Chapter 4 Edge of the Abyss

The blade pressed against my throat, cold as death. The leader's mask gleamed faintly under the moonlight, crimson runes pulsing along the surface of his weapon. His voice was steady, patient, as though he already owned my life. "You think you can resist it?" he said. "That curse doesn't belong to you. It belongs to us." The sigil on my palm burned hotter, shadows writhing like snakes desperate to strike. My pulse thundered, my breath ragged. The spirit inside whispered louder than ever. "Yes... give me control. Just a breath, a heartbeat. I'll break him.

I'll break them all." My hand trembled. One thought clawed at my mind: if I gave in, I might survive. But would I still be me? Flashback I was small again. Just a boy, sitting by the fire while my father sharpened his old hunting knife. The flames flickered, casting long shadows across his weathered face. Outside, the forest groaned with the sound of distant wolves. "Father?" I asked, voice small. "What does it mean to be strong?" He looked up, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. The knife scraped against the whetstone in slow, deliberate strokes. "Strength," he said, "isn't about crushing others. It's about enduring without losing yourself." I frowned, kicking at the dirt by the fire. "Even when it's hard?" "Especially when it's hard." His gaze pierced me, steady as stone. "Anyone can burn with anger. But only a true warrior holds the fire without letting it consume him." Another memory followed the clang of steel. My father placed a wooden practice sword in my hands, its weight too heavy for me then. He struck, gentle but firm, each blow testing me. I stumbled, I fell, but every time, his voice cut through the sting of failure: "Control. That is the difference between a man and a beast." The memory dissolved into smoke. But his words stayed, echoing in the burning silence of the present. Present The leader shifted, pressing the blade harder against my throat. A bead of blood trickled down, hot against the night air. "Last chance, boy," he hissed. "Come with us willingly, or I'll drag you broken. The voice inside me laughed, mocking. "You see? He thinks you're weak. He thinks you're his prey. Show him the truth. Show him what we are." My vision blurred at the edges. The shadows clawed, begging for release. My body shook with the effort of holding them back. Then instinct. I twisted, snapping my head forward. My forehead smashed against his mask with a crack. He staggered, the blade slipping from my throat. I dropped low, sweeping his legs. He hit the ground hard, but rolled fluidly, springing back to his feet. The assassins tightened their circle. Steel gleamed all around. The forest seemed to close in, suffocating. I raised my rifle, my other hand clutching the cursed sigil. It pulsed violently, eager, hungry. "Catch him alive!" the leader barked. They surged. The Fight The first assassin lunged, blade slicing toward my ribs. I caught his wrist, twisting hard, and drove my knee into his gut. He crumpled, gagging. Another came from behind. I spun the rifle, its stock smashing into his jaw with a sickening crack. Teeth scattered across the dirt. A third slid low, daggers flashing toward my legs. I leapt back, shadows bursting from my palm, catching his wrist mid-strike. The force hurled him sideways into a tree, ribs crunching on impact. Gasps rippled through the circle. Fear. And something inside me loved it. "Yes... look how they fear us. More. Give me more!" The shadows writhed around me, heavier, darker, shaping themselves into jagged claws stretching from my arm. My breath came fast, my vision tunneling into red haze. One assassin swung at my back. I whipped the clawed shadows around, the strike catching his chest and tearing through armor. Blood sprayed as he hit the ground screaming. Another dove in. I lashed out, the claw smashing his blade in half, the broken steel spinning into the night. My palm followed, striking his chest with monstrous force. He flew backward like a rag doll, bones snapping on impact. The spirit inside roared with delight. "Yes! This is power. This is what you were born for!" I almost let go. Almost. The Father's Voice "Tokyo." The voice wasn't the spirit's. It was softer, calmer, my father's. Or maybe just my memory of him. "Strength without discipline is destruction." I froze. My knees buckled. The claws of shadow faltered, wavering in the air. The assassins hesitated, confused. The leader didn't. He lunged, crimson blade slashing down. I raised my cursed hand. The blade met the sigil with a scream of metal and shadow. Sparks flew, earth splitting beneath us as power collided. The impact hurled me backward. I slammed into a tree, bark exploding. Pain rippled through my body, but I forced myself up. I couldn't win. Not like this. I had to escape. The Chase I staggered toward the treeline, legs weak but moving. The assassins shouted, chasing after me. Blades whistled past, one grazing my arm, another thudding into the dirt inches away. The forest blurred. Branches whipped across my face. My breaths came ragged, each one burning my lungs. The spirit hissed, furious. "Coward! Why run when we can kill them all? Let me out!" I bit down hard, forcing my legs to keep moving. "Shut up," I spat through clenched teeth. Roots caught my boots, sending me tumbling down a slope. Stones tore at my skin until I crashed against another tree. Darkness nipped at my vision. Behind me, voices echoed. Closer. I forced myself forward, crawling, then stumbling to my feet again. And then, the ground ended. The Cliff I stood at the edge of a cliff, the valley yawning below, jagged rocks waiting like teeth. The wind howled past, cold and merciless. Trapped. The assassins emerged from the trees, fanning out in a crescent, cutting off every path. The leader stepped forward, crimson blade gleaming in his grip. "It's over," he said, calm, certain. "Yield the curse. Or die here." The sigil pulsed violently, screaming in my palm. The spirit's laughter filled my skull. "Nowhere left to run. Nowhere left to hide. Let me take them. Let me feast." I shook my head violently. "No!" My father's face flashed in my mind. His stern eyes, his words: "Anyone can burn with anger. Only a true warrior endures without losing himself." I gritted my teeth. My hand trembled. Shadows writhed, but I forced them down, choking back the curse with every shred of will I had left. The leader tilted his head, studying me like a curious insect. "Strange. Most vessels would have broken by now. Perhaps... you really are your father's son." He raised his blade. I braced myself, heart pounding. The Intruder Then movement. A shadow detached itself from the treeline behind the assassins. Silent. Fluid. Almost invisible. Before the leader could strike, the newcomer spoke, voice low and sharp. "So... the Cursed Heir has awakened." The assassins spun, startled. The leader stiffened, blade lowering slightly. I blinked, blood dripping into my eyes. The figure stood tall, cloaked in darkness, face hidden. Yet the aura radiating from them was undeniable, calm, controlled, deadly. Not one of the assassins. Not one of mine. Something else. The assassins shifted uneasily. Steel rasped as a dozen blades angled toward the newcomer. The leader's mask tilted. "Who are you?" he demanded. The figure's reply was simple. "Not your ally." And then, in a blur of steel and shadow, the cliffside erupted in chaos.