The curse's domain did not merely encompass the large, abandoned factory; it extended beyond, wrapping its malignant presence around the towering metal fence that encircled the structure. A barrier of unseen energy coated the cold steel, repelling intruders with an authority that felt ancient, unshakable.
That was why I couldn't simply jump the fence, march into the factory, and cut the monster down. Its domain denied me entry, not through brute force, but through an intangible law—an invisible wall woven from pure, oppressive will.
I had seen countless domains before, each shaped by its creator's essence, but this one felt different. The curse used its domain not just as a shield, but as an extension of itself, feeding off it, strengthening through it. Any sorcerer attempting to breach it would find themselves crushed under the sheer weight of its presence.
But I am not just any sorcerer.
Extending my hand, I channeled my cursed energy outward, letting it seep into the unseen dome. It resisted at first, like a taut muscle refusing to relax. I pushed harder, my energy coiling around the domain's structure, threading into its core. And then, I did what should have been impossible.
I seized control.
A slow smile crept across my lips as I clenched my fist. Break.
A tremor rippled through the air. The invisible barrier, once impervious, quivered, bending to my will. Then, like a mirror struck by a hammer, it fractured. Shards of pure force, visible only to those attuned to the supernatural, splintered and fell like slivers of shattered glass.
But just as the domain collapsed, something twisted in its unraveling fabric.
Deep within, the curse stirred. A writhing presence coiled within the void, its displeasure manifesting as a loophole—an anomaly in the structure of the breaking domain. That rift did not simply collapse; it reacted. It bent inwards, forming a vortex of shifting energy.
Then, with a force beyond comprehension, it pulled.
Izaya barely had time to register the shift before the world turned inside out. The vortex seized him, wrenching him forward with a force that bypassed flesh and bone, gripping something deeper—his very existence.
And in an instant, he was no longer outside the factory.
He was inside the curse's incomplete domain.
The transition was as violent as it was abrupt.
The rain, which had drummed steadily against the rooftops just moments before, ceased. The storm vanished as though it had never existed. Instead, the world was submerged in an eerie, unnatural silence.
Above, the moon hung swollen and crimson, casting the ruins in shades of blood and shadow. The air was thick, heavy, laced with the metallic tang of iron. The ground beneath Izaya's feet was slick—wrong.
He glanced downward.
A lake of blood stretched endlessly in all directions. The crimson expanse lapped at his boots, thick and viscous, carrying with it something far worse than the stench of decay.
Faces.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of human faces, their expressions frozen in silent agony, drifted just beneath the surface. Some stared upward with empty sockets where their eyes had been. Others opened their mouths in noiseless screams, their features twisted, contorted, wrong.
Izaya's breath caught in his throat.
This was no illusion.
Years of experience analyzing curses told him the truth in an instant, and the realization clawed at his mind like cold, skeletal fingers. The blood was real. The bodies were real. The souls trapped within this grotesque sea had once been living, breathing humans.
His jaw tightened.
This curse has killed thousands.
A sudden wave of pressure struck him. A crushing, suffocating force pressed down on his chest, as though the very air had turned against him. The sheer malevolence of the domain bore down on his psyche, an unseen force trying to break his mind before the battle had even begun.
Izaya staggered, his knees nearly buckling. His vision blurred at the edges, dark spots creeping in. The whispers of the dead slithered into his ears, each voice a fragment of suffering, a remnant of a life extinguished.
No.
Izaya clenched his fists. His mind was not so easily shattered.
With practiced precision, he activated his technique, sending a cascade of neurochemicals flooding through his system—dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, endorphins. A biochemical shield against despair.
The pressure lessened. His breath evened. His vision cleared.
Raising his head, he scanned the darkness ahead. Suspended in the air, looming like a grotesque deity, was the core of the curse's presence—a cocoon.
A grotesque, pulsating mass of flesh, veins throbbing with dark, sluggish fluid, suspended in the air by an intricate web of red tendrils stretching into the heavens. It was as if the sky itself had birthed this abomination, condemning it to fester here, waiting to be reborn into something far worse.
Izaya exhaled slowly, his hands sinking into his coat pockets.
This was not an opponent he could underestimate.
Before he could make his next move, the air trembled.
A shift in the domain.
His instincts screamed.
Too late.
A sharp, excruciating pain shot through his legs, cutting through muscle and bone like molten steel. His body lurched. Blood sprayed into the air in thin, precise arcs.
A flash of red.
Impact.
Something struck his stomach with the force of a freight train. His ribs groaned under the force. His vision blurred. Then, another impact—his back met cold, unyielding concrete. The wall behind him cracked, fragments of stone flying outward in a spray of dust.
The world wavered. Blood dripped into his eyes. His breath came in sharp gasps.
And then, amidst the clearing dust, she stepped forward.
A woman.
No. A curse.
She emerged from the darkness like a nightmare given form, her presence effortless, fluid, almost human. Silken red fabric clung to her form, shifting as she moved with an unnatural grace. Long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back, framing a face that was both hauntingly beautiful and utterly devoid of mercy.
Her lips curled into a soft, almost playful smile.
"Tee-hee."
A giggle.
A sound so light, so casual, that it made Izaya's skin crawl.
This was no mindless beast. This was a predator. A being that had bathed in oceans of blood and still found amusement in the carnage.
Izaya wiped the blood from his mouth and slowly pushed himself upright.
The battle had begun.