Manifesting A Curse
The wind blows cold at the moment of the aftermath. The fierce fight between A beast and an average person just happened. The result was a relief to the entire population within these walls of Hervia. The feared Black Storm Wolf, the cunning beast, fell to its last breath after failing its final attack, before death claimed it. A miracle, to be honest. Luke survived, fighting a beast like that only relying on his instincts and sheer fucking will.
But—
...
The aftermath wasn't very pleasant. Despite Arthur being able to save his son from an instant death call. But the damage on Luke was far from the worst. All from the last tick of attack landed on his chest from those sharp claws. Piercing— deeper than he anticipated.
"Stupid, stupid son..." his voice hoarse and slow like a mutter.
Like he was in pain instead of Luke.
He fell onto his knees, his slightly crooked left arm from handling heavy work for years, trying its best to tend those wounds on his son's chest.
Arthur tore the fabric of his shirt sleeve. A fine-made, brown cotton that endured years of its existence on the field of crops and dirt. Each damped spot from mud and puddles occurs during the watering and rainy seasons, being evidence of how long it has been used. And now the only way to save his son.
The fabric soaks up the blood while he puts some tight pressure on Luke's open chest. But it wasn't enough.
"No..."
He tore his other sleeve—
Then the hem of his shirt—
Then the center.
Holding as many layers of fabrics as needed to stop the blood from flooding out. His teeth clenched, and he bit his dry lower lip until it bled slightly. To prevent himself from mourning and clamoring. The bleeding just won't stop. He could see his son's bare heart bleeding, the aorta leaking, the pulmonary veins damaged. Luke's life was slowly chipping away like leaves being eaten by worms at the farm.
"STAY WITH ME GODDAMMIT—!" He shouted, his tone gravelly, as one hand pushed the fabric hard against his son's torn chest with a grunt.
*SLAP!
His other hand went to slap Luke's cheek, hard— to force him to open his eyes.
"LUKEEE—!!"
*SLAP!
...
*SLAP!
The force of his palm hitting the cheeks— The cheeks he caresses every night, every day, ever since he got him. Creating wounds inside his old man's heart. He held his shoulder tightly, shaking him awake. The same shoulders he used to drape his arms on— The shoulders that helped him walk after a tired day at work— The shoulders he used to tease and consult him.
"You're not allowed to sleep yet! I've been waiting for you at the farm—!" he shouted again with his raspy and dry voice. Coughing from his sore throat.
*Cough.
"DON'T YOU DARE DIE AS A USELESS PIECE OF SHIT—!"
He didn't mean a single word that was coming out of his mouth. All he wanted was for his son to be lively again. All those harsh words he raised them with were to make them into independent young men. Into the strong, unwavering heart of a person.
...
Luke's eyes blur, his breathing slows— Very slow. He couldn't mutter or even breathe a single word out of his mouth. His blurry vision can only see the figure of the old man who took him in and made him his son. His guardian, and one and only Dad. His eyes fall to his torn chest. A part of his flesh is gone, the blood spills down like rainwater going down the drain— a fast and unbroken flow of red liquid.
He's trying to open his eyes wider—
trying to stay alive—
But his body and mind refuse to hold such pain any longer.
...
Then—
*Crack—! Crack!
*Crackle, crackle
*Woosh...
The sound of branches snapping, dirt crackling from the bottom of hard boots, and leaves brushing against the ground. A few footsteps rushed towards them. Metal clanks slightly against a type of hard fabric. An insignia. Embroidered on their chest. That Old Desmond—
He made it. He called for help.
It's the guards.
"You two alright—?" His voice ended there when he saw the horrifying scene.
"What happened here...?" The other spoke.
Then another footsteps comes. Softer, slower but... unlike these guards.
another person—
Wearing a white cloak as white as clouds. Gray-coloured combat trousers. A scared face on their left cheek, and dark green and long hair. Their insignia, is different. Like it was forged into their uniform. Giving a different aura, his body looks like it's covered in pure mana. A chilling present. Long boots walking through the guards. Luke's vision finally caught the figure. A man. Who's undoubtedly one of the Chevaliers.
