The moment the Curse appeared, the kidnappers' tough act shattered. Their faces turned pale, eyes wide with the kind of fear only sorcerers understood.
The scar-jawed leader didn't even hesitate. "Run!" he barked, already turning his back on the courtyard.
One of his lackeys stumbled after him, panic in his voice. "What about the foreigners? We can't just—"
"Idiot!" the leader snapped, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him forward. His face twisted with anger, but his words came out hoarse, laced with something heavier than rage—fear. "Can't you see? We've been compromised!"
The other men looked at him, confused, terrified.
The leader continued while running, voice echoing between the ruined walls. "I didn't know! I didn't know that woman and her kid were related to a special grade sorcerer from America. I didn't know a special grade curse was living on this cursed island. We weren't sent here for ransom—we were sent here to die as feed!"
His words sank in like poison. Some of the men cursed under their breath. Others ran faster, desperation pushing their legs.
The leader's voice grew louder, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as his men. "So long as we live, we can still do something! Remember this! We die here, we gain nothing! Run with everything you've got!"
And just like that, the kidnappers disappeared into the shadows, their footsteps fading into the ruins.
Arata didn't chase them. He didn't care.
All his attention was on the monster standing before him. The Curse loomed like a moving mountain, chunks of stone grinding against each other every time it shifted. Its red hollow eyes glowed brighter now, its head tilting as if mocking him.
The foreigners huddled together, fear written across their faces. The boy clung to his mother's dress, his small hands trembling.
Arata took a slow breath, then bit the inside of his cheek. His wolf spirit shimmered into existence beside him, its body glowing faintly with cursed energy. The wolf gave a low growl, eyes locking onto the curse, but Arata placed a hand on its head.
"Protect them," he ordered, voice firm. "Keep them alive, no matter what."
The wolf's ears twitched before it padded toward the foreigners, circling them like a living shield.
Arata stepped forward alone.
The Curse moved first. Its arm—if the mass of stone and rebar could even be called that—swung down like a falling building. Arata could have dodged. His reflexes were sharp enough to avoid it. But behind him were the foreigners.
So instead, he planted his feet and crossed his arms, cursed energy flaring across his skin. The impact smashed into him like a truck, the ground beneath him cracking wide, dust flying up in clouds.
Pain shot through his arms, but he gritted his teeth. If I dodge, they die. And I can't let that happen.
The curse swung again, this time sideways, aiming to crush the group behind him. Arata leapt forward, shoulder slamming into the blow to redirect it. Stone shattered against his body, shockwaves ripping through the ruins, windows shattering. The foreigners screamed, shielding their heads, but they weren't touched.
Arata roared back, driving a cursed-energy-charged punch straight into the curse's chest. It staggered, but the damage was small. He wasn't aiming to win—not yet. He was just buying time.
The fight went on like this.
The curse attacked with wild, crushing blows, chunks of debris flying in every direction. Arata met each strike with his fists, arms, or legs, taking hits he could easily avoid, just to keep the battlefield's focus on him. Every impact sent shockwaves through the courtyard, stones cracking under their feet.
Now and then, Arata fired small beams of searing heat, sharp bursts of cursed energy that burned through the curse's body but didn't leave lasting wounds. Each blast was just enough to grab the monster's attention, dragging it back toward him whenever it looked at the huddled group behind.
He fought hard, but smart—never leaving an opening for the foreigners to be caught.
At one point, the curse raised both of its arms and slammed them down, the ground splitting like an earthquake. Dust and rubble flew everywhere. Arata's back screamed with pain as he blocked most of it, cursed energy wrapping tightly around his body like armor.
When the dust cleared, he saw his chance.
"Now!" he shouted, turning to the group. His voice carried sharp and clear. "Head for the shore! Board the boat I came with! Don't stop until you reach it!"
The foreigners looked uncertain, frozen in fear. The boy tugged at his mother's sleeve, voice cracking. "But… what about you?"
Arata gave him a small smile despite the blood dripping from his lip. "Don't worry about me. I'm strong."
The boy shook his head fiercely, tears building. "I don't want to go without you!"
The mother crouched, grabbing her son tightly. She whispered something to him, voice low but firm, before pulling him into her arms and rising. Then, with steady eyes, she looked at Arata and gave a sharp nod.
Arata held her gaze for a second, then returned the nod. A strong woman, he thought. Even now, she doesn't lose her composure.
"Wolf," Arata commanded. The spirit perked its ears. "Go with them. Don't stop until they're safe. When they reach the boat and leave the island, howl. I'll hear you."
The wolf gave a deep growl of agreement, then moved quickly, pushing the foreigners along with sharp nudges. The mother carried her son, leading the others as they began to flee down the ruined streets.
That left Arata alone with the Curse.
The creature roared, its voice shaking the broken buildings around them. Dust fell in sheets, walls threatening to collapse just from the sound.
Arata rolled his shoulders, breathing heavily. His arms and chest ached from the constant blows he had taken, but he stood tall. Cursed energy flared across his body, his aura burning hotter, steadier than before.
The curse swung again. This time, Arata didn't just block—he caught the blow, feet digging into the ground, cracks spiderwebbing out beneath him. He twisted his body, tossing the massive arm aside, before driving his knee up into the curse's torso with explosive force.
The impact shook the ruins, sending another thunderous shockwave outward.
Still, he didn't go all out. Not yet. He was listening.
Minutes dragged like hours as they clashed—Arata keeping the beast occupied with fists, kicks, and small bursts of cursed energy, forcing it back again and again, though never striking a killing blow. His goal was simple: buy time.
Then, faint but clear, a howl cut through the chaos. The wolf's voice echoed from the direction of the shore.
Arata's lips curved into a sharp grin. Finally.
He straightened, cursed energy flaring brighter, hotter. The real fight could begin.