A hunched figure, draped in a sleek black cloak embroidered with the symbol of a ram’s skull, loomed over a ritual site deep within the depths of the Dukedom of Dreadmire - grotesque lumps twisted beneath the fabric, as the figure endured the connection they'd managed to engrave onto their soul.

  The ritual site was within a cavernous chamber, untouched by neither sand nor dirt, stretched twenty meters wide and long, its stone floor, walls, and ceiling covered with engravings - each carved with meticulous precision, now slick with congealing, steaming blood.

  Clicking their tongue in displeasure, the figure straightened, pushing back their hood. With slow and strained movements, they ran their crimson-stained, blue hand through their patches of hair, letting the blood seep into the unnatural, twitching protrusions that marred their scalp - a feeble attempt to salvage the lingering echoes of the ritual.

  , the figure complained as the scent of charred incense and fading echoes of life were inhaled.

  Their gaze swept across the site - the lifeless remains of countless high-tier E and low-tier D grades, their bodies slumped within the iron-barred cells that once served as minor focal points for the ritual, their cybernetic augments ripped from their Cybernetic Sockets. Hundreds of lives were expended, and yet they were not enough for the ritual to fully succeed.

  “A waste. An obscene waste of resources that I could have used for the Winter Solstice,” the figure spat. “To think it had come to this - resorting to a quasi-karmic ritual just to track down the wretched soul who had dared to slay the Duke’s whoreson... just to have only four of the twelve curses latch onto them.”

  Slowly, the figure stepped away from the ritual site, walking towards the bone white altar, untouched by the ritual in front of it.

  Kneeling down in front of the altar, the figure slid off their cloak and sent it into their spatial storage, unveiling themselves to reveal the hundreds of tumors and lumps that writhed atop their blue skin, nary a cybernetic socket nor armament in sight.

  The figure took a breath, steeling their gaze before retrieving a slew of ritual knives they'd meticulously prepared from their spatial storage. Mana surged around the blades as they hovered over the tumors and lumps writhing within the kneeling figure's body.

  Muttering under their breath, the figure guided the blades as they sank into their flesh, carving out each and every grotesque growth on their torso.

  Hours passed. One by one, the tumors and lumps were safely extracted and placed atop the altar. The figure’s eyes glazed over as their chanting neared its end.

  As the final words left their lips, the altar pulsed with power, its energy washing over the still-writhing masses atop it, along with the bleeding figure kneeling before it.

  For several seconds, the figure basked in the energy, eyes still glazed over. The figure remained unmoving, taking in the energy that was being washed over them.

  As the energy that was being released from the altar came to a stop, the kneeling figure collapsed onto the ground. Their heart stopped.

  Minutes later, the body convulsed, thrashing atop the ground, and saliva bubbled from their mouth.

  As the thrashing and convulsing came to a stop, something surprising occurred. A pale blue hand reached out from the figure’s mouth and held onto its lower jaw. Then a second one emerged from within and gripped its upper jaw.

  Both pale blue hands pushed apart, creating sickening cracks and tears as the figure’s dead body split in two, starting from its mouth until the bottom of its pelvis. Revealing the form of a pale blue being similar to the one it came out of, but with feminine features.

  The being’s body steamed it, exited its previous husk, and stepped off of its husk’s entrails and onto the stone flooring. The pale blue naked figure crookedly walked towards the large altar, each step becoming more graceful than the previous.

  Upon arriving in front of the altar, the being was greeted with seven miniature flesh golems that constantly shifted into different creatures, squirming atop the altar.

  [Flesh Golem Lv 0]

  “Perfect,” the being muttered before they covered their naked form with a dull red robe embroidered with a setting sun.

  Looking off to the sealed entrance to their right, the being narrowed their eyes before they touched their navel and sent a pulse of mana, revealing an intricate white colored seal that blossomed across their torso.

  After a moment, the seal vanished, and the pale blue being’s form flickered for a moment before the lumped face of Seeth’four appeared over the being’s face, along with the rest of their body.

  As Seeth’four touched their throat, a Branding Seal appeared atop it, glowing faintly before it returned to its resting state.

  Glancing over their lumped shoulder, at the bisected husk behind them, Seeth’four enveloped it with their mana and watched as it sank into the ground, along with the rest of its remains.

  Picking up the tray that held the seven miniature flesh golems, Seeth’four walked toward the sealed entrance, their face blank. Not a hint of emotion was displayed.

  As Seeth’four neared the sealed entrance, a meter-tall pillar emerged from the ground engraved with a seal, which once Seeth’four placed his palm atop and pulsed with mana, the entrance began to open.

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  Stepping out of the underground ritual site, Seeth’four was greeted with three hounds, cloaked in black cloaks, embroidered with a setting sun. Around their necks were collars of sorts, something the Duke’s firstborn suggested for the Hounds to wear as per their name.

  Seeth’four inclined their head slightly in greeting before handing them the tray of the seven miniature flesh golems. “These are able to track down the count’s dead elven son’s murderer.”

  “What else have you done to the target?” the leading Hound demanded as he stared at the disfigured face of their Duke’s Witch.

  “They have been cursed to make their remaining days as miserable as possible. All twelve curses were successful,” Seeth’four lied, staring at the leading Hound without so much as twitching. “I’ve also learned that the target is within E-Grade.”

  “An E-Grade?” the leading Hound repeated in confusion.

  “Yes,” Seeth’four smiled. “Barely level 80.”

