Cursed Odyssey

The world tilted, a dizzying spiral of stars and blood. Joseph felt the burn of the blade in his chest, a searing agony that stole breath. His legs buckled, and his head began to throb, his vision swimming in a crimson haze.

He crumpled to the ground, his hand instinctively clutching at the wound, his fingers coming away slick with his own lifeblood.

"What a pity…" Samsara's voice was but a whisper, "You really were… useful…"

Joseph coughed, a choked, gurgling sound, he croaked, cried and cackled as his life seemed to in an instant slip away.

From the highest high to the lowest low, betrayed by the only person he had trusted.

It was the perfect moment, caught off guard, not giving any chance for whatever possessed him to be unleashed…

Samsara's mouth was unreadable beneath her mask.

She took a step closer.

Her hand reached for the hilt of the blade protruding from Joseph's chest, fingers delicately tracing the curve of the steel.

"I suppose… I'll take this back now…"

She tugged lightly, expecting the blade to slide free with a satisfying squelch.

But…

Something was wrong…

It wouldn't budge.

Confusion flickered across her face, a wrinkle appearing on her brow above the mask. She pulled harder, putting her weight into it.

Still, the blade remained stubbornly lodged, as if rooted in stone. Her heart skipped a beat, a strange unease replacing her earlier detached calm.

That was the moment—

In a flash, Joseph moved.

Faster than she could perceive, he twisted his body, his left hand clamping onto her wrist in a vice-like grip.

His right fist, as though a blur of motion, connected with her jaw with bone-jarring force.

*CRACK*

Pain lanced through Samsara's face, her vision exploding in a burst of white. Her head snapped back, the world tilting once more as she stumbled backward.

The force of the blow sent a shockwave through her body, her muscles seizing up, her limbs refusing to obey.

She fell to one knee, gasping for breath, her senses reeling. The world, for a terrifying moment, stopped making sense.

'W—what…'

Joseph, his face, calm amidst the chaos, casually withdrew the blade from his chest, as though he sustained no damage.

Samsara's eyes widened like twin moons, a scream trapped behind her mask. He'd been stabbed through the heart, she was certain of it. So how…?

He casually examined the blood-stained steel, as though it were not just stabbed in his heart, as if it were nothing more than a curious trinket.

"What a shame…" He echoed her earlier words, a hint of amusement in his crimson eyes. "You really were… predictable… A stab to the heart to kill a broken-hearted boy? Oh so poetic…"

It was then, the gears in Samsara's head began to turn. It felt like there was a rock in her throat, and a tightness wrapping her heart as she came to a conclusion…

One so illogical, yet the only one plausible…

"You— you moved your heart out of the way??"

Joseph didn't respond. He watched her, his expression as blank and cold as a statue's. No gloating, no mockery, but a being simply observing from high above.

He did not respond, but Indeed she was right.

Using the first Ki gate, he managed to, in that second, reorganize his organs, moving his heart ever so slightly away from harm.

As such, she stabbed into nothing, once the blade was lodged into his chest, he hardened his skin using Ki specifically around that region.

That very slight moment of shock and hesitation of Samsara's blade being stuck gave him the slimmest, ideal opening to deliver the perfect blow.

There was an adage amongst martial artists in his former world— The chin is every man's weakness.

One didn't need a perfect blow, not really. Even a tap, a graze, a sudden, unexpected jolt… could set the entire body into disarray.

The nerves that ran through the jaw were deceptively delicate, linked to motor function, balance, and even consciousness itself. One didn't need to knock someone out to render them helpless.

"Y—you…" She gritted her teeth.

Did he use Chi? I've seen it used in such a way… BUT HOW!? Those questions replayed at nauseum in Samsara's mind.

"I knew you were the traitor." He spoke boldly, "I In fact used that to my advantage…" His gaze narrowed slightly, "You really thought you had me around your fingertips? But never once did I actually trust you…"

"H—huh!?" She choked, clawing at the ground.

There's no way he was pretending the entire time… None!! But then she thought back… How he showed her temporal echo… How he even managed to get this far…

Ever so faint, there were hints, but she was too blinded and haughty to even notice.

It was all fake after all. He never trusted her, not even once… But if that were true, how come—

"Hm? You wonder how I lied to you earlier? The curse mark is absolute in that regard, is it not? Well look…" Slowly, he pulled his collar down, revealing his neck.

The curse mark, the lie detector, was completely gone.

"Whatever info you seemed to get out of me, you relayed to Alton, not knowing I only fed you what I wanted him to know… I never once trusted you… But clearly you had full trust in me… My lie detector truly did put your heart at ease, that part was not a lie huh?"

Samsara's muscles trembled, teeth clenched, gums bleeding. She tried to stand up— to summon her chi, any kind of hidden strength.

But once again, her body refused to obey, and she found herself tumbling hard to the ground after even the slightest hint of momentum.

