The library trembled. Shadows slithered across the ruined walls as whispers rose to a feverish pitch. A cold wind rushed through the chamber, carrying the scent of rot and decay.
Then, the first corpse moved.
Kael's cursed eye pulsed with a blinding crimson glow as skeletal fingers scraped against the stone floor. From the darkness of the library's depths, twisted figures began to rise—bodies long dead, preserved by unnatural magic. Some wore the tattered remnants of ancient armor, their rusted weapons clutched in bony hands. Others were no more than withered husks, their hollow eyes burning with eerie green fire.
The hooded figure took a step back, its skeletal fingers curling around its staff. "They come," it whispered, almost in amusement.
Kael wasted no time.
He tightened his grip on his shattered blade, ignoring the sharp ache in his limbs. His body was still weak from the curse, but he couldn't afford hesitation.
The first undead lunged—a former soldier, its broken jaw hanging open in a silent scream. Kael twisted to the side, his ruined sword cleaving through brittle ribs. The corpse collapsed, but the moment its body hit the ground, two more took its place.
Kael exhaled sharply. There were too many.
A skeletal knight in a corroded breastplate swung a rusted halberd at his head. Kael ducked, slamming his shoulder into the knight's ribs. The brittle bones shattered, but the thing kept moving, its empty eyes locked onto him with unholy hunger.
Kael growled and drove his sword into its skull, shattering bone and severing the magic holding it together. But as the knight fell, a dozen more figures emerged from the darkness.
The hooded figure stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching with an air of amusement.
"You are strong," it murmured. "But strength alone will not save you."
Kael didn't have time to respond.
One of the undead—a sorcerer, still wrapped in rotting ceremonial robes—raised a skeletal hand. A surge of sickly green energy crackled through the air, lancing toward Kael like a bolt of lightning.
Pain erupted through his body as he barely managed to twist away. The magic grazed his arm, searing through flesh like fire. He gritted his teeth, staggering back.
"Enough of this," he hissed.
Kael's cursed eye blazed with crimson light. The sigil burned into his arm pulsed—and something inside him snapped.
A wave of dark energy surged outward, crushing the nearest undead in an instant. Their bones cracked, their bodies crumbling into dust. The magic in the air twisted, writhing like a living thing.
Kael's breathing was ragged. He had tapped into something forbidden.
The hooded figure chuckled, stepping forward.
"Now you understand."
Kael's vision blurred, his mind teetering on the edge of something vast and terrible. The magic he had just used—it wasn't his own. It belonged to the curse. And it was hungry.
The remaining undead hesitated, as if sensing the shift in power.
Kael wiped the blood from his lips, lifting his sword.
"I don't care what this curse is." His voice was steady, defiant. "It won't control me."
The hooded figure's smile was hidden beneath its tattered veil, but Kael could feel its amusement.
"We shall see, cursed one."
The last of the undead let out an inhuman shriek before charging once more.
And Kael met them with fire in his blood.
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End of Chapter 4