Curselock: A Cursed LITRPG Adventure

Isobel paused her flight to stare.

Ashford’s power had stopped her, and the others, from progressing forward to assist Leland. As if she was wading through a swamp made of lava from her shoulders down, she couldn’t walk, run, or fly in the direction of the troublesome boy. She, like the others, was stuck on the ground twiddling her thumbs until the darkness came.

Having seen a similar all-consuming void from Leland’s parasitic weapon, she had an idea what the darkness was. But this… this was something more than a simple portal into oblivion… which was saying something.

Whether intentional or not, the darkness weakened the lava swamp to a level in which movement was possible. At least for her. So she took to the air, following the sounds of battle into the air. It wasn’t until she was above the dead Lord’s bones that she saw what could only be described as a “perfect moon.”

Made of just white, the moon hung in the air casting a bare spotlight on the battlefield. It called to her, it promised to shape her destiny into something different. Something more. A power to shatter the realms? Peace of mind to end all wars. Whatever she wanted was within the moon.

But she also saw Leland being hoisted into the air by Ashford, the Undying Harbinger holding him by the collar of his robes. A bolt was primed and ready, her centipede-like parasitic weapon reeling for blood.

But she didn’t fire. She just stared at the wicked power dancing on the boy’s fingertips.

A Calamity was coming.

Lucia cursed as she soared through the air on a ride of lightning. Within the darkness, she hadn’t a clue which way she was going. For all she knew, she could be hurtling toward a building’s rooftop at this point.

Without her husband guiding her, and with the strange way the darkness reacted to her light-producing magic, Lucia prayed to her Lord for assistance. While never as pious as some, she felt the situation called for divine help.

It was her son on the line, after all.

A field of low-power electric magic pulsed from Lucia at rhythmic intervals. That electric magic was her eyes right now, and they told her to go up. So she did, up and up until the pulses warned her of a sudden ceiling. Reflexes took over, and her magic turned her body into irregular lightning. With a jagged flare, the bolt dipped then leaped, landing perfectly on the dead Lord’s sternum.

It was then she saw the moon. It was then she heard the promise of a bygone era, one where all crime was gone. It was then she learned of a future where she took grand revenge on all of those who had wronged her.

But she also saw her son being held by the neck. Ashford, the murderous traitor he was, was about to kill her son.

Being teammates with Diana for so long, Lucia always felt a pride when the woman enraged and beat down whatever enemy they faced. Now, however, she understood what that felt firsthand.

Lightning crashed from the dark sky into her hands. She shifted it around her body, gathering power and charge until it chirped like a million birds.

But she didn’t fire. Something caught her attention.

A small violet spark that soon became a force that silenced her million birds.

Spencer was panicked. It was happening again.

For the second time in recent days, his magic had been locked out while his son was fighting for his life. Something like a curtain of iron blanketed the whole of the city, removing all ties to proper magic. He had seen something similar before, a pressure that changed the very balance of the world. But back then, it was a mage’s toy, not a crushing power that removed spatial magic from existing.

He cursed at himself.

Thinking like that wasn’t helping. Think. Think. Think. Think.

His magic wasn’t truly gone, just tied up in an ephemeral war of interlocked dominant claims. If he was as powerful as Ashford, there would be no issue ripping open a hole in reality and moving between points. But as it was, he first had to unravel space.

So he got to work. It was slow, tedious, and frankly repetitive, but Spencer poured his heart and soul into it. It had been a long, long time since he had gestured or spoken power words to activate his spells. But now, his fingers glowed with blue wakes and slurred words fluttered from his mouth.

“Open. Stretch. Shrink. Anchor. Bend.”

His spells, laid out into five separate words. Five words was all he had to get him to his son.

At some point, the blanket of pressure ceased and Spencer was quick on the draw. Two portals opened. One to find his wife, the other to bring the cavalry to his son.

From overwatch, Spencer watched Diana, Carmon, and Roy all rush into the portal without a moment’s hesitation. Rushwin, Ray, and many, many more familiar faces went next.

