A curse is a shadow that follows the heart.
Gironde Mehisto finally opened his door, irritation flickering in his eyes because he was just awoken to a relentless banging echoing through his chambers.
"What do you want?" he yawned, his voice thick with disinterest.
"You know what happened to my brother, don't you?" the hunter growled, his voice a sharp edge of demand.
A slow, predatory grin spread across the Necromancer's lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. It had been a long time since anyone had dared speak to him with such boldness.
"How do you plan to pay for the information?" Gironde Mehisto asked, his voice smooth and calculating.
"I'll give you five years of my life," Des replied, his tone unflinching, calm despite the tension in the air.
The Necromancer paused, considering the offer. Then, he tilted his head and spoke again, his words sharp with an unsettling knowledge.
"You don't have much time left, Hunter," he said, but Des didn't flinch. He held the Necromancer's gaze, his resolve unwavering, his determination burning through the coolness of the night.
"Would you give up half your remaining years for your brother?" Gironde Mehisto asked, his voice thick with a strange curiosity.
"I would sacrifice all my years for him," Des replied, his shrug casual, but the sincerity in his voice was undeniable. Gironde Mehisto studied him, recognizing the raw honesty in the hunter's words.
He took a moment, his eyes flicking over Des with a new intensity, as if savoring the exchange. The Necromancer's grin widened.
"I'll offer you another deal," he said, his eyes flashing green with a dangerous gleam. "I want a tiny piece of your soul."
Des blinked, taken aback. "My soul?"
Gironde Mehisto's eyes glinted like polished emeralds. "Your soul is vast, like an endless sea. I would take only a single glass of it," he explained smoothly. "You won't feel a thing. It's so small, your soul will fill back up quickly—like a minor wound that heals almost immediately."
Des narrowed his eyes, the weight of the proposition hanging in the air. "All right," he said at last, making his decision.
With a pleased smirk, the Necromancer handed Des a golden parchment. Without hesitation, Des signed it, the ink gliding easily across the paper. Gironde Mehisto gestured toward the sitting room with a sweeping motion, his smile almost indulgent.
They both settled into the plush chairs, and the Necromancer, with a quiet clink, produced a small pouch of bones, emptying them onto the table in front of them.
"Your brother is cursed," Gironde Mehisto said, his tone dark, almost ceremonious.
Des's lips pressed into a hard line. "The Wraith?"
The Necromancer nodded slowly, the gravity of the situation settling between them. "We're dealing with a powerful curse. Shaytan is cursed by the same mage who cursed the Sorcerer Lord."
Des's voice cut through the air like a knife. "How can it be broken?"
Gironde Mehisto shrugged, a look of mock disappointment crossing his face. "Well, there's no way to simply break it."
Des's anger flickered at the edges of his calm exterior. "Then how the hell are we supposed to change him back?" he spat, his voice laced with frustration.
"The only way to break the curse is to fulfill it," the Necromancer replied, as he took the bones in his hands, giving them a thoughtful shake before dropping them back onto the table.
"You need not worry," Gironde Mehisto continued with a glimmer of assurance in his eyes. "The curse will soon be undone. Your brother's fate is not sealed just yet. It's an obstacle he must overcome, and there is no one else in the world who can fulfill this curse for him."
A smile curled on the Necromancer's lips, satisfied with his own words. "Everything will be all right soon."
Des leaned forward, his gaze intense, as if he hadn't heard a word after the mention of the curse's fulfillment. "Tell me one more thing," he demanded, voice cold and edged with impatience. "What is this curse?"
Gironde Mehisto's smile spread wider, his satisfaction growing as he savored the question.
"The curse," he began, "will leave your brother weak and vulnerable for the rest of his life, if he doesn't fulfill it."
Des's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as fury bubbled beneath the surface.
"How does he fulfill it?" he growled.
The Necromancer's eyes gleamed with amusement, and he leaned forward, his voice almost playful. "Ah, that's two questions, my dear Dénes," he teased, a smirk curling his lips. "He can only fulfill the curse when he feels weakest, most vulnerable."
And then, his smile turned into something far darker—hunger gleamed in his eyes as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper, "And now... it's time to pay."
