Forest Cursed
Chapter 1: The Beginning of Damnation
A Mountain of Corpses
Blood dripped from the sky like rain. A sea of bodies stretched endlessly beneath his feet—limbs twisted unnaturally, eyes frozen in horror. The air reeked of decay, and the earth itself seemed to rot beneath the weight of the dead.
A lone figure stood atop this grotesque mountain, his body soaked in crimson, his tattered clothes clinging to his bruised skin. He gazed at the ashen sky, expression unreadable.
"What does it truly mean to be cursed?"
He gripped his sword—its blade chipped, its handle slick with blood. Cursed… was it a punishment? A burden? Or perhaps… a gift?
"A curse is not given; it is born from within. A mark upon the soul, carved by fate's unrelenting cruelty. The cursed are not the weak—they are the forsaken, abandoned by gods and feared by men."
Without another word, he turned. Before him stretched an endless abyss of trees—a forest so dark that even the moonlight refused to touch it. His bare feet left bloody footprints on the soil as he stepped forward. The whispering trees welcomed him.
The cursed one had arrived.
---
A Life of Nothingness
BANG!
A dull pain shot through his skull. A fist slammed against the back of his head.
"Oi, you fatherless brat. Go buy us some coffee."
He blinked, vision adjusting to the dim light of the college classroom. The stench of sweat and cheap deodorant filled the air. Laughter echoed around him.
"Still pretending to be asleep? Hurry up, loser."
He lifted his head slowly. His sunken eyes met the mocking gaze of his tormentors. They weren't even trying to hide their disgust.
"Cursed freak. Why were you even born?"
He didn't respond. He never did. What was the point?
Shoving his chair back, he silently left the room.
---
The Weight of Existence
The streets outside were loud, filled with the scent of gasoline and sweat. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, ignored yet despised.
His thoughts drifted back. Back to his childhood.
"From the moment I was born… my parents were already preparing to kill each other."
He still remembered the screams, the accusations.
"He's just like you!"
"No, he's YOUR damn blood! A useless sack of flesh!"
His mother had dragged him to priests, doctors, exorcists—anyone who could 'fix' him. When that didn't work, she resorted to beatings.
His father? He never saw him again.
"Why do I keep going?"
He barely noticed when he arrived at the construction site, his second job. The hours passed in a blur of manual labor, insults, and exhaustion.
By nightfall, his leg throbbed from an injury he couldn't afford to treat.
And yet… life continued.
---
The Lowest Point
When he returned to college, the bullies were waiting.
As he handed them their coffee, he overheard whispers from the girls nearby.
"Why didn't his mother just kill him before he was born?"
His fingers tightened around the cup. But he remained silent.
His teacher's voice suddenly cut through the air.
"You. My office. Now."
A cold feeling settled in his stomach.
Inside, the teacher's face twisted with disgust.
"You didn't submit your assignment."
"I was working late… my leg was—"
Before he could finish, the teacher slammed his foot down onto his injured leg.
Pain exploded through his body as he fell to the ground, gasping.
"Not my problem, cursed brat."
The room swam in his vision. Tears burned in his eyes, but he forced them down.
"Go to the medical room if you're gonna cry about it."
---
Desperation and Madness
The nurse refused to touch him.
"I… I can't… your presence makes me sick."
So, he stitched himself up.
Shaking hands. Blood. Pain.
He no longer had the strength to feel anger.
When he entered the bathroom, the bullies were waiting.
"Perfect timing," one of them sneered. "We don't have an ashtray."
A fist grabbed his hair.
Hot ashes were shoved into his mouth.
"Swallow."
His throat burned as he choked, gagging on the taste of charcoal and spit.
Laughter.
Tears streamed down his face. His entire body trembled.
"Why does this world hate me?"
For the first time, he truly wanted to die.
---
A Strange Train Ride
He left early.
The train was crowded with smiling people. Families, lovers, workers—everyone had a life worth living.
"They have something to smile about…"
Then, a small girl tugged at his sleeve.
"You're hurt."
She handed him a candy.
For the first time that day, he laughed softly.
"Maybe today wasn't that bad after all."
But then—
The train stopped.
He frowned. This wasn't his station.
Outside, only trees stretched into the distance. A forest black as death.
He turned to ask a passenger—
And froze.
The man had no head.
Blood dripped from his severed neck.
The entire train was filled with corpses.
He jerked back, heart hammering in his chest.
Screams erupted.
"STOP THAT BOY!"
His head snapped to the window.
A figure ran toward the trees—a boy, just like him.
The passengers shrieked, clawing at him.
"DON'T LET HIM GO INTO THE FOREST!"
The little girl grabbed his throat, her eyes black as night.
"Catch him! If he reaches the trees, we're ALL CURSED!"
Something inside him snapped.
"Curse?"
A burning rage filled his chest.
If this was fate, then he would carve his own path.
He ran.
Branches scraped his skin, thorns tore at his clothes, but he kept running.
Through the darkness.
Through the whispers.
And then—
The boy stopped.
He stood beneath an enormous tree, its bark twisted with ancient symbols.
Slowly, he turned.
The main character barely had time to see his face before—
"You are cursed."
The train behind them exploded.
A blinding light consumed everything.
When he opened his eyes—
He was alone.
A cursed boy, standing in an unknown forest.
End of Chapter