The portal's crimson hue pulsed rhythmically, casting an eerie glow across the faces of the gathered adventurers.
Then, without warning, the ground trembled.
A low rumble emanated from deep within the earth, growing in intensity until the very air vibrated. The tremor escalated into violent quaking that sent adventurers stumbling, their arms windmilling desperately for balance. Several crashed to their knees, palms slapping against the stone to steady themselves.
"Formation! Now!" a grizzled warrior bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Ready for combat!"
Weapons rang as they cleared their sheaths. Mages began weaving protective barriers, their incantations overlapping in a cacophony of arcane languages. The once-bustling atmosphere around the World Tower's entrance had devolved into controlled panic. Seasoned adventurers fell back on years of training even as fear clawed at their composure.
The crimson light spread.
Bleeding outward.
Like spilled wine across parchment.
It crept along the ground, up the walls, staining everything in its path with an ominous red hue. The air itself thickened with the color, transforming the familiar plaza into something alien and threatening. Several adventurers backed away from the advancing tide of red, their eyes wide with primal fear.
"What in the nine hells—" someone started.
The words died.
The crimson reached its apex, bathing the entire area in blood-red light.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the quaking stopped.
Silence.
The abrupt stillness was somehow more terrifying than the chaos that preceded it. Hearts pounded in the quiet. Every eye fixed on the portal as golden letters materialized before the gate, their message burning itself into the minds of all who read it:
CURSED BEINGS ARE PROHIBITED FROM ENTERING THE WORLD TOWER
Below the message, intricate runes pulsed with angry red light. Their arcane patterns shifted and intertwined, emanating a force that actively repelled Leo's presence.
[System Notification] Detected user under Blight of the Vanquished curse.
A sharp crack split the air.
Leo drove his fist into the ground with explosive force. Stone shattered beneath the impact. Fragments flew as a gaping hole twice the size of his fist cratered the plaza floor.
The crowd recoiled.
Their shock deepened.
On the back of Leo's hand, the sigil of the curse glowed with an ominous, blood-red light. The twisted lines carved deep into his flesh, jagged and malevolent, as if something had clawed the mark into his very being. Each line pulsed with its own terrible life. The pattern shifted subtly in ways that hurt to look at directly.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Those nearest to Leo stumbled backward, their faces masks of terror and revulsion. The curse that had been his silent companion since his battle with the Dragon Lord was now exposed for all to see.
A brand of shame.
Burning on his flesh.
Leo slowly withdrew his fist from the crater. Stone dust cascaded from his knuckles. For a moment, his shoulders sagged. The weight of this new reality pressed down on him. His jaw clenched, the muscle working beneath the skin as he struggled to his feet, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace.
The sigil continued to burn.
Each pulse sent visible tremors through his arm.
The crowd started murmuring. Voices rose from whispers to heated discussion.
"Wait... that face," someone in the crowd gasped, recognition dawning. "That's him—the VIP system user who killed the Dragon Lord!"
"So the Blight of the Vanquished curse was true after all," another breathed, their voice thick with a mixture of awe and fear. "Not just a legend to frighten children."
A merchant near the front butted in, confusion evident in his tone. "But that doesn't make any sense! My brother bears the Moonshadow curse—has for three years now—and he can freely go in and out of the World Tower. Why would this curse be different?"
Theories spread.
Speculation.
Like wildfire through the gathered adventurers.
But then a sharp tingling sensation swept through the plaza. Hair raised on every neck. Shivers ran down every spine.
Leo had begun walking toward the crimson gate.
With each step, something dark seeped from his very being. It started as wisps of shadow, barely visible against the red-stained plaza. But as his fury built, as the full weight of his situation crashed down upon him, the darkness intensified.
An immense aura leaked from him.
Pure rage.
Undiluted.
Tangible enough to taste on the air.
First the curse siphoned most of my power, he thought, his hands curling into fists. Reduced me to a fraction of what I was. And now this—barred from the World Tower itself.
His greatest chance of acquiring a new weapon. Of finding artifacts that might help him overcome this curse. Of gathering the power needed to save Amanda and Roxanne.
All of it had just crumbled to ash.
The fury that rose within him was unlike anything he'd felt since the Dragon Lord's defeat. It was the rage of the desperate. Of one watching every door close before him.
The dark aura continued to pour out, growing denser with each step. It began to coalesce behind him, forming patterns in the air. A cape of pure darkness that billowed and writhed as if alive. The shadows stretched long and writhing across the crimson ground, reaching toward the portal like grasping fingers.
A new commotion erupted.
Armored figures materialized from the shadows near the gate. The World Tower Guards. Elite warriors tasked with maintaining order at the portal. They moved with practiced precision, forming a defensive line before the crimson gate. Their formation perfect despite the speed of their deployment.
Spears lowered in unison.
Tips gleaming.
Enchanted steel.
Shields locked together with metallic crashes that echoed across the plaza. Swords drawn from their sheaths, the blades humming with protective magic. Every weapon pointed directly at Leo. A wall of steel between him and the portal that had already rejected him.
"Halt!" the guard captain's voice boomed across the plaza. "Take another step, cursed one, and we will be forced to act!"
But then, their stance became shifty.
The guard closest to Leo met his piercing dark brown eyes.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
There was something in that gaze. Not just anger, but a raw, crushing desperation that made the guard's weapon hand tremble. The overwhelming aura pressed against them like a physical weight. It carried with it the unmistakable taste of fury born from helplessness.
One guard's spear tip began to shake. The enchanted steel wavered despite his white-knuckled grip. Another shifted his weight from foot to foot. Sweat beaded on his forehead beneath his helmet.
They could feel it.
All of it.
His anger at being denied. His desperation at watching his path forward crumble. The rage of someone who had already lost so much being told he would lose more.
Yet they remained firm.
Duty binding them even as instinct screamed to flee.
Leo stopped.
The tip of the nearest spear mere inches from his chest. The weapon shook visibly now, its wielder fighting to maintain his grip. But Leo's eyes never even glanced at the trembling steel pointed at him.
His gaze remained fixed on one point only.
The golden messages still burning before the World Tower's gate.
Those damning words that had sealed his fate.
The messages seemed to mock him. Each letter a door slamming shut on his hopes.
Trapped.
Powerless.
Again.