Cursed Odyssey

The air reeked of ozone and acrid smoke, remnants of Urslan's handiwork swirling in a grey haze.

Shards of the arcane siphoner, twisted and molten, littered the prison's deepest pit.

Urslan stood motionless, his face inscrutable behind the helmet—a trembling statue carved from rage and steel.

Eerily silent. The crackle of flames and rioting prisoners became mere white noise to the tumult raging in his head.

Then—

Suddenly—

Cards flew from all directions, each transforming mid-air into deadly weapons—blades, elements, venomous creatures. Instinctively, Urslan raised a wall of fire, incinerating the onslaught before it could reach him.

Smoke and ash settled around his armored form.

Five figures emerged from the shadows, shrouded in cloaks the color of a starless night. They circled him with predatory grace, silent as grave worms, each presence a tangible weight pressing in from all sides.

"Were you sent here to kill me?" Urslan slowly mocked. "I guess my head still has a lot of value, doesn't it?"

The figures offered no response.

"Or is it… That you can't get over old grudges? You know what? I don't give a shit… Just come at me… All at once… It's been so long since I could let loose…"

His voice carried the cold indifference of a tired man settling into his favorite chair after a hard day's work. No excitement. No anticipation. Just weary resignation.

Silence stretched taut as a bowstring, then snapped.

One figure—the closest to Urslan—flicked their hand. A card sailed through the air, its face obscured by shadow. It wasn't aimed at him. In fact, it missed him entirely.

For a heartbeat, nothing but the echo of the card's passage above. Then the air above Urslan shimmered and erupted into a downpour of razor-sharp blades.

Unflinching, Urslan dodged with speed that belied his size. Fire erupted from beneath his boots, propelling him sideways in a controlled blast.

But another card materialized directly in his path. Blinding light filled his vision. The space was cramped, his movements predicted.

Surrounded. He could not see.

Four figures leaped into the air, cards ready, but before they could strike, flames erupted from every direction around the blinded Urslan.

Two assassins screamed as fire engulfed them, their attack cut short. The other two reacted with impossible speed, twisting out of the inferno's reach, cards already flying.

One card spiraled toward the ground, transforming into a circle of swirling energy.

Huh?

Urslan felt his stomach lurch as gravity inverted, dragging him toward the circle's center. The other card burst apart in a wave of frigid air, trailing frost. The searing heat around him vanished instantly, replaced by bone-chilling cold.

Vision returning, Urslan's body began glowing fiery gold. He gritted his teeth, blood trickling from beneath his helmet, and clawed his way out of the gravity field. Ahead lay an unexpected gift:

One of the cloaked figures. The same one who had thrown the card was now trapped in his own gravity field—but unlike Urslan, he lacked the brute force to escape.

Something twitched beneath Urslan's mask. His hands erupted into flames.

"One down…"

But before he could unleash his fire, the figure simply… vanished.

Huh?

Movement flickered in his peripheral vision. The figure he'd just seen crushed by his own spell now stood near the back of the chamber, chest heaving, face pale.

Is this a joke?

His attention didn't linger. His gaze swept the chamber, settling on the two figures flanking him. Their movements blurred and distorted, like images reflected in shattered glass.

"Huh?"

No mistaking it. They were the same figures.

"Didn't I burn you two to cinders?" he muttered, his mind struggling to catch up.

Two cards flew. Attacks of light and darkness coalesced, colliding in a blinding explosion of chaotic energy.

Distraction. A third card, thrown low and fast, shot past the chaos. It struck the ground at Urslan's feet and erupted—iron chains exploding from the floor to wrap around his legs, constricting, dragging him down.

Fire from his feet snapped and melted the chains. He jumped backward in tactical retreat, slashing flame through the air. The fire intercepted their attacks and overpowered them completely, searing both figures with intense heat.

"AGGHHHH!!"

The two screamed, burned. Urslan's helmet twitched again.

As he flew back, he hit the wall. He hadn't calculated how small the room was. His head rattled against stone. Glancing down, he saw several blades—some shattered, others embedded—making gaps in his armor. They protruded from his shoulder and abdomen.

He coughed blood, then instantly blasted himself off the wall and back onto solid ground.

"Your cards! They're random aren't they!!" he proclaimed, coughing slightly, covering his wounds in flames.

"Each one of you bastards has a different deck! Different possibilities! 'THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE' HUH!?" A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

No response, but Urslan's gut knew the truth.

