluminescent spores kicked up by the storm. Lara Croft knelt in the mud, her tank top plastered to her skin, the dual holsters at her thighs heavy with the weight of her HK USP matches. A voice, ancient and androgynous, whispered from the
"The beasts choose a guardian. Not to hunt. To become."