Chapter 3: The Queen’s Curse

The sun was setting over the desolate streets of Siffar, casting long shadows that twisted unnaturally, as if alive with malevolent intent. Dante, Eleanor, and Wajeel stood at the outskirts of the ancient, crumbling library, their faces set with determination. Here, within these cursed ruins But they were not alone.

Wajeel, his eyes scanning the fading light, broke the silence. "This isn't just any cursed book. It's part of a collection designed to suppress mankind's true potential by severing our connection to elemental powers and emotions."

Dante's fists tightened. "And the Shadow's killers are after it. We need to get to it before they do."

Eleanor, ever the strategist, nodded. "If this book is as dangerous as you say, Wajeel, someone powerful will already be here."

Wajeel's expression darkened. "She's here. **Queen Sheeba**, one of the Shadow's deadliest agents, a once-great queen turned into a vessel of pure darkness. She will stop at nothing to claim the Sun of the Almighty."

As they walked the winding streets of the forgotten city, Wajeel began to tell them Sheeba's story, his voice heavy with the weight of history.

"She wasn't always like this. In the days of ancient kingdoms, Queen Sheba ruled with wisdom and grace, famous for her beauty and intellect. She sought out King Solomon to test his wisdom, but that meeting set her on a path she couldn't return from."

Eleanor frowned. "I've heard that story. She visited Solomon, but it ended well, didn't it?"

Wajeel shook his head. "Not in the way the legends tell. Sheba's pride, her thirst for power, was insatiable. She sought greater magic, hoping to outshine even Solomon. That's when she encountered a dark cult, the same one responsible for the cursed books."

Dante glanced at him. "And they corrupted her."

"Yes. She sought their power and found it in the **Book of Eternal Dominion**," Wajeel said grimly. "It granted her the ability to rule over men's hearts and minds, but at a cost. The book devoured her humanity, binding her to the Shadow's will. She has spent centuries as a slave to its dark magic, her soul trapped in a cycle of torment."

Eleanor's eyes widened. "So she's not just any killer… she's a queen cursed by her own ambition."

Wajeel nodded. "She was once a ruler with a heart, but now she is nothing more than an assassin, consumed by her lust for power. And the Sun of the Almighty will only make her stronger."

They arrived at the library ruins, a skeletal reminder of an era long past. Inside, the air was thick with decay and the heavy scent of forgotten knowledge. The library's stone pillars loomed over them like guardians of secrets better left untouched.

In the center of the main hall, resting atop a marble pedestal, was the **Sun of the Almighty**. The book seemed to pulse with a dark energy, its sun-shaped symbol glowing faintly as if aware of their presence.

But before they could move, a cold, mocking voice echoed through the chamber.

"So, you've come to steal my prize?"

They turned to see **Queen Sheeba** stepping from the shadows. Her once-majestic appearance was now twisted, her regal beauty marred by centuries of darkness. Her eyes glowed with a sickly, unnatural light, and her very presence seemed to suck the warmth from the room. Draped in tattered royal robes, her long, dark hair cascaded around her, shadowed tendrils swirling at her feet like a living nightmare.

"You," Sheeba hissed, her gaze locking onto Wajeel. "Always meddling in things beyond your comprehension. This book is mine, and with it, I will reclaim my throne."

Wajeel stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "You lost your throne when you surrendered your soul. You can never return to what you were."

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Return? No. I will surpass what I was. Power is all that matters now. Compassion, love, mercy—these are weaknesses, tools for fools. The world is ruled by those who seize control and bend others to their will. I will show you what true power means."

Dante clenched his fists, his voice sharp. "You're wrong! Real power comes from within—from our emotions, our strength, and the bonds we forge. What you're chasing is nothing but a hollow lie."

Sheeba sneered. "You cling to the idealism of children. Emotions are chains, shackles that keep you from greatness. When you free yourself from them, only then will you understand true power."

Eleanor stepped forward, her eyes defiant. "Emotions aren't weaknesses. They're what make us human. Love, compassion—they're what give us the strength to rise above darkness. You lost your way because you abandoned your humanity."

Sheeba's eyes flickered, a brief flash of something almost... regretful. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by cold malice.

"Enough talk," Sheeba snarled, her voice echoing with ancient power. "If you wish to die for your foolish ideals, so be it."

With a wave of her hand, Sheeba summoned the shadows around her, forming dark tendrils that lashed out like living whips. Dante summoned his fire, his hands glowing with elemental rage as he blocked her attack with a wall of flames. Eleanor called forth her water, countering Sheeba's dark energy with a torrent of shimmering liquid that doused the tendrils in steam.

"She's stronger than I expected!" Dante shouted, his flames struggling to keep up with the shadow's relentless assault.

Wajeel's eyes narrowed as he observed the battlefield. "She draws her strength from the curse, from the book. If we sever her connection to the Sun of the Almighty, she'll lose her power!"

Dante and Eleanor nodded, understanding his plan. They moved in unison, their elemental attacks merging—fire and water swirling together as they drove Sheeba back. But she was relentless, her dark magic surging forward with terrifying force.

