I Awakened A Divine Curse

Auren lay sprawled on the ground as the invigorating sensation of being mended by death itself washed through him—bones knitting, flesh sealing, nerves humming. It wasn't just resurrection. It was like being made anew.

It struck him as both hilarious and poetic how death, of all things, was the only constant that refused to abandon him. Technically, he understood why. The curse nestled deep within his soul had taken to devouring death itself. That was its nature. Relentless.

Insatiable. And with each passing return, Auren found the curse not just fascinating—but almost comical.

It danced not on the border of life and death, but wove itself through both realms, threading them together with impossible seams—seams only he seemed capable of surviving.

He was a Blessed, in part. His soul bore the echo of divinity. And yet, cursed all the same. Lodged within him was a ravenous thing—[Requiem of a Failed Hero]—coiled in the depths of his soul like a starving serpent feeding on mortality.

A child of two worlds.

One had already cast him aside. As for the other—if it even existed—he had no clue whether it would welcome him, or spit him out too. Maybe he was never meant to belong anywhere. Maybe he was born to linger between the cracks—on the jagged edge between what is and what refuses to die.

Whichever it was… it was grotesque. It was ironic. And it amused him.

He pushed himself upright in a single lurch, breath steadying.

Then vanished.

A blur carved through the air, speed burning off him like vapor. He'd grown faster—noticeably so. His figure sliced across the hall before a second could finish blinking. His destination: the dais.

Auren collided with the Sentinel like a bolt of frenzy, a manic grin slashed across his face, his eyes wild with a gleam that flirted with madness.

The clash cracked the air. He hovered for a heartbeat, suspended in the recoil. The Sentinel barely flinched—its towering frame bending only slightly before shoving forward, hurling Auren into the air like a ragdoll launched from a catapult.

Then it moved.

A smear of wicked black light trailed in the wake of its pursuit, streaking beneath Auren like a hunting shadow.

Mid-flight, Auren's hand snapped to a chain link overhead. His body swung wide, metal groaning under the momentum. But he didn't let it kill his movement.

Instead, he twisted mid-swing, redirected the force, and launched himself with greater velocity than he'd been thrown. Controlled. Calculated.

This time, he dictated the rhythm.

As the chain obeyed the rhythm he commanded, swinging violently through the air, Auren released it mid-arc and spun downward. The Sentinel had been watching—closely. It pivoted in anticipation, prepared to catch him. But the momentum Auren had gathered shifted the tide.

For the first time since the battle began, Auren outpaced the Sentinel.

He wouldn't claim it outright—it wasn't entirely his doing. The chain had assisted him, and the Sentinel hadn't anticipated the maneuver. If it had, Auren was certain it would've intercepted him mid-flight. Still, the result didn't change.

He slammed headfirst into the Sentinel's metal face with blinding speed and devastating force.

The Polypheme—a relic of a forsaken era—toppled.

Auren rode the giant down as it crashed thunderously into the ground, the impact rumbling across the arena. Dark dust and ripples in the glass ground erupted in every direction.

At last, he had forged the opening he needed. The one chance to turn this into his victory.

Using the fall's momentum, he rolled off the Sentinel's frame and sprang upright like coiled springs unbound, launching himself toward the dais without hesitation. His feet tore into the ground as he ran. And already, the darkness stirred.

It surged forward from every angle, a storm of shadows rolling with furious intent.

The Sentinel might have dulled the significance of his accelerating speed—but not the darkness. It couldn't adapt. It couldn't react.

And now, Auren could see it. He could measure just how fast he'd become.

He remembered the first time the darkness struck—spikes twisting into javelins. Back then, he hadn't stood a chance. He couldn't even spare the time to look. He had barely survived, barely made it to the dais.

But now?

Now he was far from the dais—yet closing in fast, while the shadows converged with lethal grace.

He pushed more speed into his stride, sprinting with a thunderous momentum that cracked the air itself. His feet were a blur, a rhythm of war drums echoing across the floor.

He reached the dais—just before the shadows twisted into javelins.

By the time the first spike launched, Auren was already moving.

With Midas Touch, he seized the nearest embedded blade. Its hilt pulsed against his palm as if awakened.

Dozens of other blades leapt into the air—almost in unison, as he forced all of them out with terrifying speed.

Auren launched skyward, pivoting midair, and drove a brutal kick into one of the largest blades. The sword screamed forward, spinning like a hurled comet, colliding with the volley of javelins flying toward him.

The collision above the floor—just before the dais—detonated with a sound that split the air.

A shockwave ripped outward, shredding the air, slamming into the earth in a burst of raw, chaotic pressure.

And the Polypheme—rising—was already coming again.

But that was fine.

All of this—all the chaos, all the risk—would've been a foolish endeavor if Auren hadn't already anticipated the Sentinel's return. In fact, he'd expected it to come sooner.

The delay in his own part had been caused by that strain.

That flicker of resistance in his muscles as he'd moved to uproot the sword. It had cost him a heartbeat.

But he'd factored that in too.

He knew he couldn't always rely on speed alone—not against something like the Sentinel. So instead, he'd trained his thoughts to move faster. Faster than instinct. Faster than hesitation. And in that flicker of insight, he'd found balance—even if not perfection.

Auren's grin widened.

Midair, he seized one of the blades still tumbling from the air. The charred surface shimmered, shedding its blackened shell as red veins of light surged beneath the steel—alive, awakening, responding.

Power surged through his arms.

With a roarless ferocity and all the might of a warped, unnatural Nascent, Auren hurled the blade.

It tore through the air like a crimson meteor.

The Polypheme charged forward, sword raised, its stance prepared to deflect.

But then—its eyes flickered.

A brief, stuttering blink—light threatening to snuff out.

Auren's breath caught. In that moment, he saw it. The confirmation and finality. Proof that his gamble was right.

Hesitation.

Just a sliver. Just enough.

A slow, wicked smile crawled across his face, curling like smoke around a flame. His eyes glinted with feral intent—madness sharpened into certainty.

"Ohh…"

He muttered, voice low, brimming with glee.

"I'm definitely gonna win this."