Curselock: A Cursed LITRPG Adventure

Leland and Isobel exited the Captain’s quarters. Both looked at each other, shrugged, then left the administration building.

“I expected… more,” Leland muttered. “Captain Tar tested us. But he just let us in?”

“It’s the Witches and monsters. For whatever reason, they keep coming. Guards, adventurers, even soldiers in the reserves are volunteering to come out here and fight.”

“I just don’t get it. Even if the Witches win and take control of the Tear, there is nothing to be gained. Not unless the Witches are trying to band together and train the weak or something.”

Isobel rolled her eyes. “They’re afraid. Simple as that.”

“They are murderers.”

“Even so. Why do you think most people murder? Let me give you a hint; it’s not because they are sadistic. In my experience, most murder because they are afraid. Owe someone money? Kill them and be square. Found out your wife has a secret lover? You’re afraid that your wife is leaving you.”

“I wouldn’t think Witches would care that much, in that case. Aren’t most underworld scum? Why even involve yourself if you never so much as see the light of day?”

Isobel frowned, side eyeing him. “Because change is scary?”

“I guess. I mean, I don’t find the Tears scary.”

“That’s because you have direct knowledge about what they are and why they are here.”

Leland blinked a few times. “Oh.”

“And I used to call you the ‘Smart One.’”

Just then the pair stepped out into the sun riddled landscape of dark sand. “I expected it to be hotter. It’s rather pleasant, actually.”

Leland not rising to the bait caused Isobel to frown. “Sand is disgusting.”

“Yeah it gets everywhere—”

Zeke cawed from the open air, diving straight down to Leland. The bird stopped himself with a big flourishing flap of his wings, casually landing on his summoner’s shoulder. The two locked eyes.

“They’re here,” Leland announced.

Isobel raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“Zeke.”

Zeke cawed.

“Zeke says ‘hi.’”

“I’m sure he did.” She strolled off, shaking her head. “Is it true what you mumbled about Floe?”

Leland subtly nodded. “Lord of Dungeons. Gelo is her Champion.”

She whistled. “Fancy.”

“Gelo makes things larger.”

Isobel whistled again. “Fancy.”

Rolling his eyes, Leland said, “Be as smug as you want. When you see what she can do, you’ll be impressed. Just the other day, she hit this parasite with an icicle then enlarged it, severing its entire leg .”

“A parasite?”

“Yeah. The host lost. Came after me at the other Tear. Oh, by the way, hanging around me is dangerous because it might reappear.”

Isobel blinked. “Female body? Odd space magic?”

Leland stopped cold. “You’ve seen it?”

“Attacked a Witch’s den I was investigating two days ago. Said I smelled ‘familiar.’”

“Well that’s just great. Did you kill it?”

“No, I ran.”

“I see you really did forgo training.”

Isobel punched him in the arm. This time he didn’t dodge fast enough. “I was alone. No way I was attempting to kill that thing.”

Leland rubbed his freshly bruised skin. “Hmm. When we fought it the first time, I figured you could have killed it easily.” He slowly shook his head. “If you felt the need to retreat, then that must mean it grew stronger. Tell me, what was it doing with the Witches?”

“Eating them.”

He sighed. “That’s not good. I guess that moves up my timetable for acquiring an attack script.”

“’Script?’” asked Isobel.

“Four contracts. That healing web spell you saw earlier was the same idea but with healing.”

“Can you do that for defensive spells?”

“Yes, and area of effect.”

“What about utility?”

“Yes, yes. I plan to have a tool for every job. The issue is what the Lords want from me. There’s only so many contracts I can handle at once. Too many and I’ll sink the ship.”

“Very astute metaphor.”

“Did… did you just use the word ‘astute?’”

Isobel tilted her head to the side and said, “Shut it,” with a cold, dry voice.

Leland chuckled. “Anywhosies, the others should be right over—” he pointed, “there.”

A straggling cart carried various sets of armor, weapons, and multiple chests of mana bombs. Two long wedges of ice had been affixed to the front of the cart, allowing it to glide over the sand like a sled on ice. One of the back wheels was broken and had been replaced with a copy made out of ice. And finally, a sheet covered decapitated body rested amongst the cargo.

The crew pushing the cart moved in silence, Jude, Glenny, and Gelo among them.