Arthur is still struggling with keeping the pressure on Luke's chest, mouth agape slightly, as the man in white clothing's presence alone comes closer. The blood won't stop flooding, and painting the ground and fallen leaves in a pool of dark red.
"Excuse me, sir..." The man kneels beside Arthur and pushes his fragile body away slightly. But he didn't remove his hands away.
...
"Keep the pressure that way..." He said, voice sharp but gentle.
...
He held his hand towards the deep wound of Luke's chest, towards his damaged heart. Luke's chest rose and fell like a shallow river.
Concentrating, imagining a spiral of water in his head. A light blue orb forms on the edge of his palm. Winds are picking up, hard in circles following this man's motions of mana. A perfect handling of mana.
A vast one—
And gentle.
"Great deity... Give sparks to life and remove the suffering... Thou shalt be reborn."
"Water, come to me... Heal the broken with your grace... Like the rivers you've become and the vast sea... Bring life, like what you're made for."
A prayer—
An incantation—
A call.
Slowly, pushing the orb towards the heart. It seeps in like air, closing the broken parts with a thick layer of mana resembling a pond of clear water. The holes were closed perfectly and the blood stopped. Everything looks stable. His chest can properly rise and fall normally now that his heart is fixed. Not fully healed, but maintains its functional state, before they can take him to the doctors.
...
...
"Thank god—" Arthur let out a relieved sigh.
...
"Wait—" The man cut through his words. "Quick— Put the pressure back on."
He swiftly caught the fallen fabrics from Arthur's hand and pressed it against Luke's chest once again. Arthur complied and helped the man out.
"My spell... It's— It's like his body just absorbs it whole..." The man mutters softly.
Both eyes widened as they took hold of the worsening condition of the heart. The bridges that carefully closed the holes in his heart were gone. Blood pouring down, stronger. They will only have seconds to figure out what to do. Why is this young boy's body refusing magic? Why is a blessed magic user rejected by this damn body?
...
Just seconds later...
The heart stopped beating—
...
And something terrifying—
Whispers into their ears.
To all of them.
earie, deep, shivering.
"No..."
"No." "No..."
"i don't want to die..."
."I don't want to die...".
"I don't want to die..."
."I DON'T WANT TO DIE—!!!".
...
The tensions built up when they saw trails of mana flowing into the young boy's body. Sending chills down their spine. A body that moved without a beating heart. A weird behaviour of mana's all around them, feeling like they're getting drained and squeezed.
"GET AWAY!"
"WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING—"
"MY BODY CAN'T MOVE—"
"SON—!"
The man in white, pulled Arthur away as they saw Luke's body squirming and suffering. Shaking like in an uncontrollable state. They can feel their bodies shaking as well, sending goosebumps all throughout their body and soul. The two guards fell onto their knees, and Arthur's breath went out of control like it wasn't his body to control. Only their elite remain standing but are affected.
It's like their own mana were getting sucked, by an unknown force.
"My mana... is shrinking..." The man said while looking at the other three, who had already fallen to the ground— Laying like dying corpse.
But what caught his eyes—
Is Luke's body.
His flesh growing back to its original form, his broken ribs and arms slowly straightening, his heart beating again. His form comes back unscathed, no scars, no wounds, nothing. His body was repaired like nothing had happened. With the cost... Of the mana residing around him. Was sucked... Taken... Stolen.
"This kid... is cursed." He gasped at the last sight he saw on the boy's face.
...
Luke grinning maliciously. Tongue lolling out slightly.
His red-magenta eyes turn dark-rose in colour.
Before Luke fell into a deep sleep. The body went limp just like the rest of them.
...
"This is... adventitious..."
Clutching his hand to his Chevalier's insignia, looking at the rest of the bodies laying down. This should be a monster-hunting mission.
...
But it is something entirely apart.