I Awakened A Divine Curse

[Wane]

Type: Debuff

Description: A passive aura of entropy begins to seep from your body. The longer your enemies remain in battle with you, the more their stamina, spirit, and vision degrade. Their abilities begin to "wane" with continued exposure.

Auren grinned widely.

'Apparently, my cursed fate has not totally abandoned me.'

However, Auren understood that if he possessed this ability, then the Polypheme did too. The real issue was that the bastard didn't even need to rely on it—he could kill Auren long before the effect began to matter.

Still, Auren was grateful.

Even though its effect was minimal compared to what the Polypheme itself wielded—after all, what he gained from their skill was a pitiful version—only by consistently dying at their hands would the skill evolve to match the original, or perhaps even surpass it. Auren didn't know for sure. But he suspected… there had to be something more.

This ability was useful—particularly for the long and painful battle he was about to dive into.

Auren checked the other two abilities he had. [Midas Touch] had grown stronger. There was now an additional line in its description:

"You can break them."

He could destroy people's shards.

It was a convenient ability, considering shards were auto-repairing and only truly died when they reached a damage threshold beyond which they could no longer endure. That threshold differed with each grade.

He was also guessing that this threshold would determine how "easy" it would be for him to break them. Or perhaps "break" meant something else entirely.

There was no rush. He would understand it soon enough.

His first ever ability had also changed. Its name had even been rewritten. That, more than anything else, brought a thin thread of joy to his chest.

Just a thread. He couldn't be too happy, not in a situation like this.

It's not like he was one of those people…

'What do they call them again? Masochist? Sadist? Got no idea—but I'm not that.'

And yet he was smiling. Subtly. Unbothered by the sentinel of death looming before him as he leisurely flipped through panel of his abilities.

Auren slowly raised his head. The weight of his circumstance sinking deeper.

His face turned blank.

'I can explain…'

He chuckled slightly and turned his focus to the text of [Metal Skin].

[Dark Metal]

Type: Defensive

Description: Your metal skin has gained the property of true darkness. As a result, both its durability and appearance have been affected.

Auren frowned subtly.

Not that he was displeased—far from it. Gaining the property of true darkness was monumental, though he suspected it might draw more trouble to him than he was ready for.

Still, it was a wondrous development. It meant he was truly beginning to approach the realm of the indestructible.

But it also meant something else—something less appealing.

He was getting harder to kill.

And that meant fewer new abilities, unless he wanted to spend his life throwing himself against Curse Creatures two or three ranks above his level.

'I wouldn't.'

This would be the last time he dared something like that. Auren told himself. Convinced himself. Or at the very least, tried to.

He shook his head violently, snapping himself out of it.

'Drop it. None of that matters right now. For all I know, I could be dead in the next second and not wake up again. I don't even know what my death threshold is—if I even have one. So I really, really shouldn't get used to dying.'

Finally, Auren got ready for battle. He twisted his shoulder blades with a grinding roll, like greasing a stiff metal joint.

Not that he was stiff—in fact, he had never felt so refreshed. It was simply a habit, ingrained from years of sword training.

He smiled faintly at the Sentinel, then scanned the sword-littered terrain for his own.

There—his cold ocean steel, glinting softly beneath pale light, nestled somewhere among the forest of blades.

"How troublesome…"

He muttered the words with an odd expression—half a pout, half amusement.

Then, a breath escaped him. Calm. Grounding. He narrowed his gaze. His eyes shimmered red.

The blur of his form snapped backward for an instant—then surged forward.

Auren's eyes widened slightly.

His... speed…

It had increased.

Being the type who was exceptionally aware of his body—especially its changes—there was no chance he could miss such a development.

A grin stretched across his face.

The surprise had nearly tripped his stride, but he locked in again, adjusting on the fly. He pressed forward, streaking through the air, a faint afterimage of crimson trailing behind.

The Sentinel began to move.

It slowly lifted its enormous sword from the ground. All the other blades around it barely reached its waist—and yet even those stood taller than Auren.

Still… with a bit of effort, he could hurl them.

Maybe more than a bit.

As Auren reached the dais, he pivoted sharply, sprinting toward the far corner of the chamber where the darkness hung heavier—thicker, almost sentient. It loomed as though waiting. For him. Or for another command.

Just as he was about to vanish into the shadowed corner, he veered again—another sharp pivot—cutting across the dais in a serpentine dash, weaving into the forest of swords on the right end.

The Polypheme was already moving.

A blur of obsidian force, a dark streak of light screaming across the chamber.

As Auren neared the other side of the forest, the dark knight was already there. Upon him. Sword raised high over its head, sweeping down in a brutal arc—like a hurricane caught in the grip of a giant.

Auren reacted instinctively.

He reached for the blade nearest him with Midas Touch, one half-buried in the glassy floor of the dais. It resisted. For a second, Auren felt his muscles strain—tight cords of pressure building across his arms, shoulders, spine. Then, with a sudden obeisance to the red glow in his hand, the sword ripped free.

He raised it over his head just as the Sentinel's massive blade crashed down.

The impact was like the sound of worlds colliding.

The blow knocked him off his feet. His body slammed into the ground and tumbled across the floor, hard.

The borrowed sword flew from his hands.

Auren groaned, breath knocked out of him, vision reeling—but he was alive.

He'd survived the first strike.

Now that was a development.