I Awakened A Divine Curse

Preschool existed to arm them with everything they needed to survive the perils of their first Trial. After passing, they would enter the Academy, where they would learn what being a Blessed truly meant. The Academy offered their sole chance to mingle with other Blesseds from different Archon Provinces.

But Auren remained uncertain about his own fate. Or rather, he hadn't decided what to do yet—if he'd wake up, if he wouldn't. If he wanted to attend the academy, if he didn't.

He needed to understand what being a Blessed meant, though. The scraps he'd gathered from hearsay reeked of propaganda designed to control the masses. Feed them what they needed to believe.

Only actual Blesseds knew the ugly truth that lurked beneath. If Auren wanted access to that ugliness, the academy was his gateway.

He threw his head back, shoulders slumping, and released a bone-deep sigh.

"Well, I can worry about such matters when all of this is over."

Auren pushed himself to his feet and continued tearing through the monster's stone hide.

Slicing through the hide felt like cleaving his sword through ancient oak. Though the onyx exterior resembled stone, it wasn't quite as unyielding. If it had been, Auren would have stood no chance.

Still, carving over a ten meter laceration into the worm's back hadn't killed it. His soul's voice remained silent—no confirmation he had slain a Catastrophic Wretched.

He continued forcing his blade forward, creating new tears in the skin. Each attempt dragged a groan from his throat. Blisters formed on his palms, burst, and wept.

He cursed as he drove the Withering Blade deeper, muscles burning as he forced another tear through the leathery skin.

"Damn worm!"

Blood trickled between his white-knuckled fingers.

"Even while asleep, you're impossible to kill! Ugh!"

He heaved against the blade, feeling it sink another inch.

"How—" grunt "—in the—" gasp "—world are you so tough?!"

Auren finally let the sword clatter to the ground and collapsed onto his backside, perching on one of the worm's flat scales. For several heartbeats, he sat motionless, eyes fixed on the laceration oozing thick black blood.

His gaze narrowed, studying the wound while a voice of reason screamed in his head.

'No Auren! Don't even... don't you dare...!'

Drawing a deep breath, Auren summoned his dark, sinister armor, the metal crawling across his skin like living shadow.

"I am not sorry to myself."

He swallowed hard, his face twisting into a sour grimace as he stared at the pulsing wound, revulsion evident in every line of his body. Then he bent forward and began prying the gash wider with his armored hands.

The laceration fought him, tough and unyielding, but Auren persisted, fingers straining as he stretched it open.

Eventually, he grabbed the Withering Blade again, repurposing it as a butcher's knife, cutting deeper into the creature's dense muscle tissue. He drove the wound wider with his metal boots, stomping and grinding downward.

His armor slid easily against the blood-soaked muscles, the dark liquid making the surface treacherously slick. The perfect condition for what he had in mind.

When he'd sunk to shoulder-level, Auren cast one final glance around the silent, dark, wet wasteland and exhaled hopelessly. Dark smoke coiled around him as his helmet sealed over his face, shutting out the world.

He plunged into the worm's body. His mission was simple but horrifying: find its soul heart and crush it.

The moment he slipped inside, the world transformed. His vision plunged into darkness.

Gone was the harsh wind and dark sky of the Black Desert—inside the worm, there was nothing but suffocating heat, a rancid stench thick enough to chew, and the sound...

Was like a groan.

A low, thrumming sound that vibrated through the beast's flesh like a war drum beaten from within. It wasn't constant—just enough to remind Auren that this creature, this sleeping leviathan, was still alive.

Auren gritted his teeth and pressed forward, the withering stench of ancient decay and acrid bile clinging to the inside of his helmet. The tunnel of flesh undulated faintly, forcing him to steady himself against the ribbed muscle walls. His boots squelched with every step, sliding in dark, sticky blood that had forgotten how to clot.

'I am inside a monster... A living grave.'

The interior was grotesquely organic—long muscular corridors tightening and twitching in reaction to his presence. The worm's body hadn't recognized him as a parasite. Not yet. The blood ran lukewarm against his armor. The tissue spasmed in slow, sluggish twitches, reacting as though confused.

In the depth of the creature, a strange darkness crept, corroding it from within.