It was at this moment Spencer found his wife. She stood not too far from his portal, lightning coursing around her body.

His friends and allies flooded from his portal, all arriving on top of the dead Lord’s bones. They took just a moment to orient themselves, most being drawn to the odd moon that hung above the battlefield.

But then, a heat blazed. Even from where Spencer sat across the city, he could feel it. It wasn’t hot in the normal sense, but in the resonated sense. It blended into mana, it became mana. Like needles coursing through one’s bloodstream, the heat pricked everyone.

The flames of cataclysmic power gathered in Leland’s hand as the soul ignited.

The air around him crackled with carnivorous grit, resonating through the world like singing a dark hymn. Magnitudes of force bent to his command, the very bones he stood on quaking.

Ancient fire wept from his fingertips, lilac horror made real. A cry escaped into the ether, a soul’s last noise in this realm or the next. Leland grit his teeth, the pain reminding him of life. Of how he wanted to live. Of how some didn’t deserve to.

Deafening resilience popped from the ignited soul. It made Leland’s hand feel like stone, the weight cosmic in nature. He shuddered, raising his arm up straight.

Ashford didn’t react, a battle happening inside his own mind. A command, a rebuke. In a way, he was just another soldier ignoring orders. A coup d’état against a divine master.

But the chamber of thought died just as he was about to. Leland was right about it all. He didn’t want to kill the boy, he didn’t want to do the Undying Lord’s bidding. He hoped the boy would be able to kill him, he even went so far as to create a great excuse for Leland to be isolated. Maybe, just maybe, if Leland could unleash his full Harbinger power without any witnesses, he would finally put an end to the nightmare.

But now that that dream was finally coming true, Ashford realized he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to obey his Lord’s order either… but would that truly be that bad? If it meant he could live—

That train of thought ended, the choice being made for him.

His hand released the boy and he stammered back. Leland took a half step back, but Ashford stumbled back. One step, two steps, three. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

Green transcendent power tried to fight it. It tried to cut away the mystic forces that were eating away at his soul. It sparked violet, and he felt his body go numb. It was painful, yes, but Ashford’s thoughts were far from the pain. He accepted it, dying. Now that it was actually happening, that was.

The flames ate away his eyes, ending the connection between him and his Lord’s wrath. Good. That was good.

He felt his lungs go next. His last breath in this world going with it. Then his stomach rumbled, his perfect control of his organs soon dwindled. The flames grew higher, and it was at this point he began to scream. Unsightly and brutal, he screamed, the pain of several lifetimes finally, finally bleeding to a stop.

He gave his killer one last glance.

The boy’s face drooped with tight remorse. Leland could imagine it as well. He and Ashford being friendly, allies even. A different reality where the Undying Lord never tried to use Ashford as a pawn, where Ashford never left the Umbra. Two Harbingers in a secret alliance, each fighting for the Palemarrow Kingdom in different ways.

But as Ashford’s soul withered to dust, Leland hardened his face into something else. It was in this moment he wished he kept Sybil’s mask on him, the prying eyes he felt from the edges of darkness enough to make his legs go weak.

“Goodbye,” he muttered.

Having stiffened his posture, Ashford resolved to at least die with dignity. He sat up straight, he wiped the look of pain from his face. But, before he was truly gone, he removed a small red orb from his chest.

It came out with a spray of fire, but both Ashford and Leland ignored that.

“Make sure you protect it well.”

Leland eyed the Sightless King’s Claim to divinity, but didn’t reach for it. “That’s it then?”

Ashford gave a somber nod. “Poor a drink out on Annie’s grave for me, would you? I never had the chance to say goodbye.”

“I can do that.”

“Oh, and Leland? One last thing,” Ashford said, his voice becoming strained and distant. “Thank you.”

Leland didn’t get a chance to respond, the Undying Harbinger’s soul withering away and his body with it.

A gust of wind turned the corpse to dust.