As dust settled, he saw all five ahead of him in formation—even those he thought he'd killed.

Alive? His lips twitched.

The formation: three ahead, two behind them, and one final person behind that. That last figure was panting, yet Urslan hadn't seen them move.

"It's you? Isn't it!?"

Flames danced around his right hand, crackling with lethal intent. He was a furnace stoked to fever pitch. With a roar that shook the prison's foundations, he unleashed a torrent of fire—an inferno that blasted through the air, aimed directly at the assassins' formation.

Green energy swirled around the figures, forming a protective bubble. The blast was so powerful it exploded them out of the Siphoner room as they spilled onto the spiraling prison halls.

Through the smoke, Urslan saw the green shield crack and buckle, the figure maintaining it faltering, legs trembling as fire licked at their heels.

"AHHHHHHH— AHHHH—"

Screams. Not from the hardened assassins, nor battle cries.

They looked around. Young ones, burning, screaming, eyes filled with terror—

Escaping prisoners caught in the crossfire.

"AHHHHHHH— AHHHH—"

Young faces twisted in agony, flesh blistering and blackening under relentless flames. They clawed at walls and rolled on the ground, their cries for mercy drowned by the roaring inferno. "Water! Please, water!"

But water wouldn't quench this fire. It only fed the flames, growing hotter, more intense with each passing second.

"WHAT IS THIS?! SOMEONE SAV— AHHHHHHHH—"

These prisoners were special in their own rights, yet still children at heart.

Unprepared to die.

Only the gifted and chosen broke free from such labels.

Children burning alive, begging for salvation—the sight could make mountains split in rage.

But Urslan, vision tunneled, barely registered them.

The figures gritted their teeth at the sight before returning attention to Urslan emerging from the haze.

His helmet was smoky, armor charred, fingertips twitching. Was he… enjoying this?

They survived that? Urslan mused. Their formation is tough, and they synergize together so well… they're like a beast with five heads, but once the main head falls… His twitching lips formed a full smirk.

He exploded forward, punching toward the center figure, but two intercepted, sending themselves crashing against the wall.

The others fell back and regrouped.

"COME ON!!"

Urslan became a whirlwind of fire. Each punch shattered stone, each kick split air with sonic booms. The figures moved like blurs, dancing around his attacks, cards flying like deadly butterflies.

Their fight spiraled up and down the prison. One card shimmered, and a wall of solid ice slammed into Urslan, momentarily halting his advance. He drove his fist into the ice, flames erupting along his arm, melting a hole large enough to see through.

On the other side, a card spun in the air, transforming into a monstrous, fanged wolf lunging straight at him. Urslan laughed, flames gathering in his hand, and unleashed a blast of fire.

The wolf, formed of pure shadow, snarled and dissipated in the flames—but not before concealing another figure behind it. Urslan noticed too late.

A blade coated in sickly green light plunged toward his still-bleeding wound. He groaned, twisting his body. Fire burst from his elbow, knocking the attacker back.

"H… huh…"

He staggered, vision blurring slightly. The world spun, the assassins a dizzying kaleidoscope of movement. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. Poison—fast-acting and potent—coursed through his veins. He needed to end this quickly.

Two assassins pressed their attack, cards transforming into twin whips of crackling energy. Urslan deflected one with a blast of fire, but the other lashed across his chest, tearing through armor and leaving a line of burning flesh. Yet the smile never left his lips.

He ducked under a spinning blade as another card flew from his left, transforming into a swarm of venomous snake-like creatures that descended upon him.

Again, he roared, flames incinerating everything around him.

But his energy reserves weren't infinite.

He was tiring, the poison taking its toll. His movements, once fluid and precise, were now sluggish and labored. He needed a new plan.

He stumbled back, leading them closer by feigning extreme weakness. He let their confidence build, saw the anticipation of victory in their eyes.

Then, as they lunged with a final card held high, he unleashed it.

Urslan slammed his hands onto the stone floor. A shockwave of flames erupted outward, cracking stone and throwing the assassins off their feet. Ignoring the pain, he launched himself at the closest figure.

The assassin, caught off guard, barely had time to raise his hand before Urslan's fist connected with his jaw.

The sound of shattering bone echoed through the chamber.

One dead.

Urslan spun, catching another figure in the chest with a roundhouse kick that sent him flying into the wall.

Two dead.

Next next next.

Kill as fast as possible. That was all he could think.