"You fight well," Sheeba taunted, her voice a haunting echo. "But you are bound by your emotions, and that will be your undoing."

Wajeel moved swiftly, his hands glowing with ancient runes as he approached the pedestal where the Sun of the Almighty lay. But Sheeba saw his intention, and with a flick of her wrist, sent a blast of dark energy toward him.

"You think you can take it from me?" she screamed, her voice filled with desperation.

But Wajeel was prepared. He deflected the attack with a powerful burst of air, his mastery of the elements keeping her magic at bay. As he reached the book, he placed his hand upon it, feeling the dark power pulse through his veins. For a moment, it felt as though the book was calling to him, tempting him with promises of untold power.

But Wajeel knew better. Power without humanity was a curse.

With a final surge of energy, he unleashed a spell that caused the book to glow with an intense, blinding light. Sheeba screamed as the connection to the book was severed, her dark magic faltering as the curse began to unravel.

"No!" she cried, her voice filled with agony. "I cannot lose this power!"

Dante, seizing the moment, launched a wave of fire toward Sheeba, striking her with full force. Eleanor followed with a tidal wave, the water crashing into Sheeba and extinguishing the last remnants of her shadow magic.

As Sheeba fell to her knees, her once-immortal body now fragile and fading, she looked up at Wajeel, her eyes filled with regret. "I… I could have ruled the world."

Wajeel stepped forward, his voice soft but firm. "You could have ruled your heart, Sheeba. But you let the curse consume you. Power without humanity is meaningless."

With those final words, Sheeba's form crumbled into dust, her cursed existence finally ending.

The three stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the battle heavy on their shoulders. The Sun of the Almighty lay in ruins, but its curse had been lifted.

Eleanor broke the silence. "We still have a long way to go. If there are more books like this out there… we're far from done."

Wajeel nodded, his gaze distant. "The real war has just begun. But we fight for something more than power. We fight for our humanity.

Late at night, after the battle with Queen Sheeba. The group has found a small refuge on the outskirts of Siffar. The moon casts a faint light, but inside their shelter, only the flicker of a small fire illuminates their faces. Eleanor notices something off about Wajeel, who is seated slightly apart from the group, staring at his hand. His fingers tremble, and faint dark veins are creeping up his arm.**

**Eleanor**: (walking over quietly, her voice low and concerned) "Wajeel… is everything alright?"

**Wajeel**: (his voice strained, not meeting her eyes) "It's nothing. Just tired from the battle. We all need rest."

**Eleanor**: (sitting down beside him, her eyes narrowing as she looks at his arm) "You're lying." (She points to the dark veins.) "What's happening to you?"

**Wajeel**: (glancing at his arm, he clenches his fist, trying to hide the infection) "It's the curse… a remnant of the dark magic from the **Sun of the Almighty**. It tried to… latch onto me when I used the book's power to sever Sheeba's connection."

**Eleanor**: (her voice growing more insistent) "And now it's infecting you. Why didn't you say anything?"

**Wajeel**: (turning to face her, his eyes hard but haunted) "Because it doesn't matter. I knew the risks when I touched that book. We needed to stop Sheeba, and that was the only way. If this is the price… then so be it."

**Eleanor**: (shaking her head) "No. You don't get to decide that alone. You've helped us, Wajeel. We've fought together, bled together… You don't have to carry this burden by yourself."

**Wajeel**: (laughing bitterly) "You don't understand. This darkness… it's unlike anything you've ever seen. It doesn't just take over your body. It whispers to you. It tells you things you'd rather forget. It *tempts* you with power, with promises of strength beyond imagination." (His voice softens.) "I've fought against it for so long, Eleanor. But now… I'm not sure how much longer I can resist."

**Eleanor**: (her expression softening, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder) "You don't have to resist it alone. We're in this together, Wajeel. You fought the infection to stop Sheeba, and we'll find a way to help you, just like we did today."

**Wajeel**: (looking at her hand on his shoulder, conflicted) "You don't understand what's at stake. If this infection spreads, if I lose control, I'll become just like Sheeba. A puppet for the Shadow, driven by the same hunger for power." (He pulls away slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.) "I've seen it happen to others. They were consumed."

**Eleanor**: (her voice firm, unwavering) "But you're not like them. You've been fighting the darkness longer than anyone I've ever known. You *chose* to help us, even when it put you in danger. That means something."

**Wajeel**: (a faint smile crossing his lips, though his eyes remain filled with doubt) "You think a little hope can fight back the void that comes with this power?"

**Eleanor**: (meeting his gaze, her voice gentle but resolute) "I think hope is the one thing that can. You said it yourself—power without humanity is meaningless. Don't let the infection take away the one thing that makes you stronger than the Shadow: your will to remain yourself."

**Wajeel**: (looking away, struggling with the inner turmoil) "The infection… it's growing, Eleanor. Every moment I feel it spreading deeper. It'll get harder to resist. I'm not sure how much time I have before—"

**Eleanor**: (interrupting, her tone urgent) "Then we'll find a cure. We'll figure this out before it takes you. You're not going anywhere."

