Umbral flames erupted from her small body. They ate away at the golden flames, deflected the bolts, and incinerated the incoming bullets. Still, even a hexen weapon that had devoured countless lives was no match for the peak of the church’s techniques. Encased in flames, Marin banged against the edge of the barrier, but she may as well have been hitting a wall.
The pillars trembled and their bases were blackened, but the flames remained firmly in the bounds of the barrier. The priests said they had referenced records to estimate her power, and it looked like their calculations were spot on. The black flames began to gradually regress. The curse was weakening, just as the church had predicted.
Between the barrier, the lightning, and the bullets, I didn’t know what was doing the trick and what wasn’t, but this was enough to kill a dragon. Perhaps deciding that Marin had been weakened enough, Edgar turned and said something to Ansem. This meant it was time for the purification.
Even if it had been weakened, I was under the impression that eliminating a curse entirely was a pretty difficult thing. Especially when it came to something of a magnitude like Marin’s Lament, even the Church of the Radiant Spirit had to use their best miracles. This told me I should be proud that Ansem had been selected to play a major role.
Ansem nodded to the Father, then stepped into the barrier. He was the first to do so since the attacks began.
Ansem Smart, the Immutable, was considered to be the best Paladin in the imperial capital. Everyone besides me in Grieving Souls had some aspect in which they were second to none. In Ansem’s case, that would probably be his immense resilience.
His giant stature made him tougher than steel; he could heal and defend with the powers of the Radiant Spirit, and he had high mana material. No attack could faze him. He was the Immutable. That resilience naturally applied to physical attacks, but also to everything else, including magic attacks, environmental changes, poisons, paralyzers, other drugs, diseases, and even curses.
Tempered by Sitri’s poisons, Lucia’s spells, Luke’s swords, Liz’s selfishness, Eliza’s free spirit, and my lightning, Ansem had every hazard covered. Even in the face of an extraordinarily dangerous curse, he stepped forward without fear or hesitation.
When he boldly passed through the barrier, Marin turned her wild eyes towards him. The umbral flames scorching her body assailed Ansem. Yet this manifestation of malice didn’t so much as rattle him. He stepped forward, undeterred by the malign energies attacking his body, causing Marin to retreat for the first time. She must have picked up on the immense power housed in his body. Did this hexen weapon, only capable of hurling anguish, retain the vestiges of a will?
Unfortunately for her, the area of the circle wasn’t so wide that she could escape Ansem. She quickly found her back against a wall. With nowhere to run, Marin let out an exceptionally loud scream. Ansem began to extend his arm. All that was left was for the miracles of the church to purify this pitiful weapon wrought from the vile nature of mankind.
Or so we thought.
Ansem’s shoulders shook, and his arm came to a sudden halt. The priests all gasped and stared in shock. Noticing that the situation had changed, Franz lost the haughty attitude with which he had commanded his knights. Now his eyes were as wide as they could go.
“Wh-What? What in the world is—no, when did it get there?”
At some point, a strange figure had begun to writhe in the space between Ansem and Marin. The figure was black. At first glance, it looked like a lump, but then it unfurled, stood up, and it became clear that it was a humanoid. It was a knight. It was the silhouette of a knight, every inch of it shrouded in black. It was an unsettling onyx that swallowed light, like a hole had opened up in the world. In the bright glow of the magic circle, they were impossible to overlook.
Perhaps the most confused of all was the target of the purification: Marin. What had been just a silhouette instantly gained texture and depth. In the blink of an eye, a mere shadow had become a direful black knight.
The knight stood before Marin’s Lament and drew a sword, almost as if to protect her. The blackening of the pillars accelerated.
“An unknown power?!” Edgar cried. “Destroy it!”
“FIRE! KILL IT!”
Having stopped for the purification, the gunfire resumed. Silver bullets lacerated the interior of the circle.
The church had accounted for all sorts of contingencies when planning out this operation. To name a few, they had considered what might happen if Marin’s Lament was stronger than anticipated, or what to do if Ansem became incapacitated. However, you could hardly blame them for not considering the possibility of reinforcements manifesting. A curse that had been sealed away for years couldn’t possibly have any allies, and, per Franz’s request, there were knights on duty to prevent anyone from getting in from the outside.
Ansem’s titanic frame was like a wall. For anyone on the ground, it was probably hard to tell what was happening. But funnily enough, sitting atop the gate’s ornament let me see the situation he was in.
The Father had called it an unknown power, but that wasn’t right. I had seen it clearly. I couldn’t help but rub my eyes.
That knight. It came from the pendant Sitri gave us. Oh, is this a nightmare?
The knight thrust his sword into the floor. Some sort of black liquid resembling blood fountained from the surface, forming a curtain. By some mysterious power, the bullets coming from both sides bounced off the erupting liquid. Franz’s jaw hung open unflatteringly.
Then Ansem let out a roar as he stepped forward, fist raised.
✦ ✦ ✦
It was the world’s most primal form of spellcasting.
Traditionally, magic was the use of mana to power prescribed steps that caused phenomena. The steps could involve sounds, writing, gesticulations, and breathing. However, a very small percentage of people could induce phenomena just by thinking. Those with the right aptitude could use this primitive magic. It was unique in its lack of classification, powerful because only certain people could use it, and impossible to control.
Able to sometimes cause widespread damage independent of one’s will, people fearfully deemed these “curses,” and those who willfully used them were called Shamans, to distinguish them from Magi.
She was the fearsome enmity born from the research of one deplorable Shaman. Fear, spite, envy, anger, agony, murderous intent. The strong emotions that produced curses were frequently negative ones.
The Shaman gathered anyone they could so long as they had the right aptitude, men and women, young and old, and gave them no choice but to kill one another. They were left in the dark with no other options for survival. Blood gave way to more blood, spite invited further spite, and murderous desires took shape.
Then, when the last person standing, Marin, reached the limits of her strength, a new, unprecedented hexen weapon was born. The desire to kill lost its target and its meaning, but the emotion persisted undiluted.
She only wanted to kill, for that was her only reason for living. To her, the urge to kill was a given, just as much as drawing breath.
He was the result of those who went to be saved.
Following his liege, who had been driven from friends, family, and county, a loyal knight fell before he could complete his duty. He left behind a pendant, which soaked up his regret that he couldn’t protect his liege to the end, and his hatred for those who reviled his liege as if he were a demon and tried to have him executed.
All emotions but the desire to defend the weak were sheared away, instilling the cursed pendant with a protective nature. The innocence or guilt of those he protected was none of his concern. That the accusations directed at the knight’s liege were true and credible, that his liege’s silver tongue and cruel nature had killed hundreds of innocents, these facts were irrelevant. It didn’t matter who; the knight only wished to protect the scorned.
Emotions that formed curses were pure, but multifaceted. There were those he couldn’t protect. There were those who wouldn’t rely on him. Curses of different eras and different sentiments could mingle and give form to something new.
What occurred here was something you could probably travel the world and not see again. The priests who had lifted the seal, the armored knights and hunters, all stared in astonishment at the two curses.
Rotting limbs cloaked in black. A figure wrapped in rags and only barely managing to resemble a person. It began to writhe, then in a matter of seconds became something tangibly human. The murderous rage that had been cowering before the light regained her clarity.
The knight, revitalized with something to protect, and the accursed spirit, now far more eager to kill, both faced the incoming attacks and unleashed their might.