Des made no objection when the Necromancer rose from his chair, silently following suit. The air around them shifted, the room darkening in an instant, as if it had suddenly become aware of the presence of something unnatural. The Necromancer's shadow stirred, twisting and shifting like a living thing, an eerie manifestation of the necromancer's power. A dark, etheric smoke swirled around the ageless figure, the very essence of his magic radiating out. But it was his glowing green eyes and razor-sharp, snow-white teeth that truly chilled the air, sharp enough to slice through the thick tension that settled between them.
Des held back the shivers and steeled himself.
The temperature plunged from comfortable warmth to a biting, sub-zero cold. The Necromancer reached out with a clawed hand, but Des did not budge. He didn't flinch as the fingers, thin and cold as death itself, brushed against his chest, slipping through his clothes as if they were mere fabric caught in a ghost's grasp. At that moment, it was impossible to tell whether it was Des or the Necromancer who appeared more like an illusion, fleeting and untouchable.
Des did not hiss or show any sign of pain, though his face had paled slightly. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the Necromancer withdrew his hand. Des was watching his every move with the sharpness of a hunter. It was wise to never let down one's guard around necromancers.
"Well, have a horrible day, Dénes," the Necromancer said with a slight, mocking bow, signaling the end of their interaction.
Des did not hesitate, and soon the only sound that remained was the soft click of the front door closing behind him.
Gironde Mehisto turned his gaze to the side, sensing something. "You're not leaving?"
Simon, who had been trying to remain unnoticed, could no longer conceal himself. There was no hiding from the watchful eyes of a necromancer—not even for a ghost. Simon met the Necromancer's piercing gaze with his dark, lifeless eyes, his form flickering slightly in the dimness. For a long moment, Simon stood there, silent and unmoving, before he seemed to make up his mind. Wordlessly, he floated toward the door, his ethereal presence a silent departure.
The Necromancer observed him for a moment, his eyes narrowing in silent thought before he nodded to himself, a decision settling in his mind.
"If you ever tire of being a ghost, come to me," Gironde Mehisto said, his voice low but steady. Simon paused mid-step, his gaze flicking back toward the Necromancer.
He waited, but the Necromancer remained silent, his lips pressed together in quiet contemplation.
"I want to stay with him for a while," Simon said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Even if the journey is difficult, full of suffering?" the Necromancer asked, a touch of genuine curiosity in his tone.
A faint smile tugged at the edges of Simon's lips as he nodded, a flicker of something soft in his otherwise cold demeanor. Gironde Mehisto watched him, amusement crossing his face.
"Despite all the difficulties, I'm really happy with them," Simon continued, his gaze drifting to his hands as he flexed his fingers slowly, thoughtfully. "It's strange... I never found my place in life, yet in death, I've found where I belong."
Simon clenched his fists, the motion tight with emotion that never quite reached his eyes.
"Tell me, Necromancer," Simon began, his gaze still locked on Gironde Mehisto's figure. "Is it my destiny to help Shay as a ghost?"
Gironde Mehisto's smile softened, a rare, almost wistful expression. "The ways of Fate are inscrutable."
Simon hummed thoughtfully, a small, almost playful smile tugging at his lips. It lingered as he floated effortlessly through the closed door of the Necromancer's crypt, his form dissipating into the shadows without a trace.
(...)
"Shay..."
"Leave me alone!" I growled, burying myself deeper under the blanket.
"Come out," Des's voice was calm, but persistent.
"No."
"Please," he sighed in that way that meant he was starting to get frustrated.
"No!"
"Then I have no choice," he whispered, and a devilish smile crept across his lips. Without warning, he launched himself on top of me.
We struggled for a while after that—him trying to yank me out of the duvet, me retaliating by sinking my teeth into whatever part of him I could reach. It was a battle of wills, but eventually, he realized he wasn't going to win. He let out a heavy sigh. Just then, the others entered the room, drawn by the commotion. Tootall couldn't contain a giggle at the sight of Des sitting helplessly on the floor, desperately trying to pry me out of bed. I shot him a look from beneath the blanket that could melt steel. I really didn't like him.
"All right, you leave me no choice," Des declared with dramatic flair, jumping to his feet.
"What now?" the wolf asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"There's only one thing that can impress my stubborn little brother," Des said with a triumphant grin.
"Are you threatening him?" Rolo asked, his voice full of disbelief.
