Curselock: A Cursed LITRPG Adventure

He strained his neck and eyes to get a better view, the clouds proving to be more of a nuisance than the voices in his head. They told him which attacks to use, where to fire, and what power he should borrow from his true Lord, the Sightless King. He was technically blind, his eyes taken as initiation into his new family, but that didn’t stop him from raining down crimson hellfire.

The spell was called Primordial Burst and was not his favorite. But that was what his Lord told him to use, so he did.

The attack ballooned from his open palm, searing the air it directly touched while evaporating all moisture. The spell was neither hot nor radiant, but the sheer amount of mana the burst took nipped at the fabric of reality. The effect was grave, but that hardly mattered to the Sightless King. His eyes had long burnt away, so use of such magic was far within his right as a Lord.

The spell fully formed on the cultist’s open palm. It pulsated with a dull red gleam, like a Primordial Slime, the very monster the spell was said to have originated from. The man lined up where the voices told him to and prepared himself. His arm would disintegrate, but that was all fine in his eyes. Then he would have to move away, for the world would disintegrate with it.

Or at least part of it.

The man breathed out, and the spell began to—

A sickly emerald spike split the difference between his eyes before dicing through his brain and out the back of his head. The voices went silent and he felt his Lord renounce His claim. The mana fueling Primordial Burst faltered, the spell flickering away as gravity consumed the man’s flight spell. As his body fell through the clouds, the little destructive magic that clung to his open palm began to destroy him.

Nearly all of the man’s upper torso was gone by the time the mana ran out. Then, after a handful of seconds, he splattered against the rocky wasteland below.

Leland flinched at the sudden body landing beside him, but he set his shoulders and continued to sprint. Sybil, unfortunately, was a bit more reactive. She jolted at the thud, her knee catching against her other leg. She fell, the slick rock doing nothing to help.

With all his strength, Leland heaved her upright, their hands still clasped. A few steps away, Isobel cursed, her momentum carrying her into the perfect position to fire. A bolt of poison launched from her centipede-weapon, hitting its target with ease. She then turned, throwing up her hands and activating an enchanted item.

Her wrist glowed brightly, a yellow ripple of magic pulsing forward just in time for the ground to explode. Crimson light dispelled all nearby shadows, casting the area with the mire of the Sightless King. Isobel’s arms locked up, the explosion splitting around her enchanted shield. Pain flooded her hip and arm as her clothes ignited.

Under any normal circumstances the Huntress would not have been harmed by such a weak spell. But she was hardly fighting for herself, right? Just a few paces away, Leland and Sybil ran, their young forms nothing compared to the might of primal magic.

Isobel had recognized it instantly, the magic quite well known in the sphere of Inquisitors. How many times had she hunted down and killed rogue primal mages? Too many. She’d have to inform Leland that the Sightless King’s power was identifiably primal at high-rank. Not for himself, obviously, but for Glenny, the Chameleon.

The boy should be fine for the time being. Isobel had been around Glenny’s power quite a bit and never before had she noticed the primal elements hidden within those conjured swords he used. But that would surely change once he was past the hurdle of a rank three Legacy.

But that was for later. Right now she had to deal with a horde of angry cultists while her wards ran toward an invisible, reality defining, Archon that was, supposedly, a child. Because, for some reason to Sybil and Leland, rushing toward the unknown being was more of an acceptable course of action than bunkering down and fighting off the cultists in the sky.

But then again, she was following along with them, so the idea had some merit, after all.

“There! There’s a protection spell!” Sybil screeched, wildly pointing ahead.

Leland changed course, heading straight over. No one could see where she pointed but that was beside the point. If they stopped, they would die. The Sightless King would make sure of that. So he ran, passing into the spell without a moment’s hesitation.

To Isobel, the pair suddenly disappeared. Leland first, then Sybil as she was pulled through the barrier. She cursed quickly, firing off another bolt while quickly stepping to make up the distance. She too passed whatever barrier was set in the rocks, finding Leland and Sybil on the other side unharmed.

“Wha—“

Leland’s words died in his throat, the sound just not coming out. He shuddered for an answer, his grip on Sybil tightening. She squeezed back, but something told her it would be okay. She hoped that her emotions were conveyed, stepping forward past Leland.

Isobel frowned as an explosion of red smoke sundered the ground just outside the invisible barrier. Shrapnel and a particularly deadly shockwave failed to penetrate, however, which she was quite thankful for. She’d need to recharge her shield enchantment sooner than later.