**Wajeel**: (looking at her, a mixture of gratitude and fear in his eyes) "You're too kind, Eleanor. But if it comes to it… if I lose control, you *must* be prepared to do what's necessary. I won't let myself become a weapon for the Shadow."

**Eleanor**: (her expression firm) "We won't let it come to that. You're stronger than you think, Wajeel. And we're not giving up on you."

**Wajeel**: (softly, almost to himself) "You speak of strength as if it's something I can cling to… but what if that strength fades?"

**Eleanor**: (gently, but with conviction) "Then you lean on us. We'll be your strength when you feel like you can't hold on anymore."

(There's a long pause as Wajeel looks down at his infected arm, his eyes reflecting the flicker of the fire. He nods slowly, though uncertainty still lingers in his gaze.)

**Wajeel**: (softly) "Perhaps… Perhaps you're right."

**Eleanor**: (with a small smile) "I know I am."

(Silence falls between them again, but this time it feels less heavy, as though Wajeel's burden has been shared, if only for a moment.)

The night has deepened, and the camp around the fire is quiet. Eleanor has gone to rest after her conversation with Wajeel, while Dante sits alone, watching the fire. The desert air is cold now, and a strange stillness has settled over the ruins of Siffar. Suddenly, from the shadows, a figure emerges — tall, cloaked in dark robes, his face pale and calm. The figure of Death itself, taking human form, steps into the light of the fire.**

**Death**: (his voice deep and hollow, yet strangely gentle) "Dante."

**Dante**: (startled, standing up quickly, reaching for his sword) "Who— who are you?"

**Death**: (holding up a hand, a small smile on his lips) "You know who I am. You have faced my presence before, but never this close." (He steps forward, the firelight casting shadows on his face, giving him an almost human appearance.) "I am not here to take you, not yet. I come with a warning."

**Dante**: (his hand still on his sword, his eyes narrowing) "A warning? Why should I trust you?"

**Death**: (his smile fading, his tone turning serious) "You and your companions have touched powers that are beyond what mortals should wield. Elemental forces, the manipulation of nature itself... these powers come at a cost. Every time you call upon them, you edge closer to your end."

**Dante**: (his voice tense, but curious) "We're trying to stop something far worse than ourselves. Are you saying we should just give up? Let the Shadow consume everything?"

**Death**: (his expression darkening) "I am saying that all power, especially the power over the elements, must be wielded with care. It can corrupt as quickly as it can protect. And for every choice you make with this power, a price must be paid." (He steps closer, his voice quieter now.) "You think you are saving the world by using it, but you may be damning yourselves."

**Dante**: (pausing, his hand slowly dropping from his sword) "Then why come to me? Why not stop us yourself?"

**Death**: (his eyes narrowing, as if considering something deeply) "Because you are at a crossroads, Dante. And I am here to offer you a choice. If tonight were your last night… if you knew that come the dawn, I would take you, what would you do with the time you had left?"

**Dante**: (surprised by the question, his brow furrowing as he considers it) "What kind of question is that? If this were my last night… I'd…"

**Death**: (his voice cold and sharp) "Think carefully, mortal. There is no trick in this. No riddle. Answer truthfully."

**Dante**: (after a long pause, his voice softens) "If tonight were my last night… I wouldn't fight. I wouldn't search for answers in ancient ruins or cursed books. I'd spend it with Eleanor. With the people I care about." (His eyes harden with conviction.) "I'd make sure they knew how much they meant to me."

**Death**: (studying Dante's face closely, then nodding slightly) "A wise answer. To cherish the life you have, rather than waste it chasing power or knowledge. Many in your place would have sought more time to fight or to gain more strength." (He steps closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper.) "But you chose love over power. That is rare among mortals."

**Dante**: (his voice growing stronger) "Power means nothing if you lose the people you're fighting for."

**Death**: (a faint smile returns to his lips) "Indeed. You understand more than most. Perhaps you will make better use of the time you have left." (He pauses, as if weighing a decision.) "I could take you now, or tomorrow, as easily as any day. But I will grant you more time — time to see if your words are true, if your heart remains where you claim it to be."

**Dante**: (surprised) "More time? Why? What's the catch?"

**Death**: (his eyes gleaming, his voice calm) "No catch. Only the test of truth. If you live each day as you would your last, perhaps you will prove that your choice tonight was not just words. But remember this, Dante: you cannot escape me forever. When your time comes, whether in battle or in peace, I will return."

**Dante**: (nodding, resolute) "I'll be ready when that time comes. But until then, I'll live for those who matter to me."

**Death**: (smiling, though it is a chilling smile) "Very well. We shall see." (He steps back into the shadows, his form dissolving into the night.) "Until we meet again, Dante."

**Dante**: (watching as Death fades away, feeling a strange mixture of relief and foreboding, whispers to himself) "Until then…"

(The night grows still once more, and the fire crackles softly as Dante looks toward where Eleanor is resting, his mind heavy with the weight of his encounter. Yet beneath the weight, there is also clarity — a renewed sense of purpose. His path is clear now, though the dangers ahead are greater than ever.)