Curse of the Raven

Richard shoved Oliver into the warehouse with little care, sending him crashing onto the cold concrete floor. The sound of his body hitting the ground echoed in the empty space, followed by a groan of pain. The warehouse was dimly lit, the only light coming from a few high windows, casting long shadows over the three figures standing over Oliver's beaten form.

Max crossed his arms, staring down at Oliver with a blank expression. "Wake him up," he ordered.

Amelia hesitated. "Do we really have to do this?" she asked, looking between Richard and Max.

"Yes," Max replied coldly. "We need answers, and we're out of time."

Richard, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watched as Amelia knelt beside Oliver. With a reluctant sigh, she pulled out her needles and pricked a few pressure points on his arm and neck. Within seconds, Oliver groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He coughed, his entire body writhing slightly as he adjusted to the pain he had been left in.

The first thing he saw when his vision focused was Max standing over him, gun aimed straight at his forehead.

"Morning, sunshine," Max said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Oliver blinked a few times, still groggy. Then, his lips curled into a weak smirk. "You're not gonna shoot," he said, his voice hoarse from the injuries. He let out a strained chuckle. "You don't have it in you."

Max's finger twitched on the trigger. "Try me."

Oliver's smirk widened slightly. His swollen face and bruised lips made his grin look even more twisted. "You won't do it. You're just playing the tough guy act, but deep down, you're just a—"

Click.

The gun went off—except it didn't. A dull metallic sound echoed instead. The pistol had jammed.

Oliver's entire body stiffened, his eyes widening in horror. For a second, even his breathing stopped.

Amelia screamed, covering her mouth, her heart skipping a beat. She thought Max had actually shot him.

Richard, who had been watching silently, raised an eyebrow. "You seriously just tried to kill him?"

Max let out a deep, frustrated sigh and looked at his gun with disgust. "Fucking piece of shit. Jams at the worst possible time," he muttered, shaking it violently as if trying to reset it.

Oliver was visibly shaken, his body still frozen in place. It took a few seconds before he could even speak again. "Y-you were actually gonna pull the trigger…?" he stammered, his voice weak. His cocky attitude had disappeared entirely.

Max glared at him, finally fixing the gun. He raised it again, pointing it right back at Oliver's head. "And I still will," he said, his voice dead serious.

Oliver gulped. The fear in his eyes was real now. He tried to turn his gaze to Amelia, desperate. "A-Amelia, please… You know me. We—we used to—"

Before he could finish, Richard cut him off with a swift kick to the face. The impact sent Oliver's head slamming back into the floor. A splatter of blood shot out from his mouth, staining the concrete beneath him.

"Shut the fuck up," Richard growled.

Oliver coughed violently, blood dripping from his lips. Amelia flinched, but she didn't protest. A part of her felt sick about all of this, but another part knew Oliver deserved every bit of it.

Max sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, let's try this again," he muttered, waving his gun lazily. "Talk, Oliver. Now."

Oliver, shaking and still dazed from the hit, didn't answer immediately.

Max's patience was already razor-thin. He crouched down slightly, pressing the barrel of the pistol right against Oliver's temple. "I'm not a man of patience," he warned. "And I really don't like wasting my time."

Oliver swallowed hard. He could feel the cold steel pressing against his skin. The fear in his eyes deepened.

For the first time, he realized that Max wasn't bluffing.

Oliver let out a shaky breath, his confidence shattered. His eyes darted between Max, whose gun was still pressed against his head, and Richard, who stood a few steps away, arms crossed, his eyes cold and unyielding. Amelia remained quiet, her hands clenched into fists, clearly uneasy about the situation.

"Alright, alright..." Oliver wheezed, spitting out a bit of blood. "I'll talk."

Max lowered the gun slightly but kept it trained on him. "Good. Start with who you're working for."

Oliver coughed, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion. "There's a man… calls himself Raven."

Richard narrowed his eyes. "Raven?"

Oliver nodded weakly. "He's the one who found me. The one who recruited me into all of this…"

Max tilted his head. "Recruited you? This some kind of cult?"

Oliver let out a bitter laugh. "Something like that."

Richard took a step forward. "Start from the beginning. How did you meet him?"

Oliver hesitated, but Max cocked the gun again. "Talk."

Taking a deep breath, Oliver spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I met Raven when I was locked up in juvie," he began. "He came to me… like a savior. I was rotting away, beaten, starving, treated like shit. But then he showed up. He promised me power… told me I could rise above all of it. And I believed him."

