The night was silent. Too silent.
The masked man stood in the moonlight, his daggers glowing faintly like liquid fire. His presence radiated danger cold, sharp, and absolute.
"So," he said, tilting his head. "The relic chose you. A shame. I was hoping it would die with your father."
The words struck like a hammer. He knew. He knew exactly what had happened to my father… and why.
My grip tightened around the rifle. My chest burned, the sigil on my palm pulsing as though alive.
The man's stance looked casual, but every instinct in me screamed he could kill me in a blink.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice rough with rage.
He laughed, low and sharp. "Names don't matter. Only orders. And mine are simple: end the bloodline of the Guardian."
And then he moved.
He was fast, too fast. One moment ten steps away, the next his blade was already slashing toward my throat.
I barely raised the rifle in time. Metal screamed as the dagger scraped along the barrel, sparks lighting the night. The force knocked me back, boots skidding in the dirt.
I fired.
The shot shattered the silence, echoing across the valley. But the man twisted with unnatural grace, the bullet missed, slicing through empty air.
"Pathetic," he sneered, eyes gleaming beneath the mask. "Did your father teach you nothing?"
His next strike came faster. The second dagger slashed across my arm, hot pain tearing flesh. I gritted my teeth, refusing to cry out.
And that's when it happened.
The sigil on my palm flared. The pain didn't vanish,it transformed. My blood boiled, strength surging like wildfire.
"Yes," the voice inside whispered. "Let me show you. Let me teach you how to kill."
My vision split. One world was mine: the assassin before me, blades flashing. The other was something else entirely.
Shadows moved around him, whispering, showing me his strikes before they came. Every breath, every twitch of his muscles, I saw them as if the world had slowed.
I raised the rifle again, this time as a shield. His blade struck and I was ready.
The clash rattled my arm, but I didn't falter. My body moved before thought, driven by something darker.
My fist lashed out. The mark on my palm burned as it connected with his chest.
The impact was monstrous.
The assassin flew backward, crashing through a wooden fence with a crack that split the night. He landed hard, skidding across the dirt.
I stared at my hand. Smoke rose from the glowing sigil, my skin unburned but tingling with a hunger that wasn't mine.
The assassin groaned, pushing himself up. His mask was cracked, revealing one eye cold, furious, and almost… impressed.
"So… it's true," he muttered. "The Cursed Spirit has awakened."
He spat blood, then smiled cruelly. "Good. That means killing you will make me a legend."
He vanished.
Not a step. Not a leap. He simply disappeared.
My heart pounded. My ears strained. Where?
The whisper screamed in my head: "Behind you!"
I dropped low. The dagger sliced the air where my neck had been.
I spun, swinging the rifle like a club. The butt smashed into his ribs, the crack of bone echoing. He stumbled, still grinning, eyes blazing with fanaticism.
"You don't even know what you carry," he hissed. "That spirit will eat you alive."
"Then you won't live to see it happen," I snapped, raising the rifle.
But the sigil erupted again, this time uncontrollable. My body convulsed as shadows burst from my arm, wrapping around the rifle, twisting it into something alive.
It became a weapon I had never seen before dark, jagged, breathing.
The assassin froze. His confidence faltered.
"That… that's impossible," he whispered. "The relic wasn't supposed to"
I didn't let him finish.
I lunged. The weapon in my hands howled as it cut the air. The assassin raised his daggers, but the strike shattered them like glass.
His scream tore the night. Blood sprayed as the weapon carved through him, sending him sprawling.
I stood over him, chest heaving, vision red. The voice thundered inside me.
"Kill him. End him. Feed me."
The assassin coughed blood, laughing weakly even in defeat. "You… don't understand… This is only the beginning. The clans will come, for you, for the curse. And when they do… you'll beg for death."
His words fueled my rage. The weapon pulsed, craving blood.
I raised it high, ready to strike.
And then I saw my father's face.
Not real, memory. His stern eyes, his steady voice. "A man who cannot protect his family has no place in this world."
Protect. Not slaughter.
I froze. My hands trembled. The voice roared inside me, furious, demanding blood.
But I lowered the weapon.
Not tonight.
The assassin's laugh broke into a wet cough. "Mercy… from the Cursed Heir? How ironic."
Before I could respond, he slammed something into the ground, a small glowing crystal.
Light swallowed him. His body dissolved into smoke, vanishing before my eyes.
I was left alone in silence, the cursed weapon trembling in my grip, the sigil still burning with hunger.
My knees buckled. I collapsed into the dirt, gasping. The weapon crumbled into black dust, vanishing as if it had never existed.
But the mark on my palm remained, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
I had survived. I had won.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
This was only the first.
The clans knew. They would come. And the curse inside me… wasn't finished.
As I staggered to my feet, I felt eyes watching from the treeline.
Dozens of them. Shadows shifting, blades gleaming in the dark.
Then a cold, commanding voice broke the silence:
"Capture him. Alive."
The forest erupted with movement.
And I realized my nightmare had only just begun.