"Or begging him some more?" Tootall chimed in.
Des hissed in offense. "Ben, get my laptop!"
"That's my laptop," Tootall corrected.
"Mine, yours, what's the difference?" he shot back dismissively.
Tootall finally sighed and trudged off to fetch the laptop, clearly begrudging his role in this absurdity.
Des turned back to the others. "Remember this well," he said, leaning forward like he was about to reveal a deep, dark secret, "the only thing that can lure him out of bed on a bad day is... cartoons!"
"What?" Rolo blinked in confusion. "Cartoons?"
Not cartoons, idiots, I thought, rolling my eyes.
"But he doesn't even watch shows!" Alex exclaimed in disbelief.
Des shrugged. "But now you're seeing his child self."
Tootall returned with the laptop, and Des immediately began furiously tapping the keyboard. The theme song from Shaman King blasted through the speakers. Within seconds, I was sitting up, wide awake, eyes locked on the screen.
"That's the first episode, Des," I grumbled, "I think I'm past thirty."
"Sorry, bro," he muttered, pausing the video and starting a frantic search for something else.
As he scrolled, he clicked on random videos, only to quickly scroll past them. Every so often, I'd wave a hand in annoyance. "Yes, I've seen it."
"Have they finished it, anyway?" I asked, genuinely curious. "They must've finished it in eight years..."
"Yeah," Des said, sounding completely uninterested. "They've wrapped it up. Sixty-four episodes."
I scowled, feeling the weight of the years slipping by.
"So what are they playing now?" I asked, my tone growing darker.
"Animax shut down, so they aren't dubbing anything anymore," Des replied with a shrug, clearly unmoved by my discontent.
"The future's a shit place," I muttered under my breath, and then I grabbed the remote and stopped him on the next episode.
As the opening theme started, I could barely stop myself from singing along. Rolo sneered at my excitement.
"I can't believe what I'm seeing," he chuckled, "So excited over some ridiculous cartoon characters..."
Before he could go any further, Des kicked him in the ankle, silencing him with a low growl. Then he leaned in closer to Rolo, whispering darkly, "Do you want to die?"
I shot him a murderous glare, but for some reason, it seemed to embolden him.
"Lame scribble," he teased with a smug grin, his eyes locking onto mine defiantly.
Without thinking, I slammed the laptop down and leaped to my feet.
"Take that back, kid," I growled, stepping into his space.
"Kid?" He scoffed, leaning down to exaggerate the height difference between us. "You can't call me that anymore."
I headbutted him. He nearly stumbled back but eventually regained his balance. It's a pity, it would have been fun to kick him once or twice, say, while he was choking on his filthy soul.
He rubbed his forehead in disbelief, smearing the freshly drawn blood across it. His skin was cracked, he'd gotten off lucky—no concussion. Well, next time, I'd make sure he got one. He shot me a look like I was the embodiment of evil, and for some reason, I loved it. Serves you right, kid. Be scared.
I called him a kid again. I couldn't help it. He was taller, older, and certainly more mature than me in every other way. But something about it felt right. I shrugged it off. Not important.
Des burst out laughing, pulling Tootall back from the brink of collapsing onto the floor. A strange tightness settled in my chest when I saw them. It felt like I was losing. Like Tootall could snatch Des away from me at any moment.
I turned my attention back to the computer, trying to focus on the video. In the back of my mind, I could still hear the wolf chuckling, but I pushed it aside. I needed to drown out the noise. Meanwhile, Alex brought over a box filled with disinfectant and bandages, leaning down to put a bandaid on the cat's forehead. Rolo was still growling to himself, giving me a murderous look from the corner of his eye.
"You should've known better than to mess with him," Alex said with that insufferable cheerfulness of his.
"Shut up!" Rolo snapped, still fuming.
Alex just chuckled, and Rolo growled in return. Des, wearing that look of satisfied amusement, dragged Tootall off to the kitchen. If I'd been paying a little more attention, I could've warned the world of the impending disaster. But at that moment, I didn't care about the world.
"Can you watch him for a while?" Alex asked, his voice more serious now.
"Why me?" the kitten grumbled, sounding almost offended.
"Because I've got things to do," Alex replied, "He hasn't been to work for three days. Hajnal's probably at her breaking point. She won't settle for a phone call."