He fought like a cornered animal, attacks savage and unrelenting. Cards flew, transforming into a dizzying array of weapons and creatures, but Urslan fought through them all.

He ducked under a giant, scimitar-wielding hand conjured from smoke, rolled through a hail of razor-sharp blades, and punched his way through a wall of thorns.

With a fire punch, he crushed another.

Three dead.

Then he looked up.

"ALIVE HUH!?"

Dead—they should have been dead! Yet here they stood again, all three he had just killed. He'd seen this sight before.

Urslan's smile turned manic. His eyes moved toward the leader, the supporting figure, then back down to where the man he'd just crushed should be. Nothing remained there.

All five were in full health, back in that same damn formation. As though Urslan had done no damage at all.

He knew the support arcanist was using a teleportation spirit to retrieve the wounded, then heal them. Perhaps he even had resurrection spirits on hand.

He was also responsible for buffing attacks, making the others stronger. He was the glue holding it all together.

"YOU WILL DIE NOW!!" Urslan laughed through the pain.

Blasts of fire exploded outward haphazardly, indiscriminately. Screams tore through the air as escaping prisoners, caught in the crossfire, became living torches, their flesh blackening and crackling under intense heat.

Urslan seemed not to notice. He was a walking natural disaster, and those in his way were simply part of their misfortune.

But to the attacking figures…

Their formation, previously impenetrable, finally broke.

One assassin slipped out, running toward the burning prisoners.

"IGNORE YOU FOOL!! THAT IS NOT OUR PRIORITY!!" The leader's voice rang out—the first time any of them had spoken.

Another followed him.

"COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!! HE'S INJURED IT'S OUR CHANCE TO—" Panic began setting in on his face, clearly visible.

Only two figures remained to protect him.

That's when Urslan noticed.

"HAHAHAHA!!"

He began targeting more prisoners on purpose. Those who left formation kept trying to help and heal them.

He was using compassion and humanity as weapons. And in the confusion, he made his move.

"DEAD!!"

He rushed toward the three remaining figures.

All three threw cards, yet no matter what emerged, everything was incinerated by Urslan's fists.

He was unstoppable.

The only shield left was their bodies, so the two sacrificed themselves for their leader. They flew back, crashing into walls.

He felt their bones shatter, felt their lifeblood spill onto his scorched armor. He didn't care. All that mattered was the figure standing behind them, eyes wide in shock.

The others were nowhere in sight, still helping the wounded. Only the leader remained, and Urslan's gauntlet.

"NOW DIE!!"

Urslan's fist was a meteor trailing smoke and fire, hurtling toward the leader's face. For the briefest moment, the leader's composure finally shattered.

He threw up his hands in a desperate, futile attempt to ward off the inevitable.

…

*CRCK*

Then, silence.

Urslan's fist, mere inches from the leader's nose…

stopped.

Finally, that shattered composure… smiled.

From the ground around Urslan's feet, golden chains sprang forth. They whipped through the air, glowing with infernal light as they wrapped around his body, constricting, binding him in their unbreakable embrace.

The air crackled with energy, the stench of ozone mixing with the coppery tang of blood. Urslan growled and pushed with all his might, but the chains held firm.

"ACT 5: PROTECT THE LEADER SPIRIT!" the leader proclaimed, his voice echoing with theatrical flourish.

The golden chains pulsed, their glow intensifying until Urslan was fully bathed in searing light. He felt the heat burn against his skin, felt the draining of his power. He thrashed against his bonds, but it was useless.

He finally understood. This wasn't just a fight. It was a carefully crafted trap—every move, every feint, designed to lead him to this moment. Breaking their formation, exposing their leader…

it had all been part of their plan. They had nudged him, prodded him, into expending his fury, his strength, in a desperate bid to reach their leader. In doing so, he had sprung their trap.

The other four assassins materialized as if from thin air, flanking their leader. They looked down at Urslan, faces hidden behind masks, but he could feel their gazes upon him.

It wasn't triumph he saw in their eyes, nor malice. It was something akin to pity.

Urslan's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He'd lost. It was as simple, and as devastating, as that.

"Seal him up," the leader ordered, voice cold and emotionless. "And be diligent."

But before they could reach him, a change came over Urslan. His head, which had bowed in defeat, lifted.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, barely audible over the crackling chains and groans of wounded prisoners.

Through the smoke and grime staining his mask, the edges of his lips curled upward in ominous glee.