“They just lost someone,” Leland whispered. “Killed by a monster controlled by a Witch.”

Isobel grunted. “A shame.”

“I spoke to her soul before she passed. We could have been friends.”

She looked at him. “Leland, you could be friends with everyone if you had the desire. Don’t let the dead get to you.”

They had this conversation before, back when Leland first began seeing souls. And while it wasn’t quite the same, the sentiment helped. Seeing the dead made Leland feel as though he had a lead bell tied to his neck, one that would forever toll.

Cursed contract of the Lord of the Seraph:

Use: Gain access to the spell Celestial Feather. Only usable once per hour.

Celestial Feather: Summon celestial wings from your back, granting the ability for flight. Speed, moveability, and many other secrets come with practice.

Return: You can now see the abandoned. Help 15 lost souls to the afterlife within 3 years.

Souls helped: 10

Ten souls he had spoken to, ten souls he had consoled, ten souls he had helped pass on. Most were killed by the Sightless King, all were murdered. The tenth was just as hard as the first.

“Yeah, I know,” Leland eventually responded. “Want to go see if they need help?”

“No.” He gave her a look. She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

Together, they hopped over a guard railing and exited the fort’s inner walls, stalking straight over to the group.

Across the black desert, a hole in the sand was freshly painted with the blood of several fallen Witches and their accomplices. A young woman, or rather, a young monster, feasted on their corpses while idly scanning the nest. Most, if not everything, the Witches were doing was unimportant and foolhardy, at least, the parasite thought so.

For being recently reborn into this world with a new body, the parasite reveled in the fact it had amassed far more power than what these Witches were attempting to gather. For all of the doodads and magical trinkets they had stashed away in this nest, there was hardly an item worth absorbing.

Not compared to their absolutely dreadful bodies.

Which, it supposed, was the point. Branded by divine consequence, Witches were forever marked for their poorly executed deeds. Avoiding the mark was as simple as avoiding being caught. For a Witch to be caught… it chuckled thinking about the stupidity needed for such a thing to happen.

But then again, maybe fate placed stupid people in its path for a reason. Branded by the divine! There was hardly a better delicacy. The magic flowing through the marked bodies tasted terrible, but it sure packed a punch – a divine punch.

The parasite laughed again, newly consumed power flowing through its broken body. The power coalesced around its stump of a leg, resurfacing it like a carpenter sanding the finish off a table. Skin regrew and bone stretched. Muscles rewove, blood vessels, not that they were needed, repaired. Soon, if not sooner, toes would form, then even toe nails.

It laughed again, this time, its crooked voice echoing off the red-dyed walls.

Elsewhere, in a nest not too dissimilar, a meeting was taking place. Faces marked with a “W” stood beside those of similar structure. Some hated each other, some hated the idea of hate, others felt their blood run cold at even entertaining the idea of being there but few voiced their hatreds outright. Not with him there.

One person, one Witch, stood out from the rest. With shoulders like an elephant’s, the man’s size not only took up a majority of the room but also a majority of the ethereal room. Basking in a green shimmer not unlike summoned creatures, the man sat at the head of a long table, eying the others as they filed in.

One eye silky gray, the other a piercing emerald green, he scoured the newcomers with a magical glare. One by one, he activated a spell on each and every one. Then, when the last entered, he stood.

“The meeting was supposed to be held at sunset,” he growled to the room, his voice two distinct tones, one a low horn, one a high-pitched woodwind, each overlapping and intertwining with each other.

No one met his eyes, for they all knew the power of the Seer.

Seer slammed his hand onto the table, his Legacy tattoo prominently on display – a silhouetted figure of a fading person, the mark of the Lord of Souls.

“Sunset. That was what was decided,” Seer stared at the latecomers. “I hate when people can’t follow simple instructions.”

His eye twitched, the spell finalizing. At once, all six individuals he marked died, their souls ripped from their bodies. Green mist wafted into the air, dissipating.

“Now then,” Seer mused, sitting, “we can begin. Something is hunting us. We are going to move up the timescale.”

“We’re not ready—”

Seer silenced the outburst with a raised hand. “We start now, or we bleed out as the Palemarrow hunters kill us. Either way, I have my targets. And they are going to be dead sooner than later.”