She crashed, skidding on the ground, and it was then…

It was then, as she fell, did the mask hanging from her nose to her chin fall off.

It revealed what she had been hiding…

Her true face...

Beneath it, was something… grotesque…

There was a border dividing her face, from covered to uncovered, from her cheekbones to the bottom of her chin.

Beneath the bridge of her nose, the flesh was puckered and cracked, like a bumpy reddish landscape of scar tissue infested with gushing puss the color of curdled milk.

Patches, crisscrossed by thick, ropy welts pulsed an unhealthy shade of blue-green, like decaying lakes upon her upper cratered cheeks. Her lower lip appeared as though it was half eaten, drooped down like it was melting.

It was a miracle she could even speak, let alone so well. Flesh upon her jaw was missing, exposing blackened bone jutting out, and pulsating muscles.

A living corpse…?

"What is that?" His words were harsh, yet his face remained blank.

Samsara nearly choked. There was a feeling at the bottom of her stomach, indescribable.

One hand flew to her face, her other scrambling for the fallen mask like a drowning man grasping air. She clutched it tight, pressing it against her disfigured visage, as if to hide the truth from the world, from herself.

"It's fine, leave it off. It wasn't like I wanted another look… No wonder they allowed you to keep it on… Are you even human?"

Slowly, he began inching ever closer to her, and as though out of instinct, she began scooching herself back. her movements were jerky, her breath hitched, each gasp a rasping struggle for air.

"Damnnn it!!" She cursed.

Her failed plans. Searching for explanations?? Those thoughts no longer registered in her mind.

Death was looming above, and victory in her mind was now an impossibility.

"This... This wasn't supposed to end this way... I was so close…" her breath grew more ragged.

Hm? There was a flicker in Joseph's eyes that betrayed his calmness.

"I do pity you. Leave, I've little need to waste... You've long served your purpose," He waved dismissively with his left, slight creaks in his wooden arm.

"COWARD!!" She roared, but Joseph barely reacted.

"I promise you... with every fibre of my being... I will be back… I never wanted this… This wasn't how it was supposed to end… Not-Zephyr..."

She slithered away, off the hill, drowned out by the dark night…

Finally, It was over.

But he let her go…

Why?

The logical thing to do was to kill her. Kill the wounded viper before it comes back to sting. To extinguish the flame of vengeance while it flickered weakly still.

But Joseph chose to let her go…

He doesn't chase her, nor even attempt to.

The reason why?

He looked down towards his right hand... It was all broken, every single bone shattered like glass, fingers were never supposed to bend in such a way, so much so his hand could not even keep its shape.

Such was the difference in power between them. That one uppercut? It may have done more damage to him than it did to her.

Though her stab had missed his heart and vitals, the pain and bleeding naturally remained. He had simply been acting through the agony. If he had followed her or decided to press his advantage any further, he was certain to die if she fought back.

The only reason his first attack connected was because he caught her off guard, a gimmick that would only work once. Not to mention, his Ki and Arcane energy reserves were at their last breaths. His body's ki mastery was still far inferior to her.

So he needed to bluff and keep her away. He couldn't allow her to know his condition. After all, his attack did not deliver any major or permanent damage, just a temporary stun. Very soon, she would regain her full power.

In the end, this was no loss nor victory, but a concession.

Joseph let out a deep breath, the air catching in his lungs for a moment before escaping in a soft hiss, as he hid his injured hand back underneath his tattered garb.

His gaze drifted upward, tracing the patterns of the unfamiliar constellations that glittered coldly in the night sky.

The cries of battle behind him had dwindled to a scattered murmur, replaced by the groans of the wounded and the roars of the victorious.

But before he could turn around and assess it with his own eyes, something reached his ears. Footsteps, scrunching on the mud of the hill, steadily approaching.

"What was that sound!? Are you alright??"

Riemann, a lanky boy with unruly brown hair and restless energy, stood at the front, his hand hovering near the hilt of a stolen dagger. Oslow, shorter and stockier, trailed behind, his face pale and drawn, his eyes flickering with a mix of timid apprehension.

Joseph had seen their faces and overheard their names before, during Gwynn's rambling accounts of his 'cult' meetings.

They had been among the few who'd remained loyal to Gwynn's cause, even when others had abandoned him, although it was mostly out of their boredom. And, they had remained closest to him during the escape.

"I'm fine, don't worry…" Joseph cooly responded.

"Ze… Zephyr right?" Reimann questioned, "It was you giving out most of the commands right? You've got a really loud voice for a guy so short,"

"I'm not that short!" He spat, but indeed that was me," He nodded after.

"That was… really good commanding… Sir? The enemy has been all but crushed… Thank you…" Oslow walked up from behind Reimann and slightly lowered his head, almost in a bow.