Rolo mumbled something under his breath, but there was nothing he could do about it. The room slowly emptied, leaving behind only the sound of the video. I blocked out everything else, focusing solely on the screen. Rolo, surprisingly, didn't try to interrupt. He just sat quietly, inching closer without making a sound. By the time I noticed, he was sitting beside me.
I shot him a do-not-disturb look and kept my eyes glued to the screen. For once, he seemed to understand. Good. The next episode rolled on, and I didn't even care that he was still there. But when it ended, I glanced at him. He hadn't budged.
"Next?" I raised an eyebrow, my tone teasing.
He just shrugged. I could tell he was intrigued—if he wasn't, he wouldn't still be sitting next to me. I clicked on the next episode. Then the next. We kept watching, episode after episode. At the end of each one, he'd ask me a question. Apparently, he'd never seen it from the beginning, so he was trying to catch up.
By the end of the afternoon, something strange was settling in. I actually started to enjoy having him there. It was a foreign feeling, but I didn't hate it.
Around seven o'clock, I decided it was time to find something to eat.
"I'm hungry," Rolo remarked casually, and my stomach responded with a low growl of agreement.
We left the room and heard someone humming softly, accompanied by the sound of a guitar. I glanced into the room next door, and the wolf's gaze immediately met mine.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, flashing me a kind smile.
"We're hungry," Rolo answered for me.
Alex set the guitar down thoughtfully. "Hmm, now that you mention it, dinner should be ready soon."
And that's when the impending doom hit. "What should be ready?"
"Dinner," he said with a shrug, standing up. "Your brother offered to cook tonight."
All the blood drained from my face.
"Shay," the wolf said, his voice laced with concern, "are you okay?"
I didn't even hear him. "How could you let him near the kitchen?" I demanded, panic rising in my chest. Without waiting for an answer, I bolted down the stairs, my heart hammering in my chest.
The kitchen was a disaster zone. Dark, unidentifiable stains marred the ceiling, and I even spotted a raw egg stuck somewhere above the stove. The cupboards were a chaotic mess, scorched in places, while the floor was covered in a sticky goo. Dirty dishes piled up in both the sink and on the kitchen table, an overwhelming testament to the chaos.
In the middle of this catastrophe stood Des, grinning sheepishly. He held a pot in his hand, the contents of which could only be described as a charred, unrecognizable disaster. Tootall was massaging the bridge of his nose, flour still clinging to his hair.
"What happened here?" the wolf asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and shock.
"I tried to stop him," Tootall muttered, eyes darting to the wreckage, "But it was a mission doomed from the start."
Des, unfazed, grinned wider and pointed to his culinary "masterpiece." "But hey, look on the bright side," he said, "At least I managed to salvage some of that special sweet and sour mustard stew."
Alex, who was now green around the edges from the smell, didn't share Des's optimism.
"Is this poisonous?" Rolo whispered to me, eyes wide as he took in the scene.
"Honestly, it looks better than usual," I replied, giving the pot a once-over. Rolo shuddered at my words.
"Alright, no problem," the wolf said, taking charge. He walked over to the fridge, but the handle was covered in goo. He pulled his hand back at first, grimacing as he felt the disgusting substance squish between his fingers. After a deep sigh, he opened the fridge door.
Empty. The only thing inside was a bottle of ketchup.
"What the..." he muttered under his breath.
Des let out a nervous chuckle. "I was about to suggest you go shopping soon."
"I'll do the shopping," Tootall volunteered, turning to Des with a stern look. "You clean up while I'm gone."
Des glanced at the wolf, and Alex sighed deeply. Rolo decided to leave the scene before someone got him involved.
"I want to go with you," I said, surprising Tootall with the sudden request.
"With me?" he asked, taken aback.
I shrugged. That seemed to answer his question.
"Wait, I'll give you some money," Alex started to reach into his pockets, but Tootall just smiled, shaking his head.
"The least Deni can do is pay for this," he said, pulling out a sleek black leather wallet.
"My wallet!" Des shouted, patting his jeans fruitlessly. All his money was already in Tootall's hands.
Tootall flashed him a smug look before turning and heading for the door. I could still hear Des calling out for his money as I followed him out of the kitchen.