The Crimson Curse

Chapter 89: The Crimson Curse

The sky had darkened again, but this time not with storm or dusk. It held a shade of red too deep, too unnatural—like an old wound that refused to close. The air reeked of decay, and the once-thriving fields lay flattened and scorched, the crops reduced to brittle ash. Even the river, once the lifeblood of the village, flowed with a sinister hue, thick and crimson as if it carried the grief of a thousand deaths.

The villagers no longer begged for miracles. They stayed locked in their crumbling homes, parched lips murmuring forgotten prayers, children too weak to cry. Hunger gnawed through the village, and death made itself at home, moving from door to door with impunity.

Elara and Ariella stood at the edge of the corrupted river, the sky behind them veined with red streaks that pulsed like veins. The air here was heavier. Angry. Alive.

"We start here," Elara said, her voice as dry as the earth beneath them.

Ariella nodded. "Water first. They won't survive much longer without it."

Their hands met, palms pressed tightly together, bearing the glowing mark gifted—or cursed—by destiny. A royal blue light unfurled from Elara's fingers, while a radiant white glow rose from Ariella's. The lights entwined and expanded, a breathtaking sphere of shimmering power that pulsed with life and hope. It brightened the banks of the dead river, and far in the distance, gasps and cries of awe echoed from the village.

Ariella raised her free hand. "We command this river—return to what you once were."

Elara lifted hers beside her. "Release the blood. Restore the life."

They thrust their joined power forward, the luminous orb diving into the river with a soundless splash. The crimson current recoiled, bubbling furiously, before something surged upward from the depths. A hulking shape, grotesque and wet, erupted from the surface, thrashing with serpentine limbs. Its skin was glistening with blood, as if born from a butcher's nightmare. Its eyes—if they could be called that—glowed dark red, dripping ichor with every blinkless stare.

Ariella's breath caught. "What… is that?"

"I don't know," Elara whispered, backing a step. "But it's not natural."

The creature roared, a sound that was less of a voice and more of a thousand screams pushed through broken glass. It lunged toward them, massive and quick.

Elara and Ariella tore their hands apart, summoning another burst of power. Light spiraled around them, but the creature twisted unnaturally, dodging their first strike. It skittered toward the river again, as if trying to slip back into the blood-soaked waters.

"No!" Ariella shouted, throwing a wave of searing white light.

Elara followed with a lance of blue fire, catching the beast in the chest. It shrieked, thrashing wildly as its form began to unravel—threads of shadow detaching from its core, trying to retreat. But the girls advanced, their eyes burning with resolve.

"Laxman," Elara muttered, realization dawning. "He sent it here. To poison the river. To make them suffer."

Ariella clenched her fists. "Then we make sure it doesn't crawl back."

Their final strike came as one—two streams of divine flame twisting like twin comets, slamming into the creature's chest. It convulsed, wailed, then exploded in a violent burst of light and blood, staining the rocks before the river cleared, color draining away. The waters calmed, turning clear as crystal.

Elara collapsed to her knees, gasping. "One thing… fixed."

But Ariella's gaze had already turned upward. "The sky…"

They ascended the mountain path again, weary yet determined, stopping at a narrow ridge where the world opened beneath their feet. The sky overhead churned with thick, red clouds that dripped streaks like veins across a canvas. The air had changed. It hummed with anticipation.

"Together?" Elara asked, lifting her hand.

Ariella nodded, matching her gesture. "Let's try again."

The glow returned—brighter than before—swirling above them like a divine halo. They thrust it skyward.

"Let the blue return," they called. "Let light wash away the dark!"

And then—

A rip tore through the clouds.

Something flew out of it.

The girls froze as the creature spiraled through the crimson breach. Its wings were vast and torn, made of shadows stitched together with flame. Its body pulsed with darkness, its face obscured, and yet its shriek was unmistakable—pure hatred, born of agony and rage.

Then it began to rain.

Thick drops of black water fell from the torn sky. The first splashed on the ground, and the earth hissed. Another drop hit Ariella's shoulder—burning through fabric, blistering her skin.

"Run!" she shouted.

They sprinted toward the nearby caves, the rain falling faster, hotter. Screams filled the air—villagers caught in the open. Some tried to crawl to safety, but the rain ate through them like acid. Skin blistered, flesh peeled, and where there were once people… there was nothing.

Inside the cave, Elara collapsed, hands shaking. "I didn't know… I didn't know it would do that."

Ariella pressed her back against the wall, clutching her burned shoulder. "It's not your fault. We tried to heal… and it gave us death."

Outside, the rain fell for hours.

By the time it stopped, the village was silent. Crops that had survived insects were now ash. Survivors were few, their faces haunted and hollow. No one approached the girls when they returned—only watched with tear-streaked faces and desperate, wordless grief.

Ariella knelt beside a small boy, his skin scorched, his hand still clutching the remnants of a toy. She closed his eyes gently.

Elara could barely speak. "We tried… and this happened."

Ariella shook her head. "This wasn't a punishment. This was sabotage."

"Then what now?" Elara whispered. "We've lost everything."

They looked to the sky, but it remained torn and red. No answers. No peace.

"We wait," Ariella said, her voice a thread. "The Queens will come. They have to."

And far away, in the mountains above, the faint hum of a portal whispered open—carrying with it the scent of starlight and something older than time.

But not far enough.

Beneath the earth's crust, where light had never touched, the shadow stirred.

It had waited.

It had known.

The girls would try to retrieve the sky.

The river had been only the beginning. The storm above—the crimson sky, the acidic rain—it was not nature's retaliation. It was a trap, a design woven with cruel precision. The moment they pushed their light through the torn clouds, it had been ready.

And now, it danced.

Dark smoke rose from the crevices of a dead land far from the village, spiraling in slow, serpentine coils. There was no form, no limbs—only the shape of joy made from rot and void. It moved with rhythm, a silent celebration in the moonless dark, as if mocking the girls' pain. It had no voice, and yet its laughter echoed, not in ears but in bones, in the dead silence left behind by rain.

T

he sky remained torn. The land remained cursed.

And in that shadowed dance, something else began to wake.