"I need no thanks. This was all possible through Lord Wolf's guidance." Joseph's expression remained neutral.

"His guidance?" Oslow muttered quietly, remembering what Lord Wolf had spoken of in prison—releasing the slave mark from his servant, and the name the Vandymion girl had screamed... Zephyr. Unlike Gwynn, could Zephyr have been the true emissary after all?

"Zephyr, can you speak with Lord Wolf? Does he have further commands?" Riemann stuttered slightly.

Slowly, Joseph stepped toward them. Something sparked in those crimson eyes—something indescribable that made them instinctively step back and part.

There he stood, silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

"In fact, he does." Joseph finally responded.

His eyes scanned the battlefield, taking in the aftermath of the victory he'd orchestrated. Utter devastation stretched before him. The once-lush field of phosphorescent grass was now trampled mire, stained crimson. Bodies—guards and prisoners alike—lay strewn among broken weapons and flickering arcane embers.

The remaining guards, scattered and disorganized, were being picked off by the now tired, escaping prisoners. The sight before him was not of an organized force, but a fierce, rabid mob.

He took another step and began muttering to himself, voice too low to comprehend. Then he gathered the final drops of his arcane energy and snapped his left fingers.

*SNAP*

*SNAP*

"My loyal subjects!! Hear me!!" The voice—powerful and foreboding—seemed to spawn from everywhere at once. The prisoners froze mid-action, heads turning instinctively. A hush fell over the scene, battle echoes fading into expectant silence.

"I, Wolf, am pleased with your ferocity! Your courage and determination! My favour has not been wasted upon thee! Yet, I cannot tarry long, for my presence in this realm is but a flicker. From this moment forth, heed the words of the young Zephyr as you would heed mine. For I have bestowed upon him wisdom, a fragment of my own sight, to guide you to true freedom. Until we meet again, in the embrace of a dawn where no chains bind and no walls confine, I remain with you, overlooking this battle in spirit…"

"Zephyr…" someone muttered, the name passing through the ranks like a spark igniting tinder. "Who is Zephyr?"

Confusion rippled through the crowd. Lord Wolf was leaving? Why? Why now? And who was this Zephyr that Lord Wolf spoke of with such reverence? Their gazes darted about, searching for an answer, before finally settling on the lone figure emerging atop the hill.

He was short, almost frail in appearance, his ashen hair whipping in the wind, contrasting the crimson stain that marked his chest.

His left arm, a lifeless wooden appendage, hung limply by his side. He looked more like a lost wounded pet than a leader, a figure more deserving of pity than fear.

They wanted to mock, to dismiss him, to question his authority. Some even felt smiles tugging at their lips, derisive laughter bubbling in their throats.

But then, their eyes met his.

Those crimson eyes, burning with an unnerving intensity, seemed to pierce through them like invisible daggers, through their doubts, their very souls. Their smiles curled downward, and the laughter died in their throats.

Looking around, they met faces of stone—the faces of those who had full faith in Lord Wolf, but more importantly, who knew it was this voice that had commanded and led them to victory.

"I am Zephyr! We have little time to waste, so onwards to the ships we move!! In the name of lord wolf who has granted us this opportunity, failure is not an option!!" But when he spoke, his stature took on a different aura.

His presence seemed to expand, a ripple spreading outward like a stone dropped in still water.

His shoulders appeared to broaden, looming over the crowd like a mountain range silhouetted against sunrise.

A sort of heat shimmered around him, not flames, but like a promise. As though there was a dawn breaking over a battlefield after a long, dark night.

For now, this light was just a glimmer... hope... a sliver of gold peeking above jagged peaks of uncertainty.

Maybe, just maybe, this dawn brought victory.

"ALL HAIL LORD WOLF!! ALL HAIL LORD WOLF!!"

The island seemed to rumble. Up the hill they charged, then plunged down the other side.

Prisoners at the flanks cast arts—glowing orbs that orbited them in the air, illuminating the path ahead.

They glowed, swift as arrows, relentless as a flaming bull.

Joseph led from the front, a beacon appointed by Lord Wolf himself.

Riemann ran closest behind, close enough to notice the subtle hitches in Joseph's breath, the shakiness in his stride. So subtle, yet still present—a weakness he was trying to hide. One could pretend all they wanted, but the body never lied. He was forcing himself to maintain this pace, pushing past his physical limits.

Why? For morale?

How would that morale be affected if they discovered the boy they followed was a dreg?

Gradually, Riemann grew more fascinated.

As they ran, he began to think, looking upon Joseph's back. He had secretly heard Joseph's entire interaction upon that hill. Wasn't that Samsara girl one of his closest allies?

How could he recover so calmly from such betrayal, as if it were nothing? Like a forecasted calamity. Looking at him now, it seemed that betrayal weighed less than a grain of sand in his mind.

