Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

Darian took a slow, deliberate step forward.

His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his decision pressed heavily in the air.

The tattooed man met his gaze and gave a small nod, his approval silent but firm.

Then, he parted his lips and spoke, his voice carrying an eerie solemnity, each word laced with an unseen weight.

"I, the bearer of this cursed blessing, relinquish my claim. Let its chains unbind me, let its will depart from my flesh."

His voice deepened, reverberating through the air.

"May this burden pass to one strong enough to endure, may this power bind itself to one worthy of its trials."

A cold wind stirred, as if the very air recognized the ritual's gravity.

"By the oath of the forgotten, by the pact of the condemned, let the cycle continue."

The air trembled. The ink-like darkness coiled and pulsed.

"May this gift be undone, may this gift be passed on…"

The words echoed, final and absolute.

"May this gift... be welcomed."

The moment the final syllable left his mouth, a violent shudder ran through his entire body.

His muscles tightened, his breath hitched, and an overwhelming force seemed to pull at him from within.

His legs buckled slightly, and his shoulders slumped.

It was as if something was being torn away, something that had been part of him for far too long.

His tattoos, once dark and pulsing with energy, began to fade.... no, not fade.

They were being pulled away, draining from his skin like ink bleeding from paper.

The swirling patterns unraveled, flowing toward the black circle in his outstretched palm.

His fingers trembled. His breath grew ragged.

The power that had once made him formidable was now leaving him entirely.

And then, his legs finally gave out.

He fell to his knees, trembling, as he carefully placed the swirling black mass on the ground.

His once-dark hair turned silver, strands fading like autumn leaves in the wind.

The deep lines on his face grew heavier, his skin sagging with an age that seemed to have caught up to him all at once.

"For decades..."

His voice was weak now, yet there was a peace in it that hadn't been there before.

"I have waited for this..."

His once-menacing gaze had softened.

There was no malice, no hunger for power.... only exhaustion.

The kind that ran deeper than flesh and bone.

He looked... tired. Experience new tales on My Virtual Library Empire

But also... kind.

His hands trembled as he gestured weakly toward the inked circle on the ground.

"Quick... accept it..."

His voice was urgent now, though it barely rose above a whisper.

"If you don't... it will spread through the bodies of everyone in Vallgorath!"

Ivaim's eyes widened.

His thoughts spun wildly.

'A curse that will infect everyone if it isn't taken by someone qualified?!'

His gaze darted toward Darian, realization settling in like a stone dropping into his gut.

'Did he know about this all along...?'

Darian stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the inked circle.

There was no hesitation when he stepped forward.

His fingers curled around the swirling black mass.

He lifted it from the ground, his grip firm yet careful.

Then, he turned his gaze to the kneeling man... now nothing more than a hollow shell of who he once was.

"You may rest now..."

Darian murmured.

The man blinked slowly, as if surprised.

Then, a small, weary smile ghosted across his lips.

"Thank you..."

He breathed.

And with that, his body stilled.

His head tilted slightly downward. His chest no longer rose.

His fight was over.

Ivaim swallowed hard.

His pulse pounded in his ears like a war drum.

'H-he's dead?'

But his thoughts barely had time to settle before another realization crashed over him.

'Shit! The curse!'

The inked circle still pulsed ominously on the ground, untouched, waiting to latch onto the next vessel.

Ivaim clenched his teeth and tried to move, to activate his abilities, but the suppressing force of the chains kept him locked in place.

Nathan, still bound but recovering, shot a glance toward Darian.

His expression hardened.

Darian closed his eyes for a brief moment before taking a deep breath.

Then, he began to speak.

"I, Darian Valiente…"

His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable weight behind his words.

"I stand before fate itself and offer my body as a vessel. May this burden of power be bound to my soul alone. May its darkness find no place beyond my grasp. By my will—by my blood—by my name, I accept—"

Before he could finish, the ground beneath them trembled.

A deafening clang rang out as chains erupted from the stone floor.

But these were not Darian's chains.

They shimmered with an eerie translucence, their edges jagged and sharp like glass.

They moved with terrifying speed, wrapping around Darian's limbs before he could react.

"What—?!"

He twisted his body, trying to break free, but it was too late.

The chains yanked him backward, pinning him against a crumbling pillar.

His fingers twitched, reaching out, but the circular black ink slipped from his grasp.

The cursed mass drifted downward.

Yet, instead of shattering, it simply… hovered.

It did not roll.

It did not sink.

It remained eerily suspended, as though the very air beneath it refused to let it touch the ground.

Darian's breath came heavy as he strained against his binds. His gaze darted around.

"Who—?"

His words caught in his throat as movement stirred from the shadows.

A frail, yet commanding figure emerged.

Darian's eyes widened in shock.

"Mother...?"

Darian's voice barely rose above a whisper. His disbelief clung to every syllable.

Grandma Neli stepped forward, her face lined with years of wisdom and grief.

The dim light cast deep shadows over her expression, making it impossible to read.

"Mother, what are you doing here?"

Darian's voice sharpened, confusion laced with something close to frustration.

Neli huffed, crossing her arms.

"Hmph. You rascal, if you died before me, I'd be a disgrace to mothers everywhere!"