Amelia frowned. "Why would you trust some random guy offering you power?"

Oliver shook his head. "He showed me. Right there in juvie, he showed me what he was capable of. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before."

Richard crossed his arms. "What exactly did he do?"

Oliver's breath hitched slightly. His eyes flickered with something that looked a lot like fear. "I don't even know how to explain it. One second, I was in my cell. The next… I wasn't. I was somewhere else. A place that shouldn't exist."

Max and Richard exchanged glances. "Define 'shouldn't exist'," Max said.

Oliver licked his cracked lips. "It was like... a void. Darkness everywhere, stretching on forever. And in that darkness, there were voices. Whispers." He shuddered. "They spoke to me. Told me things about myself that I didn't even know. Secrets. Fears. My past, my future. And then…"

Oliver swallowed hard. "Then I saw him. Raven. But he wasn't just a man anymore. He was… something else. Something more."

Max's grip on the gun tightened. "And you willingly followed him after that?"

Oliver let out a weak chuckle. "Wouldn't you?"

Richard's face twisted with disgust. "Not a fucking chance."

Oliver sighed. "You don't get it. He gave me purpose. A new life. And he introduced me to them—his followers. People just like me, lost, broken, looking for something more."

Richard frowned. "How many people are we talking?"

Oliver hesitated again, but one look at Max's gun convinced him to continue. "I don't know the exact number," he admitted. "Dozens? Maybe more. Some of them were just like me—recruits. Others? They'd been with him for years."

Max narrowed his eyes. "And what's the end goal here? What's Raven trying to do?"

Oliver exhaled shakily. "Summon a demon from the underworld."

Silence.

Amelia stiffened. Richard's eyes darkened. Max? He just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Of course it's a demon," Max muttered under his breath.

Richard took another step forward. "For what purpose?"

Oliver looked up at him, his lips curling into something between a smirk and a grimace. "You think he'd tell me everything? All I know is that it's big. Bigger than all of us. And none of you can stop it."

Max wasn't impressed. He punched Oliver hard in the gut, making him cough violently. "Not the answer I wanted, dumbass."

Oliver gasped for air, shaking his head. "I swear, that's all I know!"

Richard exchanged a glance with Max. There was something about the way Oliver spoke—it didn't sound like he was lying. But that didn't make things any less unsettling.

Suddenly,

Oliver's breathing turned ragged, his body trembling violently as if something inside him was breaking apart. His pupils dilated, his eyes wild with terror. A strangled noise escaped his throat—half gasp, half whimper.

Then, his body jerked.

His back arched unnaturally, and his limbs spasmed, pulling against the iron chains binding him to the chair. His breathing turned erratic, shifting between choking gasps and shallow wheezes. It was as if something inside of him was trying to claw its way out.

His mouth fell open—wide, too wide. His jaw unhinged with a sickening crack, revealing his bloodstained teeth and a black void where his throat should've been. A deep, guttural groan echoed from within him, layered—like multiple voices speaking at once.

Then, his flesh began to ripple.

Richard took an involuntary step back, his stomach twisting. "What the fuck is happening?!"

Max's expression hardened. "He's cursed. And it's strong."

Oliver let out a wet gurgle, his head snapping back. Then, his body began to lift.

It wasn't slow.

He shot into the air—his chains snapping violently off the chair, clattering onto the floor. His limbs flailed uncontrollably, his spine bending in ways no human should. His feet dangled inches above the ground, twitching and kicking as if struggling against some invisible force.

Blood started pouring from his nose, his eyes, his mouth. It wasn't dripping—it was gushing. Thick, blackened crimson cascaded down his chin, soaking his clothes, splattering onto the floor beneath him.

Then came the voices.

A chorus of whispers, hisses, distorted echoes—dozens, maybe hundreds—crawled through the air like nails scraping against bone.

"Sacrifice."

"Unworthy."

"The debt must be paid."

"The Master watches."

"Tear him apart."

Oliver screamed.

It wasn't human.

It was shrill, guttural—raw agony and terror woven into one horrifying sound. His body twisted, his fingers snapping backward, his spine cracking as he convulsed midair.

Amelia clutched her ears, her face pale. "We—we have to help him! We have to break the curse—"

Richard's breath came in sharp, frantic bursts. "Max, do something!"