  “Will you be pursuing the target, or will you go with your... pack?” Seeth’four asked, their tone laced with slight mockery as they glanced at the two other Hounds behind the leading one.

  “You forget your place, Witch,” the leading Hound growled. “Unlike you, the Duke has given me other duties that require his immediate attention. The reserve members will track down the target.”

  “Maybe if you achieve something worth wild, the Duke might give you more attention. But then again, with your face, it’s no wonder why you prefer to stay underground,” the leading Hound mocked, glowering at Seeth’four.

  “Then again, if evolving couldn’t fix your face, then it would be best for you to remain underground where you belong,” the leading Hound spat before disappearing into the shadows along with the two other Hounds that followed him.

  A mocking smile grew across Seeth’four’s face as their eyes traced along the walls of the cave, watching as they emerged from a shadow on the edge of the mountain.

  Archie shot up with a gasp, his chest rising and falling in panic, sweat trailing down his bare skin. His vision swam - everything around him felt muddied, feverish, and sticky.

  Archie thought as he clutched his pulsing head, fingers running through his matted hair as he tried to steady his breath. His mind was racing as he tried to recall why he woke up in a panic.

  The last thing he remembered was… getting cursed.

  A shiver crawled down his spine, and the sweat trailing down his skin turned ice-cold.

  Blinking groggily, Archie found himself in a cramped dorm room. The only things around him were a door a meter away, a bedside dresser holding his Steel Chestpiece of Protection and Headdress of the Savage Ursine, and the bed he was lying on.

  Archie wondered as he looked down at his sweat-covered and scarred chest. Looking back at his scars, he noticed that they had become red and inflamed.

  "The four claw-like scars across his chest - the ones he’d earned from the Giant Frostiron Tortoise’s surprise attack during the Solo Tutorial - were now red and tender to the touch. Alongside them was the gnarled scar from when he had thrown himself off a cliff to save Daniel from a mountain lion just before the System Integration.

  Archie smiled.

  The sound of a click brought Archie out of his musings as the door to his cramped room opened, revealing a shocked Aoife who carried a bundle of small square towels in her arms.

  Calming herself with a quick exhale, Aoife walked into the cramped room and closed the door behind her before she sat on the side of the bed.

  Archie opened his mouth to speak, but words refused to come out. His eyes went wide as he attempted to call out her name, but words refused to come out.

  Looking at Aoife in panic, she looked back at Archie, equally shocked.

  , Archie realized, still staring at Aoife in shock, who started to move her fingers around and perform various gestures.

  ‘Are you okay, Archie?’ she signed.

  Staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and surprise, Archie found himself understanding.

  As though she were reading his mind, she signed back, ‘The crystal.’

  , Archie realized as he searched through his memories in an attempt to bring the USL sign language knowledge to the forefront of his mind.

  After a few minutes, Archie replied, ‘I don’t know. I- Apparently, I’ve been cursed.’

  ‘Seral said that was the case,’ Aoife signed as she bit her bottom lip before signing again, ‘When I asked her if she could cure you, she said unless she knew what they were for sure, then we would have to wait if… until you woke up.’

  Raking his fingers through his sweaty hair, Archie looked at the notifications that bared in front of him before he’d passed out.

  You have been cursed with Echoing Pain.

  Echoing Pain:

  Any damage taken lingers as phantom pain, even after healing. The duration of the pain depends on the severity of the wound. Scars that remain on your body will always feel as if they were freshly inflicted. May your pain be everlasting.

  You have been cursed with Veil of Silence.

  Veil of Silence:

  You cannot be heard. Any attempts at verbal communication and telepathic communication have been sealed. May your silence be eternal.

  You have been cursed with Hollow Slumber.

  Hollow Slumber:

  Any attempts at resting will drain you of your stamina and increase your fatigue. Regeneration in your Health, Mana and Stamina pools while asleep will cease. May your slumber be plagued with horrors of the untold.

  You have been cursed with Scent of the Hunted.

  Scent of the Hunted:

  You have become the prey. Your scent is constantly being tracked and traced. May the hunter find the prey.

  , Archie thought to himself as he rubbed his face in frustration.

  Archie stayed silent for a moment before signing back to Aoife, ‘They’re pretty bad.’

  Both Aoife and Archie looked at each other in silence for the next couple of minutes before Archie broke the silence. ‘Listen, one of the curses is telling me that I’m being tracked. So with that in mind, we should split up.’

  Seeing the alarm in her eyes, she waved her hands, trying to dissuade Archie, but Archie still continued. ‘The people who are hunting me down are from Dreadmire, and I don’t want you to be taken back there as a slave.’

  “No!” Aoife exclaimed, suddenly remembering that she could speak. “I-I… we are friends, are we not? A- And friends help pick each other up off the ground when they fall down. You said that, did you not?”

  Archie looked at Aoife in surprise at her sudden outburst, but quickly tried to calm her down. “Aoife, that was then, but thi-”

  “Then is our friendship meaningless?” Aoife interrupted, standing up from the bed and glaring at him with teary eyes.

  “No, b-” Archie started, only to be cut off again.

  “Then I’m joining you!” Aoife declared, shoving the towels she carried into Archie’s outstretched arms. “We said we were going to explore the Multiverse. I- I’m not going to let my first friendship fall apart. I refuse!”

  But before Archie could respond, Aoife quickly turned away, pulled the door open, and swiftly shut the door behind her. Leaving a dumbfounded Archie behind, who stared at the closed door, still holding a pile of towels in his arms in shock.

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