I've heard of that boy before… Rayah Vandymion's slave, Zephyr. The many crystal stealing groups I talked to always warned me against antagonizing him, despite him being weak — an unremarkable dreg.

They warned against touching Rayah Vandymion's 'property', it was not worth the risk. But, this is not the same boy in front of me… Had he been pretending all along, was he truly enlightened by Lord Wolf?

No, maybe that is too much… Perhaps he is even possessed by Lord Wolf… Now that I think of it, that wasn't all those gangs told me… The fact that the last person who tried to steal from him mysteriously died… Something is definitely wrong... But, only time will tell… And I… will be the judge…

___

The outpost nestled at the prison island's edge. Lanterns fueled by arcane energy cast flickering light—just enough for patrolling guards to notice their legs shaking. They felt it long before they saw it: a tremor beneath their feet.

"Stand your ground!! We can take them!" their leader yelled, but his voice lacked conviction.

The wind's hollow whisper was his only response.

Their faces pale and grim, they stood at attention with hands hovering near weapons. Nothing appeared ahead yet, but they knew what to expect.

At least, that's what they thought until they saw the horde.

A hundred prisoners—possibly more—crested the hill. Their faces were illuminated, screams ringing louder than heartbeats pulsing in the guards' ears. Some guards' faces twisted in horror, stomachs knotting, several throwing up.

What was rushing towards them was not the timid, lifeless prisoners they had been overseeing for so long… Now unfathomable hatred, unbridled revenge… What rushed at them was certain, unavoidable death… After all those long years painfully torturing them, what would they now do to them?

"FIGHT LIKE MEN I SAID!!!"

But their leaders voice rang empty.

Some stood their ground, but many others fled without looking back.

The ones that remained were all outnumbered.

This was not a battle, but an execution…

A scene born from bottomless hatred…

Walking over the corpses, the hoard finally bore witness to it.

Past that tall, metal enclosure, several massive vessels stood docked, peaking above the walls.

They were airships, but unlike any Joseph had ever seen. They stood tall as skyscrapers piercing the sky, Larger than any ship he had ever witnessed on earth.

Constructed of gleaming brass and polished steel, they resembled giant predatory birds, their hulls adorned with intricate carvings and strange symbols that glowed with an otherworldly light.

Massive gears, powered by unseen mechanisms, whirled and clanked, their rhythmic motion a stark counterpoint to the silence that had fallen over the scene.

Tall, slender masts, crafted from dark, polished wood, stretched skyward, supporting vast sails that billowed in the night wind, their fabric a strange, translucent material that shimmered with a faint, iridescent glow.

Ships built to fly over the Sanctum sky…

…

"Sir, like you commanded, we captured a guard adept at flying one of these," figures, a boy and a girl walked up to Joseph holding a tied up guard, crying and moaning underneath the cloth covering his mouth.

"Excellent work," He nodded, looking towards the outpost entrance, prisoners waiting behind him.

Victory, after so long victory was at their grasp. For a brief moment, their rage lessened, and their faces brightened

Freedom.

Arthur was nowhere to be found, same with Skylar… Flynn and Gwynn? Most likely dead… Samsara… Unknown… Rayah…

He took a deep breath, and took his first step—

…

Took his first step…

…

…

Took… his… first… step…

…

…

…

His brain throbbed…

Throbbed…

Felt like exploding…

He dropped on one knee—

"Zephyr, is something the matter? Will—" A hazy voice spawned from behind.

"TRUST ME DAMN IT!! SHE WILL COME!! YOU CONTENT WITH JUST DYING!?! WE HAVE NO TIME!!" Joseph suddenly roared.

Prisoners behind him, high on morale were taken aback by such a scream that seemed so out of character.

Silence…

But then after a long time, Joseph stood up, regaining a semblance of composure—

"Appologies for that ugliness… bearing all of Lord Wolf's wisdom comes with some drawbacks… Worry not about me, for here we all stand, at the precipice… NOW ONWARD TO VICTORY!!"

Though they cheered, it was no longer as fervorous.

There was a slight crack in the pristine glass.

That would soon shatter—

Suddenly, the ground beneath them began to rumble, like an earthquake.

The prisoners who were ready to enter the dock tumbled over each other.

Rocks erupted flying from the ground, the size of boulders, raining down from above, crushing all who were unfortunate to be in their path.

There was a hole, and from its jaws sprung out nine figures.

Eight clocked in the color of night, and a single being at its center dawning velvet, fighting them all at once.

All who looked up knew it, all too well…

A figure that none could forget, seated into each prisoner's mind.

Instinctively, their mouths gaped, and any previous momentum fell just like the feeling in their stomach.

It was the Warden.

The Violet Specter.

High above the sky, she looked down upon all the faces of dread like ants, before she locked eyes on a single figure…

"ZEPHYRRR!! BARE WITNESS!!!"