The sudden reprieve from the battle above changed when a cultist appeared on the ground. The woman wore white robes, her eyes glowing with a familiar crimson haze. She charged, Isobel holding her shot a bit longer than what was truly needed.

It wasn’t that Isobel needed extra time to aim, no, in fact, she could have put a hole in the cultist the moment she laid eyes on her. But Isobel needed some grasp over the situation, and learning exactly how much protection this invisible barrier gave was going to soothe her… for now.

The cultist’s arm and red mace entered first, but the moment her forehead peaked through, Isobel fired her attack. The spike killed the woman instantly, trailing through her brain and out the other side. Momentum carried the body into the barrier more, depositing her like a farmer throwing a sack of hay. The bolt, however, continued onward until it hit the barrier’s edge where it then shattered into green muck.

Isobel grunted. No attacks in, none out. The exception was people and whatever weapons they carried. So, she took a deep breath. She could work with that.

Attacks rained down from above, each peppering the invisible barrier. Frustration obviously grew, as the Sightless Cult began to increase the pace at which they threw spells. A few cultists braved the barrage, rushing through the smoke and fire with weapons drawn. They each died, one shot, one kill originating from the Huntress.

It was then all attacks ceased and the cultists slowly made their way down, lining up around the barrier like soldiers setting a city siege.

One of them, a man wearing white robes with gold and obsidian trim, yelled something, but the barrier cut all sound. In other words, whatever threats the man screamed, fell on deaf ears.

Normally, Isobel would have taunted the man, but a situation was playing out just a few steps away that needed her attention more.

Sybil was crouched beside a being, while Leland hauntedly stood behind her, his arm squeezing her shoulder in worry.

“We mean you no harm. My name is Sybil, can you understand me?” She spoke softly, her voice just above a whisper yet strong and unflinching.

Isobel would have congratulated the girl for such a tone as most nobles often came off as bored and irritated, but again, the situation was far beyond simple sarcastic jabs. So she stepped up beside Leland, subtly gesturing to him to remove his arm from the Princess. He glared at her but she quietly shook her head.

“Don’t interfere,” Isobel mouthed to him. “You might piss it off.”

Leland recoiled at the statement. He went to argue, but then he realized he was holding a scythe and brimming with magic, mana, and lifeforce. Maybe, just maybe, the Huntress was right.

But that reminded him to glance at his pathway. The winds of fate nudged him just a few steps, directly toward the Archon. Leland swallowed, accepting that what came next might not be up to him at all. Luckily they were in good hands, Sybil’s.

The Archon was hunched over, an impossible veil circled around a ring of broken sapphire. Chiseled, cut, and polished, the gems glinted with the poor lighting of the clouded sky as they slowly rotated as one. They were evenly sized and spaced, a connecting octagonal ball of pure mana floating silently in their center.

Yet, as Leland looked on at it, he couldn’t help but be drawn to a single chunk of sapphire. It was broken and cracked, split at the seams with enough force to shatter a large portion of it. Dust revolved around the broken gem, catching enough light to mimic the blue of the ocean.

Then, for some reason, Lelend suddenly felt a profound sense of hollowing pain.

The veil quickly swirled around the gems and mana, covering them in what looked to be silken thread. The threads swayed slightly, what little wind the invisible barrier allowed in creating a natural dance for the cloth.

The sadness left Leland’s mind in that moment. He stood a little straighter, noticing Isobel doing the same. They glanced at each other, both coming to the same conclusion. Mind magic, or something similar. Perhaps even an emotional effect like Leland’s contract with the Lord of Spirits.

Sybil, during all of this, had inched forward just a bit more. She did not straighten out once the mental effect left, and not because the claim in her mind was still there. No, in fact the Princess never had the claim the others felt, as what she truly felt from the creature was far more than simple sadness and pain.

Maybe it was instinctual, but she felt a familiarity that reminded her of her own pain. Of her own sadness, of her own torment. This Archon and her were one and the same. Just two beings wishing to be safe and without anguish.

“I’m so sorry!” Sybil burst out, tears flowing like rapid streams. “We will not hurt you! I promise! We just want to get home!”

The silken veil reacted, standing taller. Threads cast down, swaying like an arm reaching out . It touched upon Sybil’s wet cheek.

“So do I,” it said, its voice heavenly yet fearful. “Can you help me?”