Ch. 19 Pride

"I was right, he is alive!" the Curseuman exclaimed, a mix of surprise and confusion on his face.

"But if he possesses this type of power, then why didn't he use it from the beginning? Why did he endure the insult of my words?"

He shook his head. "No, it can't be. If he had this power, he would definitely have used it."

He gazed at Ray, who was enveloped in a dense, dark aura. A high-speed wind, imbued with the oppressive darkness of Ray's aura, swirled around them. The sun was about to set, casting long, ominous shadows. The Curseuman's eyes widened in realization.

"Don't tell me... his soul awakened!" he whispered, a tremor of fear in his voice.

"A Soul-human's soul awakens when they suffer intense rage, sadness, pain, or fear. Any profound negative emotion can activate it, but that emotion must be far beyond mere intensity. Only one person was ever able to awaken his soul."

His eyes widened further, still filled with surprise.

"Luminous, who created Sun Flames, he was the first one to awaken the soul. No one before him or after was able to awaken their soul. In fact, Sun Flames were results, what he gained after awakening."

He paused, a chilling thought striking him.

"I'm sure I didn't give him that much pain. I killed him with one shot." He looked towards Ray, then a memory of Yuki flashed.

"Wait, that girl... her love. Perhaps when I triggered her memory, he experienced something more profound than mere pain."

"This power," Ray murmured, sensing the immense energy surging within him.

"Maybe I can use this power to kill him."

He raised his hand, and a portion of the dark aura enveloping his palm momentarily vanished, revealing his skin beneath.

"But... I don't know how to use this power."

Suddenly, the Curseuman appeared directly before Ray, airborne, attempting to strike Ray's head with a kick. His leg was enhanced by Curse Energy, enveloped in a menacing red aura.

If my magical technique won't work on him, the Curseuman thought mid-air, I will use a physical attack enhanced by my energy to kill him!

"He is here!" Ray panicked, still enveloped in his dark aura.

The Curseuman's leg slowly touched Ray's aura, and instantly, his red aura dissipated.

The Curseuman's eyes darted to his leg.

Where is my curse energy? I'm sure I placed it there! I can't retreat in this position, but my curse energy has vanished! My leg is now only relying on physical strength.

The Curseuman's leg, now devoid of Curse Energy, was within Ray's aura, but his kick was too fast for Ray to react.

Slowly, his kick reached dangerously close to Ray's head, still not striking him. But suddenly, when it was inches away, his leg twisted, compressed, and burst into a grotesque explosion of flesh and blood.

The Curseuman was sent flying backward, falling to the earth, now missing a leg. Ray remained standing, surprised, his eyes wide, his face completely drenched in blood.

The Curseuman screamed in agony.

"What was that?" Ray muttered, still in shock. "I didn't do that. If I wanted to, I couldn't! But he wouldn't attack himself either. Then who did it?"

The Curseuman's screams subsided as his leg began to heal automatically at an incredibly fast speed. Within a few seconds, his leg was completely normal, full of flesh and blood.

"That was my technique!" the Curseuman exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief.

"How can he do that? Did he know about this technique? Only Curseumans from the Dreadwill Clan can do that! How can he?"

The Curseuman stood, his gaze fixed on Ray. "I understand now," he said in a low voice.

"You were not affected by my 'Certain Effect' before because you actually absorbed it. My own techniques can't harm me, except for special techniques like 'Certain Effect.' If I wasn't the one who created this technique, someone else would already be dead, found in hundreds of pieces of flesh."

"Me? I did that?" Ray asked, looking down at his body and hands again.

"It means my technique is able to absorb the attacker's magical attack and then reverse his own attack on him. How can this godly technique be mine? How can a useless person like me have gotten it?"

He is too dangerous, the Curseuman thought, a cold dread settling in. I have to kill him instantly, or he will kill me!

"I have to use that technique," the Curseuman decided, his voice strained. "But it always exhausts me completely, and I end up very tired. But I don't have any choice. I have to do this!"

Ray's face was now etched with pure anger, all fear vanished, and his voice held a hint of surging power. "You, I don't know your name. But as I said earlier, get ready to regret. No! For what you said after it, I should kill you."

I don't have time, the Curseuman thought frantically. I don't know much about his techniques. I have to use my trump card before he shows anything more dangerous.

"SPACE MANIPULATION: LAST WILL OF DREADWILL!"

The Curseuman chanted, extending his hands towards Ray.

As he chanted, everything between Ray and the Curseuman bent, along with space itself, as the Curseuman slowly swirled his hands in a circular motion. Space was contorted, the earth beneath them fractured and broke, as if space were a wet cloth being wrung out.

But in front of Ray and behind him, space was bent, destroying by twisting, compressing, and bursting everything. Yet, Ray's aura remained unaffected, showing only slight waves and fluctuations within its wide sheet of dark energy. Everything within a 100-meter radius was bent, every single piece of matter. The Curseuman swirled his hands to their absolute limit, his muscles straining, still trying to bend space further, forcing his hands to swirl more.

Suddenly, his own hand burst, exploding along with the space around it, creating a massive explosion—a "BOOM!"—powerful enough to cause large tremors in the earth, like a small nuclear dust cloud erupting.

After the explosion, the dust slowly settled. Ray was still standing normally, completely unharmed. The Curseuman, however, lay on the earth, his body covered in blood, dust clinging to his wounds. He no longer had hands; his clothes were torn.

He breathed heavily, his gaze fixed on the sky.

"To think that the Second Commander of the Dreadwill Clan was defeated by an enemy without the enemy making a single move," he whispered, his voice filled with shame. "It's shameful for me and my clan. I should kill myself before he kills me. This way, at least I will not be killed by these Spiritumens."

A memory, a thought of his past, flashed through Ebon's mind.

There, the Curseuman, Ebon, stood on one knee, head lowered respectfully. Before him, a figure sat upon a grand throne.

"Commander," Ebon reported, "we have wiped out that whole territory of Spiritumens you were aiming to destroy for a few months."

"Wiped out?" the Commander's voice boomed from the throne. "Did you kill them all?"

"No," Ebon replied. "We have killed only the children. All adult men and women have been given to our clan so that they can strengthen themselves."

"I am impressed with you!" the Commander declared. "Ebon, tell me anything you want. You have done a great job for the Dreadwill Clan. Soon, we will be the strongest clan of Curseumans."

"My wish is no different from yours," Ebon stated.

"I truly like you," the Commander said, a rare smile on his face. "From now on, you will be Vice Commander, or Second Commander, of the Dreadwill Clan. Remember, I am giving you the same honor I possess. I want the Dreadwill Clan to become the strongest. You are the second strongest in Dreadwill. Do not be killed by a Spiritumen, never! It will bring shame to our clan."

Back in the present, Ebon still lay on the ground.

"My hands can't regenerate now," he thought, despair filling him.

"Because I bent them along with space. Also, my curse energy is all exhausted from my previous technique. I can't kill him!"

A single tear escaped Ebon's eye, tracing a path down his cheek, across his neck, and falling onto the earth.

"Commander," he whispered, "as you said, I will not let these Curseumans kill me."

Suddenly, Ebon's entire body twisted, compressed, and burst, as if he had used his own destructive technique upon himself.