I Awakened A Divine Curse

Auren stood for a few moments, just staring at the empty metallic shell that, only seconds ago, had nearly obliterated him. To say nearly felt like an insult to the truth—it had succeeded in every brutal sense of the word.

Each death still echoed like a twisted memory, and what unsettled him most was that he'd lost count. The number no longer mattered. He'd died—again and again—and rose each time.

If there was anything the battle had given him, it was this: confidence. Auren had gained the unsettling assurance to face death head-on. The more he died and came back, the more dying began to feel... normal.

It was a strange comfort. A creeping realization that, maybe—just maybe—death wasn't an enemy. Maybe it was his ally. Maybe it was his power.

But even as that thought settled in, another stirred from the shadows of his mind. What if it was all a lie? A trick? A cruel ruse that had a limit?

What if one day, he wouldn't return?

He didn't know. And he wasn't sure he ever would. But for now, he was convinced of one thing—death, most likely, was a friend. A quiet companion in this twisted journey.

Unless proven otherwise, he would treat it as such. With caution. With restraint. He couldn't afford to drop his guard—not here, not ever.

Auren exhaled slowly and let his weary body collapse, landing on his backside with a graceless thump.

Then he looked again at the lifeless shell.

This time, a different thought formed.

'Wait... so aside from the exalted soul heart and the Polypheme's heart, I didn't gain anything from killing it?'

Nothing else.

No curse absorbed...

"Yeah! That's right! I gained a shard!"

A delighted grin broke across Auren's pale face. The crimson light in his eyes shimmered for a fleeting moment, softening his otherwise cold demeanor. For the first time in a long while, he looked... almost approachable.

He summoned the runes and inspected the shard.

[Shard]

Name: [The Sentinel's Regret]

Type: [Armor]

Grade: [Epic]

Level: [II]

Level Abilities: [Dark Quake], [Mourning Cape]

Description: [The Polypheme of the Dark Star hated its weakness. Hated its strength. Hated its life. He regretted that his brothers chose to let him survive. This is the mark of his regret.]

Auren stared at the description a while longer, a faint sigh escaping his lips. A strange, almost wistful ache tightened in his chest. He hadn't caused the Polypheme's regret—but still, hurling the blades of its brothers at it felt… malicious in hindsight. Inevitable, yes. But cruel.

'I don't like that I'm seeing myself as the villain here. I'm really nice. It was a one-time thing. Don't judge yourself, mongrel!'

Shaking off the thought, he turned his attention to the armor's abilities.

A Level II epic-grade shard. And the powers it granted?

One—Dark Quake. A violent pulse of darkness that unleashed a shockwave, knocking enemies senseless for several seconds while devouring the light in a wide radius.

Two—Mourning Cape. The cloak could wrap around him, absorb a fixed amount of damage, and allow him to teleport through shadows.

It was incredible. Easily one of the best shards he had ever obtained.

Which made it all the more difficult to use.

He hesitated—not out of fear of its power, but fear of the Devourer. The cursed ability within him had a tendency to consume things it deemed valuable and transform them into building blocks for its own twisted growth.

He didn't want to lose this.

Auren exhaled and lay back again, letting his tired body sink into the cold floor. His eyes drifted upward to the hanging black chains swaying from the citadel's ceiling. They dangled like pendulums of dread, casting jagged, shifting shadows that danced across the stone like whispers of forgotten lives.

There were other things, he had to worry about…

'I've got the heart. So now... how do I get out of this shitty realm?'

Every second in this place—this realm of true darkness—gnawed at his mind. It was torment draped in silence, pressure wrapped in shadows. This place wasn't meant for peace.

It was built to unravel.

Auren missed the sensation of walking freely. Of taking a step without feeling the weight of grief coiled around his ankles like shackles. He missed light. Even sorrow in the outside world felt kinder than the smothering presence of this realm.

This place was poison disguised as stillness.

His thoughts finally quieted. His mind, frayed from battle, slipped into silence. Breath in. Breath out. Again. Again.

And then, his eyes closed.

And Auren was gone.

Drifting into the quiet embrace of sleep—peaceful, for now.

After such a mentally grueling confrontation, sleep wasn't just rest. It was survival.

***

A few seconds—maybe minutes, hours, or even days—later, Auren wasn't sure. Time felt like a myth here. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes, he felt mentally renewed, as though his mind had finally stepped out of a storm.

He propped himself up with a soft grunt and glanced around.

The Citadel of Rage remained exactly as he had left it—eerily silent, the shadows unmoved, the atmosphere heavy with stillness.

He stood slowly, body stiff but intact, and turned toward the rusting hulk of metal that had once sought to crush him. Then, shifting his gaze, he scanned the entirety of the grand, desolate hall.

And froze.

His eyes widened.

The swords—all of them—were gone. Every last one. The dais stood bare, spotless even, as if they'd never been there at all.

The darkness, however, remained. It slithered like smoke, a constant presence, but Auren noticed something odd—it recoiled from him. As he took a cautious step toward the dais, the shadows shrank back, curling deeper into the corners of the room, as though avoiding his presence.

Eventually, he stopped at the first step and looked up, brows furrowed.

'Where did the throne go?'

The throne was missing.

Auren slowly lifted a hand to the back of his head and scratched it awkwardly.

'This is strange…'

Strange didn't even begin to cover it. Too many questions were stacking up, unanswered. Could the darkness have swallowed them? That might explain the swords... but the throne?

That didn't make sense. The darkness had always loomed, but never dared to devour the throne—

'Devour…'

The thought struck him like a whisper he didn't want to hear.

Suddenly, a very, very wrong notion started forming in his mind.

'It wouldn't so happen... that I ate those, right?'

His face twitched. A sliver of dread curled in his gut.

And somehow, that idea didn't feel entirely impossible.