Chapter 7: The Curse

After the brutal battle, the death cultists surrendered en masse—a surrender that left Wayne feeling neither victorious nor defeated, but utterly conflicted. He admitted that the power of Veronica's handgun was undeniable, yet it had ruined the entire atmosphere, nullifying the weight of his inner turmoil. The shameless behavior of the cultists had stripped away any remaining reverence he once held for the gods. After all, when the leader—a cross-dressing big shot selling a persona to fleece the masses—sets the tone, who could expect his followers to stand firm?

Wayne sighed. Maybe it was better this way. If everything returned to normal, then perhaps the world would be safe—and he, ordinary Wayne, could finally rest easy.

Nearby, the cultists lined up against the wall. William, ever the muscle-bound enforcer, greeted each of the subdued captives with a few well-placed punches. One face, in particular, was all too familiar: dockworker Bruto, who had just been floored by William's smooth sequence of moves—left hook, right hook, and a rising dragon punch that left Bruto sprawled on the ground.

"Simple magic—raw, unadorned, and effective," William declared with a grin.

Once the captives had been pacified, Veronica took charge of the interrogation. Her method was as ruthless as it was efficient—employing a potent hallucinogenic fungus that nearly induced vivid, disturbing visions. Despite her best efforts to trace the elusive Death Walker, she only managed to extract disjointed clues. It turned out that the Death Walker hadn't attended the gathering at all. Instead, the supposed ringleader was nothing more than a minor errand-runner. Veronica's inquiries ended with a laughable answer: the Death Walker was "going back home to get married."

Wayne scratched his head. It was absurd—and yet, somehow, refreshingly grounded. The mysterious, mystical mage in his mind suddenly seemed relatable.

After further questioning, Veronica unearthed the Death Walker's real name and his old address. His name was Mike Nielsen—nicknamed "Bloody Mike." Born into a humble family, Mike had slogged through life at the docks and in the warehouse district. A botched job once left him beaten and covered in blood, earning his grim moniker. By all accounts, Mike was destined to be exploited until he could fight no more—until one day, inexplicably, he had risen. He'd become a devotee of the Death Goddess and even mastered a form of magic, corralling a few underlings to claim territory in the warehouses.

Unable to shake his doubts, Wayne turned to William. "William, in your experience, is the Death Goddess male or female?"

"Female," William replied without hesitation, adding, "at least, her outward form is female."

"And in essence?" Wayne pressed.

William hesitated. "I… why do you ask?"

Wayne frowned, recalling the moment earlier when, hidden among the cultists, he'd heard a deep, almost masculine voice whispering—asking if one would sacrifice everything. "I overheard a low voice during the prayer. It sounded unmistakably male. It asked if I'd give up everything."

"That isn't the Death Goddess," William explained, "that's one of her three proxies—the Observer Grew. See that spider-like mark? It's the symbol of the Observer." He paused, then added in a hushed tone, "Death never comes by itself, but if the Observer personally invites you, then you're in rare company. It means you're deeply intertwined with death."

Before Wayne could ask further, William leaned in, cautioning, "Don't mention his name directly—if he thinks you're responding to his call, his will will descend upon you and brand you as a Death Disciple. Understand?"

Wayne pushed William's hand away, his voice shaky as he asked, "And if he does mark me, what then?"

"Then his will will take root in you, and you'll bear the mark of a disciple," William replied gravely.

A chill ran down Wayne's spine. The thought of such a curse made his skin crawl. Just then, as if to break the tension, a commotion arose from the far side of the warehouse. Amid the dim light and lingering fog, a low murmur of prayers began to fade. The cultists, now scattered and disoriented, stood silent—waiting for the next move.

Amid the chaos, Wayne's stomach growled. Not just a physical hunger, but a deeper craving—a hunger that gnawed at his very soul. "I'm starving," he muttered. "Not just for food… I mean, I feel like something inside me is craving magical energy. It's as if my soul is hungry, desperate for magic to sustain it."

William's eyes lit up. "Magic?" he echoed.

"Exactly," Wayne said with a mix of desperation and determination. "Without magic, my soul will wither away. I need that power."

Before he could continue, Veronica shot him a sharp, disapproving glare. Embarrassed, Wayne quickly diverted his gaze to William.

At that moment, a soft rustle came from the corner. From behind a stack of crates, the black cat Monica approached. To Wayne's astonishment, the cat's golden eyes seemed to burn with intelligence, and in a surprisingly raspy voice, Monica spoke, "William, your mistake has cursed a mortal. He's in danger of dying if his soul isn't fed. You must take responsibility for this error."

William looked contrite, his usual bravado slipping away. "There's nothing I can do—I'm cursed too. My magic is sealed except for the meager energy I gather from meditation. I can't help him."

Before the conversation could spiral further, Monica leapt gracefully onto Wayne's shoulder. In a tone both gentle and commanding, the cat continued, "I can plant the seed of magical power within you. I will guide you to become a true mage in record time. But nothing in this world is free. From now on, you must swear to worship the Moon Goddess alongside me. Is that acceptable?"

Wayne's heart soared despite the chaos. "Yes," he whispered eagerly, feeling as though fate had finally offered him a lifeline—a chance to transcend his ordinariness.

A wry smile tugged at his lips as he thought, almost in disbelief, "Magic girl and a talking, power-bestowing pet… I swear I've seen that combo somewhere before."

In that surreal moment, amid curses and dark omens, Wayne realized that even in a world steeped in death and betrayal, he might just have found the spark to become something more. And though the path ahead was uncertain, he clung to that newfound promise like a beacon in the night.