Curselock: A Cursed LITRPG Adventure

A winged beast as long as a caravan swiveled through the sky, erecting a wall of teal magic like a mason laying a foundation. The teal exploded upward, slicing through the open air and colliding with a golden Harbinger priest. Blood sprayed but a holy song rebuffed the man, washing him in golden light until his wounds stitched themselves over.

In response, six other golden Harbingers did something. That something sprouted from their backs like wings, ushering in a magic capable of heinous penance. The magic combined, sticking out in the form of a mangled giant’s fist. The punch slammed into the beast, knocking it away like a swatted fly.

Two cultists wearing white robes and radiating crimson power revealed themselves, dipping out of invisibility with daggers drawn. The first stabbed into their target, a priest, killing him instantly and sending his body sailing down to the hard ground. The second’s dagger grew in size and scope, sheering into the other five priests. Of the five, three fell to the ground dead, the others basking in golden light and clashing against the new attackers.

Meanwhile, the beast had recovered, joining the fray across the way and coming to the protection of a grouping of defenders fighting both priests and cultists.

All across the sky, battles blazed and people died. Some noticed the sudden lack of clouds and rain, but as each person was committed to deathly combat, none could risk the minutes it would take to figure out why.

Except, that was not true for one being.

Far away from the battle, sitting just beside the beam of white energy cutting into the sky and revealing the Void, it studied. Not human, not dwarf, not monster, the being scanned the sky for the clouds it created, the clouds it used to hide its experiment. As the minutes ticked by, the being realized who removed its clouds didn’t matter, and recreating them did.

The sky began to cry, permeating the liquid stuck in the air. The trick was something it had learned long ago, something it had experimented with its first few years in this world. So, covering the sky, and more importantly the Void, with clouds came with a simple wave of the “hand.”

The being didn’t actually have hands, but the gesture hung in its mind. It had learned so much from the humans, but it was time to leave. To return to its masters, to go home.

How many attempts had it been? Six. Yes, that sounded right. Six. And this attempt was by far the worst. The gaping wound across its flank proved as much. Who would have thought something could actually damage it in this body, certainly not itself. But then again, human magic always surprised it.

The clouds finished appearing, blotting out the sky, the Void, and all of the lines of sight. Since there was not enough water in the air, there was no rain. But the Archon already sought to rectify that by rerouting the current of water treading through the soil by the force of gravity. It was a simple shift, along with the natural evaporation, and soon the protective rains would appear.

The Archon looked at its ultimate creation, its ultimate hope of getting home. The white beam of power was an unfortunate side effect, one that acted as a beacon to the warriors above, but the true device was as small as a stone. It rested beside the Archon, mana and energy spilling from it as it “warmed up.”

Soon, likely in another two days, the device will be fully powered and the Archon could escape this world for its own.

Yet, from the distance that made the Archon look like a speck on the horizon, a young human looked on. Sybil didn’t know why she was looking at it, nor did she truly understand what she was looking at. To her, all she saw was the base of the white beam of light splitting the sky. She couldn’t see the small stone that created the energy, nor the being that sat wounded beside it.

But she felt it. She felt such unequivocal sadness, a sadness all too familiar to her. Like a bird stuck in a cage, still singing its song to all those who would listen, she felt it. Like a princess locked in her room at the top of her castle, watching the city below thrive. Like a weak, powerless girl longing to be something more.

Sybil felt something from the base of the light beam. And while she didn’t know what it was, she understood she had to speak to it. To help it. To help herself.

Around her, the powerful Sky Dwarves discussed with Isobel and Leland, their conversation more of the same. Battle plans, pleas for help, polite declining, simple question, extended answer, and repeat. Sybil had stopped listening once the Erupting Skies Champion explained that the Void was their ticket home.

Something didn’t feel right about that statement to her, and well, the Boneforged Monarch agreed. She didn’t know how, or why, but the moment the Champion spoke of taking the Archon’s spell for herself, a stark denial found her mind. Her thoughts had her looking off to the side instead of up at the overhead war; instead of adding her thoughts to the conversation with the dwarves.

