As I was kicked out of the Hero's Party, the sting of their words lingered like frost on my skin. Elarion's smug dismissal, Vivia's averted gaze, and the others' mocking laughter echoed in my ears as I trudged away from their camp. A memory stirred—a dream where a radiant old man in white garb, claiming to be a god, had cursed me to support my friends until "the time comes."
"Who the hell are you?" I'd snapped in that vision, defiance flaring despite his blinding aura. He'd chided my tone, repeating his command: protect Vivia and the others, no matter my reluctance. Now, cast out, I wondered if I'd been too overbearing, like a parent smothered by rebellious children asserting their freedom.
Maybe I should be proud—they thought they could walk alone. My unique skill, Almighty Support, let me wield every ability imaginable—buffs, barriers, temporal speed, recovery—but I'd hidden its depth with Conceal, appearing as a mere jack-of-all-trades. To them, I was dead weight, my true strength buried in shadows.
The forest's silence snapped as a dark, desperate voice pierced my magical barrier, pleading, "Someone, anyone, please!" I froze, startled—only someone immensely powerful could breach my wards. "Are you even human?" I muttered, wary of a trap from the mythical dragon folk the voice claimed to belong to.
"I'm cursed; no one can lift it. Just kill me!" the voice begged, authoritative yet broken. I refused flatly—ending a life wasn't my way, especially not a stranger's. But when it shifted to "Please, save me," my resolve kicked in; saving was my calling, after all.
Leaping off a mountain into the dense forest, I hardened my body with a skill to avoid injury, though my clothes snagged on branches, leaving me a tattered mess. A guttural "Gwaah!" erupted behind me—a massive centipede, writhing in pain as I snapped my fingers, unleashing Insecticide, a niche skill that sent it convulsing into silence. Dragon folk, I thought—could this really be their pride, begging a human?
Navigating through tangled undergrowth, I reached a cave with double-decker doors, cracks spiderwebbing their surface. A weakened barrier shimmered, surrounded by corpses—bandits, perhaps, who'd failed to breach it. Forcing my way through risked the wildlife, so I hesitated, muttering about the hassle.
A sly voice interrupted, "What's the rush, boss?" I spun to find a gaunt man, eyes glinting with malice, surrounded by a horde of shambling zombies. "The Necromancer's Jewel," I said, recognizing the orb in his hand, its dark power animating the dead.
"Lucky me," he sneered, "zombies kill, I take the loot. And you'll be one of them!" His arrogance grated, but his horde lunged. I raised my hand, summoning a crackling buff overhead, shouting, "Skill: Restore!"—a radiant wave disintegrating the zombies into dust.
The necromancer wailed, "My zombies!" as I stepped closer, his bravado crumbling. "They called me dead weight, too," I said, almost to myself, the Hero's Party's rejection still raw. "Kicked me out just days ago." His eyes widened, fear replacing his smugness.
I turned back to the cave, sensing the voice's origin within. The barrier yielded to my subtle dispel, revealing a cavern lit by bioluminescent moss. There, chained to a stalagmite, was a figure—Lyssara, a dragon folk girl with silver horns and tattered wings, her eyes fierce yet pleading.
"You came," she rasped, voice matching the one that pierced my barrier. I knelt, using a mending skill to dissolve her chains, her wounds knitting under my healing touch. "Not here to kill you," I said, "but to save you. Name's Ariake."
Lyssara's story spilled out: her clan, hunted for their scales, had been decimated by a sorcerer wielding the same jewel the necromancer outside had flaunted. She'd been cursed, her power sealed, her pride shattered. "If a dragon loses to a human, we serve," she whispered, shame in her eyes.
I shook my head. "No servitude. You're free." Her gaze hardened with gratitude, and she stood, wings flexing despite their tears. "Then let me fight beside you—not as a servant, but an ally," she said, fire returning to her voice.
The cave trembled, a roar echoing from deeper within—a dracolisk, scales like obsidian, eyes burning with cursed fury. It was the sorcerer's guard, bound to the same jewel's power. I wove a barrier, deflecting its acid breath, while Lyssara darted forward, claws gleaming with latent draconic magic.
"Stay sharp!" I called, boosting her speed with a temporal weave. My skills danced—archer's precision for a blinding dart to its eyes, paladin's smite to stagger its charge. Lyssara's claws raked its flank, drawing molten blood that hissed on the stone floor.
The beast reared, tail lashing like a whip. I countered with a knight's parry, ethereal steel clashing against scales, while whispering a bard's lullaby to dull its rage. Together, we wore it down, my buffs amplifying Lyssara's strikes until it collapsed, curse unraveling in its final breath.
Panting, Lyssara grinned, a spark of her clan's pride rekindled. "You're no ordinary human," she said, eyeing me like a puzzle. I shrugged, Conceal still cloaking my Almighty Support's vastness, but her sharp gaze hinted she saw more than most.
We emerged into dawn's light, the forest alive with birdsong. Lyssara spoke of her clan's hidden refuge, inviting me to join their fight against the sorcerer's remnants. "You don't need a party of heroes," she said. "You are one."
Her words struck deeper than I expected, loosening the knot of betrayal. The Hero's Party had cast me out, blind to my strength, but here was a new path—alliances forged not by divine command, but choice. I nodded, a grin breaking free.
As we trekked toward her refuge, a figure stumbled from the trees—Vivia, the party's mage, her robes muddied, eyes wide with regret. "Ariake, we were wrong," she stammered. "Without your buffs, we're faltering. Come back—please."
Lyssara growled, but I raised a hand, calm as ever. "You wanted freedom, Vivia. You've got it. I'm no one's shadow anymore." Her face fell, but I turned away, Lyssara at my side, the forest path stretching toward a destiny I'd shape myself.
The god's curse had bound me to support others, but now I understood: the time had come. Not to serve, but to rise. With every skill at my command, I'd carve a legend—not for heroes, but for those who dared stand with me.