Max's hands were clenched tightly into fists, his expression grim. "This… This isn't something we can stop."

Then, Oliver's voice changed.

Through his screams, another voice—low, ancient, inhuman—spoke through him.

"The price must be paid."

His body lurched.

His skin began to split—deep, jagged wounds tearing across his arms, his chest, his throat. Chunks of flesh peeled off like wet paper, exposing raw, pulsating muscle beneath.

His feet kicked violently, his back arched further—until it looked like his spine would snap in half. His ribs shifted beneath his skin, pressing outward as if something was inside of him, trying to force its way through.

Then—

His eyes exploded.

Blood erupted from his sockets, splattering across the walls, across Richard, Max, and Amelia.

Amelia screamed, stumbling back, hands flying to her mouth.

Richard felt something warm slide down his face. He touched his cheek—his fingers came away coated in deep, crimson red.

His pulse roared in his ears. His mind barely registered the next sound—

A grotesque, wet tearing noise.

Oliver's jaw ripped apart at the seams—splitting down the middle like a torn piece of meat. Blood flooded down his throat, bubbling, foaming, choking him.

His body was shaking violently now, thrashing midair.

Then—

His chest burst open.

A spray of blood and gore exploded outward—coating the floor, the walls, the ceiling. A visceral, thick scent of iron flooded the air. His intestines, his ribs, his very organs ripped apart in a final, grotesque offering.

A wet thud. His lifeless, shredded remains dropped to the floor like a pile of discarded meat.

The whispers stopped.

Silence.

Only the sound of dripping blood filled the warehouse.

Amelia's knees buckled. She collapsed, her breaths shallow, rapid, her hands trembling violently. Her mouth opened, but no words came out—just a strangled whimper.

Richard?

He stood completely still. Blood drenched him, staining his clothes, his hands, his face. His fingers twitched slightly, his breath uneven.

Max swallowed thickly, his expression unreadable. His hand slowly lowered the gun he never got to fire.

No one said a word.

Because what the fuck could they say?

Oliver was gone.

Not just dead.

Erased.

There was nothing left to bury.

Nothing left… but blood.

Oliver's body lay in a grotesque heap on the warehouse floor. What was left of him, at least. His flesh had been torn apart, his blood soaked into the concrete, and his organs—well, there weren't any left intact. His entire existence had been shredded in the most gruesome way imaginable.

A cold, unsettling silence filled the air.

The metallic scent of blood was thick, almost suffocating. It clung to their skin, seeped into their clothes, drenched them like a second layer of flesh. The sound of dripping echoed in the empty warehouse—blood sliding off the ceiling, pooling into the cracks on the floor.

Amelia stood frozen, her breath ragged, her eyes locked onto Oliver's remains. Her hands trembled violently, her knees threatening to give out.

Richard wiped his face, his fingers smearing warm blood across his cheek. He looked down at his hands—shaking, stained crimson. His heart was pounding, but his mind felt numb.

Max took a slow, deep breath, his grip on the gun tightening before he finally lowered it. His face was unreadable, but Richard could tell—he was shaken.

No one spoke.

Because what the fuck could they say?

Oliver wasn't just dead.

He had been erased.

Richard took a sharp, uneven breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What… what the fuck was that?"

No one answered.

Richard's jaw clenched. He didn't know how to describe what they had just witnessed. No words could encapsulate the sheer horror of it. He had seen death before—but not like this.

Not a death so unnatural.

Not a death so deliberate.

Max exhaled slowly, running a hand through his blood-drenched hair. "Well… fuck."

That was all he could say.

Richard turned his gaze toward Oliver's remains. His mangled, shredded, unrecognizable remains. His stomach twisted. This wasn't normal. This wasn't just some random curse taking effect.

This was punishment.

A warning.

Oliver had been silenced before he could spill any more secrets.

Richard took a step back, his boots squelching in the blood. His mind was racing.

Who did this?

Was it Raven?

Was it something else?

Max let out another sigh, shaking his head. "We're in some deep shit."

Richard swallowed hard. "No kidding."

Amelia wiped her mouth, still trying to process what just happened. She looked at Richard, eyes wide, haunted. "Is this… normal?"

Richard's lips parted, but he didn't answer.

Because no.

No, this was not normal.

Even in their world—where ghosts, curses, and supernatural entities existed—this?

This was on an entirely different level.

Something powerful was watching them.

Something dangerous.

And Richard had a feeling—this was just the beginning.