I Awakened A Divine Curse

The battle had been terrifying—a clash of hulking monstrosities that shredded the landscape with their thrashing movements.

Sands surged like floodwaters, collapsing in waves as the smaller abominations scattered. Those too slow became collateral damage, crushed beneath writhing limbs or fleeing for their wretched lives.

Auren had never given much thought to the ecology of Cursed Creatures. But watching these two titans tear into each other, he wondered:

'How did their world even work?'

Blesseds had theories, of course. Most came from fighting Plagues, not venturing into Trials. And the ones who did enter Trials? Their numbers dwindled with each cycle.

It made sense. Who in their right mind would willingly return to hell after escaping it? Once out, a Blessed could live comfortably—esteemed, even. Gain noble titles based on their power as a Devout. Life would unfold like a soft dream from there.

All that remained was to enjoy it.

Sure, horrors still lurked on the surface: Plague emergences, the occasional crazed Blessed. But then there were the *real* madmen—the ones who charged back into the Trials not once, but twice, to take care of those.

The Exalted.

Revered. Unmatched. What could be considered a familiar pinnacle of their civilization's power.

'Now that I think about it… they're absolutely insane.'

Preschool lessons had drilled it into them: the first Trial was the easiest. If this was easy, Auren couldn't fathom what came next.

Did "easy" mean fighting Cursed Creatures far beyond his rank? Or clinging to a monstrous worm's back like a tick, helpless as it brawled with another abomination?

'I guess they really have a way of understating things.'

A hollow, bone-chilling sound ripped through the dark sky. Auren watched as the sonic wave crushed the lake creature flat, pinning it momentarily. Then the sandworm pounced, swallowing half its bulk in one ravenous gulp.

Black, putrid blood gushed from the dying abomination, spreading across the sands like a poisoned river. The entire landscape shimmered under the moonlight, now slick with ichor.

The worm shuddered slightly before bending to continue its feast. Even as it ate, Auren could feel intermittent tremors running through its massive frame. It's movement was growing slower and strained.

A grim smile tugged at his lips.

'It's working.'

Then — his blood turned to ice.

The Cursed Creature suddenly convulsed violently, its whole body bucking like a horse trying to throw its rider. Auren's eyes flew wide, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Somehow, through sheer will, he stayed glued to the creature's back, his knuckles whitening with the effort. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he held on.

After an eternity of seconds, the worm resumed feeding. Auren exhaled shakily — his cover remained intact... for now.

Wet, squelching noises filled the air as the sandworm methodically ground through flesh and bone.

Then movement caught Auren's eye – a lone survivor, somehow having escaped the carnage. The crippled creature dragged its broken body across the sand, one mangled leg trailing uselessly behind it.

'Poor thing...'

The creature – as if hearing Auren's thoughts – suddenly tilted its gaping maw upward. It had no eyes, no nose, just that terrible mouth that seemed to serve all purposes at once.

It froze, its head cocked at an unnatural angle.

Auren's gut twisted. He remained perfectly still.

'If you know what's good for you, keep your damn mouth shut and crawl away.'

But most Cursed Creatures weren't known for their intelligence. The mangled survivor let out a piercing shriek - cut brutally short as the sandworm's tail came crashing down, pulverizing it in an instant.

Auren watched, lips curling in a grin that was equal parts grim and fascinated.

There was something perversely beautiful about watching these abominations live their violent, meaningless lives... and meet equally violent ends.

Not that he planned to make this a spectator sport.

'Wouldn't be a bad idea, really.'

The great worm suddenly stilled, snapping Auren from his thoughts.

'Done eating, buddy?'

Slowly, deliberately, the creature began moving again, its bulk sliding effortlessly through the sand toward the lake's edge.

The tentacled horror's remains lay scattered - just a grotesque skeleton now, its curved ribs jutting from blackened sand like the ruins of some cursed cathedral. Everything else had been devoured.

Auren adjusted his grip as the worm settled into the sand, burying itself just beneath the surface. One by one, its spikes retracted with wet, sucking noises, the holes sealing shut beneath a thick, tar-like secretion.

Then – the worm stilled.

Auren remained frozen in place, barely daring to breathe. Seconds stretched into eternity, but the worm didn't stir.

Finally, he turned his attention to the sealed holes, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It can't be…"

The worm was hibernating?

Auren knew three things that triggered hibernation in Cursed Creatures.

First—and least concerning—was gluttony. If a creature gorged itself on something far larger than its own bulk, it might slip into a food-induced stupor. But that didn't apply here.

Second was instinct. If the environment turned hostile—too cold, too dry, too wrong—some creatures would sleep until conditions improved.

And third…

Evolution.

It was rare. Exceedingly rare. But not impossible.

Auren's gaze slid back to the monstrous worm, his frown deepening.

This thing was already a Catastrophic Blighted. If it evolved into an Abyssal Blighted…

The implications coiled in his gut like a serpent.

An Abyssal could claim dominion over these black dunes. Become their guardian.

At least that was how dangerous and enormously different preschool taught him that Cursed Creatures with Abyssal Curses were.

Auren's jaw tightened.

'This is trouble.'

When a Cursed Creature evolves, its body enters a state of temporary death. Nothing—not pain, not threats, not the world itself—can rouse it until the transformation is complete.

But it's not the creature truly evolving. It's the Curse inside it.

That was another key difference between Blesseds and Curseds.

A Blessed's soul can ascend, growing stronger through trials. But a Cursed soul? It's frozen in corruption, forever stagnant.

Yet while a Blessing remains fixed, a Curse... a Curse can mutate.

Which meant, right now, this monstrosity might as well be a corpse.

Auren's eyes narrowed. The Withering Fate materialized in his grip, its edge glinting with dark intent. Without hesitation, he drove the blade deep into a crevice beneath the worm's obsidian hide.

Thick, oily blood welled up, pooling across the creature's stony flesh. But it didn't so much as twitch.

Auren's gaze traveled the worm's colossal length—the serpentine bulk half-buried in black sand, its spikes retracted, its maw slack.

A grin split his face. Wild. Unhinged.

'Looks like Lady Luck's smiling on me today.'