The clearing shivered under the weight of silence.
Dozens of eyes gleamed from the treeline—hungry, feral, unblinking. The pack of corrupted beasts circled, their breath misting in the night, each growl vibrating through the soil. The air was so thick with bloodlust it felt like drowning.
Lyra's heartbeat thudded against her ribs. She clutched the small dagger at her hip, but she knew the truth: against even one of these things, she wouldn't last a heartbeat. And yet, she couldn't move.
Her gaze locked on him.
The chained man.
The one who had just torn apart a creature with nothing but shadows coiling from his skin. He stood there, ragged breaths rattling from his chest, curse-marks crawling across his arms and neck like molten brands. His weapon wasn't metal but living darkness—an ever-shifting blade that whispered in a language not meant for mortals.
The monsters seemed to hesitate. For a moment, their snarls quieted, their paws shuffled backward. Even they felt the wrongness radiating from him.
But hunger overruled fear.
The largest of them bellowed—a twisted wolf-bear hybrid with bone spines jutting from its back—and the pack surged forward like an avalanche of claws and teeth.
Lyra's breath hitched.
And then he moved.
---
Aethan's body blurred.
One heartbeat, he was still. The next, his cursed blade cleaved through the first three beasts in a single swing. The air itself screamed—the strike didn't just cut, it unwound. Flesh and bone unraveled into drifting motes of ash, their dying shrieks torn away by the rushing void that followed his sword.
The monsters howled in confusion, circling wider. But the cursed hero didn't stop.
With a guttural cry, Aethan hurled his blade skyward. It dissolved into a dozen shards of liquid night that streaked through the air like black comets. Each shard curved, homing in on a target, piercing through skulls and hearts before bursting into shadows that consumed what was left.
Blood sprayed the earth. Then it hissed, burning away before it could even stain the soil.
The curse devoured everything.
Lyra staggered back, her hands over her mouth. She should've felt relieved—he was fighting for them, wasn't he? But her body trembled at the sheer scale of his power. It wasn't a battle. It was annihilation.
The forest itself seemed to recoil. Leaves browned and shriveled in seconds, bark blackened and cracked. The ground pulsed as though poisoned by every step Aethan took.
And still, the monsters came.
A massive horned beast lunged for his throat. Aethan caught it by the jaw with one hand, cursed energy spilling from his palm. The creature's skin blistered and split, rotting away before his grip. Its eyes popped like bursting grapes before the rest of its head collapsed into black dust.
But the moment of triumph bent into agony.
Aethan staggered, clutching his chest. The curse marks surged across his ribs, up his throat, burning with a violent glow. His blade flickered in and out of shape, like it wanted to consume him as well.
His voice came out ragged, layered with something not human. "Get—back—"
Lyra froze. His eyes weren't just glowing—they were fractured, shards of red and black swirling inside. Another voice—deeper, guttural—rumbled from within his throat, overlapping his words.
Kill.
Devour.
More.
More.
The curse was speaking.
---
The pack struck again.
Aethan roared, his sword expanding into a scythe of shadow nearly twice his size. He spun in a wide arc, and the world itself seemed to split. A crescent of darkness erupted outward, cutting through trees, soil, and beasts alike. The ground shook, the night screamed, and the monsters were flung into heaps of broken corpses.
A tree cracked and began to fall—straight toward Lyra.
She couldn't move. Her legs refused her.
Then he was there.
Aethan slammed his palm against the earth. Shadow pillars erupted upward, catching the collapsing trunk before it could crush her. Lyra stumbled back, breathless, staring at the impossible sight. He hadn't even looked at her—but some part of him had still shielded her.
Her chest tightened. He wasn't gone. Not fully.
"Stop!" she cried out, voice breaking. "You'll destroy yourself!"
For a moment, the endless violence slowed. His head tilted toward her, those fractured eyes twitching. His grip on his weapon faltered.
That heartbeat of hesitation cost him.
The alpha beast lunged from the side, its bone spines glinting under the moon. It slammed into him, claws raking across his side. Aethan snarled in pain, staggering. Blood spilled from the gash—black, burning blood that hissed against the soil.
He raised his weapon again, but his body trembled. The curse was eating him alive.
"No," he growled, fighting to keep his voice human. "Not—yet—"
The shadow blade writhed violently, stretching into hundreds of spectral arms that lashed outward. They skewered the alpha beast mid-leap, tearing it apart in a storm of writhing tendrils. Its death-cry echoed like thunder before silence reclaimed the forest.
One by one, the surviving monsters slunk back, broken by terror. Then they vanished into the night, tails tucked, unwilling to test their luck further.
The clearing stank of decay and ash. Bodies were nothing more than dust piles scattered in the blackened soil.
And Aethan collapsed to one knee.
---
His chest heaved, curses pulsing under his skin like molten veins. His weapon dissolved, seeping back into him with a sickening hiss. He coughed, blood and shadows spilling from his lips, staining the ground.
Lyra's heart twisted. She should've run. She should've fled before he turned that power on her. But her feet carried her forward anyway.
"You'll… die if you stay near me," he rasped, his voice hollow, layered with whispers. "The curse… takes everything."
"I don't care." She knelt beside him, gripping his trembling arm. His skin was burning cold, like ice wrapped in fire. "You saved me. You chose to save me. That means you're still you."
His eyes flickered toward her. For the first time, there was something vulnerable there—something almost human.
The glow dimmed. His breathing slowed. For a heartbeat, Lyra thought maybe he'd let go, maybe he'd collapse into her arms—
—but the sound of clanking metal shattered the fragile moment.
From the shadows beyond the clearing, armored figures emerged. Torches flickered against polished steel. Shields gleamed, and the insignia of the Empire's Inquisitors blazed across their chests.
"Surround him!" one of them barked. "Don't let the abomination escape!"
A dozen soldiers spread in a circle, blades raised, eyes locked on the fallen man.
Lyra's blood turned to ice.
The leader's gaze locked on Aethan, widening with both awe and hatred. His voice thundered through the night:
"The Cursed Hero lives! Capture him before the curse spreads!"
---
Aethan's eyes opened again.
And they glowed like a storm.
---