Auren used the blade like a staff, dragging himself forward as the space narrowed. The path twisted, funneling toward the sandworm's core. As he advanced, the dark smoke from his armor hissed and recoiled, reacting to something ahead.

He slowed his pace. He didn't need his eyes to tell him the air had changed—he could feel it in his soul. A pressure. Faint, but growing stronger the deeper he ventured.

The heart lay near. And around it, something terribly sinister waited.

If Auren had to guess, he'd say it was the Curse of the sandworm's soul currently evolving to an Abyssal grade.

The soul heart would become more sinister, drawing closer to the depths of corruption than ever before.

He exhaled and pressed forward regardless.

The walls began to pulse erratically, like lungs fighting for breath. Like something had finally sensed his intrusion.

Auren turned, glancing back into the inky void behind him. No light. No retreat. Just the steady drip of blood and flesh sighing in its ancient slumber.

He pressed on, descending deeper into the belly of this godless thing.

Suddenly, the corridor opened wide.

A cavern of meat and sinew, vast enough to house a cathedral, revealed itself before him. In the center hung a mass suspended in a cradle of pulsing veins and quivering muscle—a grotesque, throbbing core shaped like a spiked obsidian chrysalis.

The obsidian chrysalis shimmered with a deep, ungodly darkness that made Auren's heart quiver in his chest. It paled in comparison to the darkness that haunted the corners of the Home of Rage.

This was more ancient, more wretched... more abyssal.

In that moment, Auren glimpsed a small understanding of what it truly meant for a curse to evolve.

Shaking himself from his daze, he tightened his grip and plunged the sword forward, slicing through the veins and severing the soul heart from the creature's core.

The soul heart dropped immediately. Auren finally saw the confirmation he'd been waiting for.

[Congratulations, you have slain An Abyssal Blighted.]

[You have devoured a curse]

[The Curse in your soul grows stronger]

[You have gained a shard]

Auren's eyes widened as power surged through his entire being. He couldn't quantify how much curse he'd absorbed, but the strength flooding through him told enough of the story.

Dying made his body stronger and granted him new skills—a powerful boon indeed. But killing a curse? He'd be lying if he claimed there wasn't a certain thrill to it.

It strengthened his Curse, therefore strengthening his soul, which in turn reflected in his physical form.

Both worked hand in hand.

Auren couldn't help but wonder if killing Blesseds—or to be precise, Divinities—would offer its own reward.

'They have to... or else all this would make no sense.'

Not that he planned to wander around leaving Blessed corpses in his wake... but still... still.

Auren gasped as a wave of acrid stench penetrated even through his sealed helm. He exhaled sharply and began carving his way back upward.

After what felt like an eternity of swimming through viscous darkness, his hands finally broke through the surface of the worm's hide, reaching for open air once more.

Auren hauled himself from the sandworm's insides, his body drenched in black liquid. He collapsed onto the body of the Sandworm, chest heaving, lungs burning for clean air as his armor slowly dissolved around him.

With the armor being one with his body, he found himself naturally coated in the viscous black blood.

He attempted to wipe the foul substance from his skin, but his efforts proved futile. The ichor clung to him like stubborn tar, its stench so vile it seemed to violate his very senses.

Auren examined the soul heart before it vanished into darkness between his fingers. This was another ability he'd discovered since Devourer had consumed the Home of Rage and the swords within it.

There was something peculiar about those swords, too. But that mystery would have to wait. Right now, he desperately needed to clean himself.

Rolling and sliding down the massive body of the sandworm, Auren's face twisted into a mask of pure revulsion.

"Damnit! Let's not ever tell anyone about that...!"

His voice resonated with equal parts frustration and humiliation. Having to dive into the creature's revolting innards had certainly not been something he'd imagined when contemplating the noble task of slaying Cursed Creatures.

He'd never heard tales of such degrading experiences from other Blesseds! Of course, they might be just as ashamed to share such stories as he was. But that wasn't his concern.

This truth would die here and now.

However, barely a second after Auren reached the edge of the lake, he heard a sound.

A soft, familiar, and bland voice called out.

"Auren?"

Then another!

"Oh! Bless Passion! It's Master Auren!"

He turned toward them with a blank expression, blinking slowly as black blood dripped from his body.

"Fuck."