The ghost woman's growl reverberated through the forest, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Her cry pierced the air like a wailing banshee, sending flocks of birds fleeing into the darkened sky. The trees trembled, their skeletal branches groaning under the weight of her malice.
"Belial!" Theodore shouted, clutching his wounded leg.
"Be careful! Her cries aren't just for show they'll sap your strength and flood your mind with fear!"
Belial, standing firm amidst the onslaught of oppressive energy, turned to his young master and offered a faint, confident smile. "You worry too much, my lord. I'll end this swiftly."
The ghost woman let out a piercing shriek and lunged forward with terrifying speed, her six monstrous arms clawing through the air. But Belial was ready.
With an eerie calm, he extended his hand, and a crimson light flared from his palm. A sinister sword, forged from dark energy, emerged fluidly from his flesh as though it had been part of him all along. Its blade shimmered with an unsettling glow, pulsating with a life of its own.
Theodore's eyes widened. How does he do that?
Belial moved like a phantom, deflecting her attacks with ease. Her claws scraped against the blade, sending sparks flying into the darkness. With a single, fluid motion, he swung his sword and severed two of her left arms.
The ghost let out a blood-curdling scream that shook the forest. Trees groaned and toppled under the sheer force of her anguish, and the ground cracked as her malice spread like an invisible wave.
Undeterred, Belial stepped forward. His movements were calculated, almost effortless, as he dodged her wild attacks. With another precise strike, he severed her remaining two right arms. Black ichor sprayed across the forest floor as the ghost reeled back, howling in pain.
But she wasn't finished.
Stomping her massive foot into the ground, she summoned a network of jagged wooden spikes. The roots of dead trees twisted and shot upward, aiming to impale Belial from every direction.
Belial leaped into the air, dodging the deadly barrage. The wood followed him relentlessly, stretching and bending like living serpents. His crimson eyes narrowed as he twisted mid-air, his blade slicing through the spikes with precision.
One particularly large spike surged toward him, but instead of dodging, Belial landed on it gracefully. Using the spike as a springboard, he propelled himself forward with blinding speed.
"Enough," he muttered.
His sword sliced through her neck in a single, fluid motion. Her head tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop as her body crumpled like a broken marionette.
Belial landed lightly, his sword dissipating back into his palm. He took a deep breath, smoothing out his disheveled sleeve as he approached Theodore.
"It's done," he said softly, kneeling beside his master to inspect the wound on his leg.
For a brief moment, Theodore felt a flicker of hope. But that hope was short-lived.
"Belial!"
Belial's head snapped up at Theodore's panicked yell. The young prince pointed with wide eyes at the ghost's body.
Black energy swirled around the headless corpse, pulling its pieces back together. Her severed arms regenerated, the ichor stitching itself back into flesh. Her head reattached with a sickening snap as her hollow eyes glared at them with newfound fury.
Theodore felt his chest tighten.
"She's regenerating! Belial, behind you!"
Before Belial could react, one of her elongated arms swung toward him with bone-crushing force. The blow connected, sending Belial hurtling through the forest. He smashed through several trees, the sound of cracking wood echoing like thunder.
Theodore's heart sank. "Belial…"
Amidst the shattered trunks and scattered debris, Belial slowly rose to his feet. His once-tidy hair had come undone, falling over his face in wild strands. His crimson eyes glowed brighter than before, blazing with barely contained rage.
Brushing his hair back with one hand, he straightened his posture. His aura shifted, becoming sharper and more dangerous. The air around him crackled with power, and the ground beneath him fractured with each step he took.
The ghost woman snarled, charging at him like a beast. Her six arms clawed at the air as she formed a sword of pure black mana, its surface rippling with malice. The blade hissed as though alive, exuding a deadly energy that made the air heavy.
Belial met her charge head-on, summoning his crimson sword once more. Their blades clashed with a deafening ring, sending shockwaves through the forest. The force of their battle uprooted trees and shattered the ground, each strike faster and more ferocious than the last.
Theodore, watching from a distance, couldn't believe what he was seeing. The ghost was far more skilled with a blade than he had anticipated, her attacks precise and relentless.
But what worried him most was her regeneration. No matter how many times Belial struck her, her wounds healed almost instantly.
This isn't working, Theodore thought, his mind racing. His gaze drifted toward the house in the distance, and his stomach twisted. The tree.
"The tree in her house," he muttered. "That's where her power is coming from."
A memory surfaced—her panicked reaction whenever he got near the tree, her desperate attempts to keep him away. That tree is the key.
"Belial!" Theodore shouted, forcing himself to stand despite the searing pain in his leg.
"Go for the tree in her house! It's the source of her power!"
Belial glanced at him, nodding curtly. Without hesitation, he disengaged from the ghost and dashed toward the house.
The ghost's reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, and a guttural growl escaped her throat. She abandoned the fight, lunging toward Theodore instead.
"Belial!" Theodore yelled, panic rising in his chest.
Belial reappeared in a flash, grabbing the ghost by the waist and restraining her. His voice was icy as he whispered into her ear, "My apologies miss for touching you without permission."
She thrashed violently, her claws raking at him as she tried to break free, but Belial held her firm.
"My lord," he called, his tone calm despite the chaos. "I'll handle her. Go!"
Summoning every ounce of strength, Theodore limped toward the house, his injured leg screaming in protest. He pushed open the creaking door and faced the massive, grotesque tree in the center of the room. Its trunk was covered in twisted faces, their mouths open in silent screams.
Theodore drew a blade of mana and struck the tree with all his might, but the bark was unnaturally strong. His attacks left only faint scratches.
"Damn it!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the tree. "Why won't you cut?!"
Suddenly, the tree began to glow. Its surface shifted, and Theodore felt himself being pulled toward it. Before he could react, the tree absorbed him completely.
Theodore floated in a vast, pitch-black void, his body weightless. He looked around, his voice echoing into the emptiness. "What just happened? Where am I?"
A soft, sorrowful voice spoke, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere. "Do you truly wish to know the truth?"
Theodore turned sharply, but there was no one there. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
"I am the truth," the voice replied. "And I will show you my story. Perhaps then, you will set me and the children free."
Before Theodore could respond, a blinding light engulfed him. He shielded his eyes, and when he opened them again, he found himself standing in a bustling village. The air was warm, filled with the laughter of children and the chatter of merchants.
Theodore's jaw dropped. The streets were alive with energy, the market stalls vibrant and colorful. People greeted one another warmly, their faces full of life.
"This… this is Daunt," Theodore murmured in disbelief. But it wasn't the grim, cursed village he had come to know. This was Daunt as it must have been hundreds of years ago.
His heart ached as he took in the scene. "That sad, lifeless village was once like this…"
He walked through the streets, calling out to the villagers, but they ignored him. No one could see or hear him. It was as if he were a ghost.
"This must be an illusion," Theodore realized, his hands balling into fists. "The tree… it's showing me something."
As he wandered, a sense of unease crept over him. The joy in the village felt almost too perfect, like the calm before a storm.
And then he saw her.
The ghost woman, standing in the middle of the square.
But she wasn't monstrous. She was beautiful, with warm eyes and a gentle smile. Children played around her, and she laughed softly, radiating kindness.
Theodore's heart sank. "She… she was human once."
The scene before him began to blur, shifting as the voice returned. "Look closely, and you will understand why this curse exists."
As the world around him twisted and changed, Theodore braced himself for the truth.