So when the dwarves, Leland, and Isobel went silent and turned to her, she didn’t notice until Leland grabbed her arm and spun her.

“Sybil!” he screeched, his eyes wide like a monster had just appeared from the darkness.

“What!?” she yelped.

“You’re glowing!”

What? Sybil looked at herself, her arms and chest mainly. Through Isobel’s ratty cloak, gray muted light poured through the shoddy patches and stretched stitches. Light poured from her hands, mixing with the rainwater that still clung to her skin, thus defusing the coloration like fire through a gemstone.

She twitched, and the glow went away.

How much time had she lost? Leland said his Lord said not to glow! How could she have been so stupid!? Was she already changing? Was her mind slipping into that of the Boneforged Monarch’s? Sybil stilled herself, the threat of glowing again because of these thoughts was ever present.

Leland and Isobel stared wide eyed at her, both of them calculating in different ways. Leland focused on the math, dividing the days and hours and attempting to reach some sort of conclusion. Isobel, on the other hand, took a more practical approach, searching Sybil’s eyes for hints of foreign changes.

Suffice it to say, they were both inconclusive.

Meanwhile, the Sky Dwarves looked at her like a two headed beaten kitten. There was some sort of recognition in their expressions, like a guard on duty having overhead a partial private message directed to their captain. Context was missing, but the fact remained that something was wrong.

“Lass…” the Champion spoke, his voice carrying over the now resumed winds despite only being a whisper. “Does it hurt?”

From being directly spoken to by a Champion to the tempest happening above her and in her mind, Sybil wasn’t expecting the question. So she fumbled her words, eventually shaking her head.

“No pain… only… rapport?”

She said it as a question but Sybil knew the word was true. Glowing, from the first time months ago to today, felt firm. Felt whole. Not every time had been peaceful, in fact many weren’t, but she felt more like herself in those few fleeting moments than the last ten years of her life. The glowing was her, deep down, it was truth, faith, even hope. And that was okay, right? The glow wasn’t anything evil, despite limiting her time before the Boneforged Monarch changed her. The glow was her, and her alone.

Leland watched the swamp of emotions cross Sybil’s face. He gnawed on his lip, his calculations sputtering to a stop. They didn’t matter, none of this mattered. The ticket home was right there, so unless Sybil was changing in the next few minutes, they had a chance, glowing or not.

He pivoted, turning on the Erupting Skies Champion. “What do we need to do?”

The dwarf shrugged, a similar gesture passing through each of his two friends. “Can’t tell you, we don’t know.”

“Your Lord didn’t give you a hint?”

“No. Only to tell you that it was ‘the ticket home.’ Everything else is on you.”

As Leland mulled over the statement, Isobel stepped in. “Why are you still here then?”

Her tone, while harsh, wasn’t accusatory. To her, when a job was complete it was time to leave. But obviously the dwarves still had things to do.

The Champion pointed to the sky. “We’re to step in up there. Those priests are an evil bunch. And the cultists aren’t much better for that matter.”

“So you’re leaving us?” Leland muttered.

“Aye, lad.”

“Can you at least help us get down there?” He pointed to the great beam rocketing white magic into the clouds.

A smirk befell the man’s face. “Aye lad, I think we can swing that.”

The Champion turned, his tattoos sparking to life with the roar of ripping wind. Within heartbeats a gale pushed through the slick rocks, casting away all beaded droplets of water before stringing them along like a horizontal waterfall. The water and wind rushed toward the white beam, growing in power until a weightlessness overtook the group.

One by one the Sky Dwarves did a little jump, allowing the wind to catch them. They shot off like blown leaves, leaving the others to do the same.

“Are we ready?” the Champion asked, his voice carrying despite the roaring wind.

And just liked that, Sybil jumped, the wind gripping her with a million invisible cushioned hands, despite her flailing. Isobel followed suit right after, both gliding down through the rocky path yet never touching the stones themselves.

The Champion gave Leland a friendly smile before jumping himself. Leland did the same.