"Well," he rasped. "It was fun while it lasted. I thank you for bringing up my mood."

The assassins froze, their leader's head tilting slightly.

"What…?"

Urslan ignored him. He closed his eyes, his smile expanding.

"Arcane Manifestation,"

---

The lower prison was now a smoldering ruin. Stone walls, once gray, were charred obsidian. The stench of cooked flesh permeated the air like fuel to a furnace.

It was a scene from a nightmare, a vision of hell brought to earth. So bright it blazed like a beacon in the night.

There was no sign of life, except for the one standing in the center of it all, untouched by the devastation: Urslan.

The five assassins, once so confidently assured of victory, lay scattered around him like broken toys. Their carefully crafted formation, their meticulously planned trap—it had all been for naught.

One figure was little more than a charred husk, its form almost unrecognizable. Another, its mask melted away, revealed a face frozen in a silent scream of agony, flesh blistered and blackened beyond recognition.

The others weren't much better off.

Only the leader remained even remotely recognizable. He lay sprawled on the ground, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, chest caved in. His mask had fallen away, revealing a face etched with the horror he had just witnessed.

Even in death, the terror in his eyes was palpable.

Urslan stepped over the leader's body, his gaze sweeping over the carnage and the dead, then he looked upward toward the starry sky.

"Wait for me… Zephyr…"

---

And from above, another stared back down toward him.

"What a shame…" he whispered inwardly. "He's far more powerful than I thought… To think he could have reached the fifth act so quickly. To defeat Kalazar's shadows is truly an impressive feat…"

His face, framed by a silver mask that glinted in the moonlight, showed no emotion. He had witnessed the entire battle, watched as Urslan systematically dismantled the assassins, his power growing with each fallen foe. His voice, when he spoke, was unnervingly calm, devoid of the shock or fear one might expect given the carnage he'd just witnessed.

"It is fine. We've nearly completed everything we came here for after all… We deal with him… Later… Isn't that right? My liege…?"

---

"Wait for me… Zephyr…" Urslan uttered once more. He could feel it in his bones—where he lies is above, the surface.

He crouched low, muscles coiling like springs, preparing to jump back to the world above. But as he gathered his strength, a hint of movement caught his eye. A figure emerged from the first corridor.

Descending? Who in their right mind would descend into this inferno? Who would walk toward hell when heaven beckoned above?

But when he saw their face, those questions were swiftly answered.

Sweat plastered peppered hair to his forehead, his usually meticulous attire singed and tattered. His face was pale, eyes wide with a jittery mixture of panic and exhilaration. The crimson glow of the Moth Hound spirit hovered calmly around his shoulders.

"ALTON?!" Urslan exclaimed.

"I'm… Too late… It would seem…"

Urslan straightened and turned his entire body toward Alton.

"You were in a fight?" Alton looked at the carnage all around. "Why didn't you leave at least one of them alive? We could have interroga—"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!!" Urslan interrupted, flames flaring from every syllable. "You— YOU UNDERSTAND HOW THIS WAS ALL YOUR FAULT?!"

"Well, it wasn't me that blew up our own arcane siphoner was it!?" he retorted, still catching his breath.

"You… you still…" Urslan's fists clenched, the metal of his gauntlets creaking under the strain.

"Calm down! Are you not at least curious why I came down all the way here!?"

"Just die— I have no time to argue with the likes of you…"

"That boy… he's TWO PEOPLE!" Alton shouted, his voice cracking.

Urslan froze, his hand hovering in mid-air.

"He's possessed, Urslan. By a god, or something else entirely. It's the only explanation! That's why my research, my lie detector, it all failed! He's… he's not what he seems!" He gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

"I was too arrogant, Urslan. I wanted to do things by the book, but I should have trusted my gut. Deep down, I knew something was wrong… I just couldn't accept it… You… you were right about him. Your intuition… it was right all along!"

"IT'S TOO LATE FOR ALL OF THAT NOW!! JUST GET OUT OF MY FACE!! YOU SICKEN ME!!" Urslan raised his hands, charging up a fire blast.

"I'M NOT DONE YET!! JUST LISTEN YOU IDIOT!! I KNOW THE TRUTH!! THE ORIGIN!! I—"

"REMEMBER WHAT I SAID?? I'D NEVER FORGIVE YOU IF YOU FUCKED THIS UP!!"

"URSLAN!!"

"JUST DIE!!"