I Can Copy Curses

"And who are they?" Emily asked, her voice tinged with dread.

The cloaked figure didn't answer. Instead, he began walking toward Carl.

Seeing the mysterious figure approach, Carl's panic intensified. His heart raced with every step the masked figure took.

"W-why do you want to kill me?" Carl asked, his voice trembling.

The cloaked figure chuckled softly, the sound eerie and unsettling.

"I can't give you a definitive answer," he replied, his tone almost playful. "But I can offer a few possibilities. Perhaps it's because of a family that opposes you? Or maybe it's the assassins from Hades Reaper? Could it be that someone offered me significant treasures for your death? Or maybe I simply find you an inconvenience here?

The reasons are many. If you can figure out the true motive, maybe you can find some peace before the end."

A shiver ran down Carl's spine as the masked figure's words sank in.

"No, no! You can't kill me!" Carl protested, stumbling backward, his voice filled with desperation. "My family is part of the Archons and the Dungeon Management Association. If you kill me, they'll come after you—your family, everyone you care about!"

The masked figure's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile as he listened to Carl's desperate pleas.

"Threatening in the face of death? Isn't that a classic!" He said with a chilling laugh.

In an instant, the cloaked figure materialized directly in front of Carl, who was now pressed against the barrier of the boss arena.

"Done running?" he taunted, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

"Die," however, Carl surprisingly launched a desperate attack, his fist blazing with black flames.

But to his horror, his hand passed straight through the cloaked figure as though it were nothing more than a wisp of smoke.

"NO! How could this be?" Carl's eyes widened in disbelief. He punched again and again, each strike meeting the same unnerving emptiness. His blows seemed to pass through the figure without leaving a mark, as if he were striking thin air.

"Please, no, don't kill me!" Carl's voice cracked, his once defiant stance collapsing into a desperate plea. Sobs and tears mingled with his pleas, the realization sinking in that the being before him was beyond his reach, untouchable and indifferent.

The cloaked figure regarded Carl with a cold, almost admiring nod. "That was brave of you, I'll give you that," he said, his tone almost approving. "But ultimately, it was all in vain."

He closed the distance between them, his presence looming over Carl with a suffocating finality. Face to face, his voice was a chilling whisper, "Any last words?"

"Don't kill me," Carl begged once more, his voice barely a whisper, choked with fear.

The cloaked figure shook his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I can't do that. I've made a contract, and I must see it through."

With a final, decisive snap of his fingers, the cloaked figure sealed Carl's fate.

Snap!

Whoosh!

In an instant, Carl was enveloped in searing flames—pitch-black, insidious fire that mirrored his own dark flames but was infinitely more intense.

"Aaaagghhh!"

The agonizing scream shattered the eerie silence of the boss arena. The sound was visceral and haunting, making even the bravest of souls tremble in terror.

The crowd's fear heightened as they beheld the masked figure responsible for this horrifying display, their imaginations running wild with the terror that they too might be on the list of the next victims.

"SOMEONE HELP ME!"

Desperation filled the air with Carl's cry for salvation, but the arena remained paralyzed by dread. No one moved, paralyzed by their own terror, as they witnessed his suffering.

"Aggghhh!"

Carl's screams reverberated off the walls, a chilling symphony of despair that echoed endlessly through the arena. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the arena fell into a dreadful silence.

His cries faded, his body consumed by the inferno, leaving only ashes to drift away in the cold, unfeeling wind.

"One down."

At that moment, the clocked figure's ominous voice sounded.

He then looked at the crowd and asked in amusement, "Can you guess who the next one is?"

However, the crowd only trembled in fear when he asked such question to them.

"Anyone?" He looked at everyone in the arena but no one said anything.

A visible sigh escaped his mask when he saw that no one responded to him.

"You guys sure are boring," he shook his head in disappointment.

He then turned his head to Damian who stood hide behind other people, cowering in fear.

Damian's gaze darted desperately toward the cloaked figure's eyes that was emotionlessly staring at him, and as if compelled by an unseen force, he sank to his knees and kowtowed, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Please, don't kill me," he begged, his voice cracking with terror. Tears streamed down his face as he pleaded, "I beg you, spare me."

His desperate pleas hung in the air, only met by the cold, indifferent snap of the cloaked figure's fingers.

Snap!

The sound was sharp and final, cutting through Damian's cries.

"NOOOO!"

Damian's scream pierced the dungeon's gloom, but his agony was short-lived. Almost immediately, his body, like Carl's before him, was consumed by an inferno of black flames.

"Aaaagghhh!"

His screams reverberated through the dungeon, a haunting echo that instilled fear in everyone present, amplifying their terror with each passing moment.

And with that, Damian's fate was sealed, his body turning to ashes just like Carl's.

The cloaked figure chuckled lightly and then turned his gaze to his third target.

"Now, everyone should know who my next two targets are, right?"

No one responded.

The masked figure disregarded the terrified crowd and focused on a well-built man in the distance.

"You're next," he said, pointing at him. "Any last words?"

"No, just make it quick," Ogos replied, his face resigned to his fate.

The cloaked figure nodded. "Very well."

Snap!

With a snap of his fingers, Ogos was engulfed in flames. He didn't even have time to scream before he turned to ashes and scattered away.

"Now, only one remains."

The cloaked figure then turned his attention to Ethan and began walking toward him.

"You know, it's really difficult to kill you guys in Archons," he said, his eyes locked on Ethan. "So when I saw you leaving that place, I followed you here to this dungeon."

Ethan's fists were clenched so tightly that blood began to seep through his knuckles. The grim reality settled over him like a shroud—survival was a distant hope, and he had resigned himself to the certainty of death.

Since the masked figure had first approached Carl, Ethan had been desperately searching for an escape, but the harsh truth was inescapable: no force could alter his fate.

As the cloaked figure loomed before him, Ethan's voice trembled with a mix of desperation and resignation. "Can you spare me?"

The masked figure's reply was laced with cold pity. "I can't."

Tears welled up in Ethan's eyes, but his voice hardened with a cruel acceptance. "Then do what you must."

No sooner had the words left his lips than his body began to swell and distort.

"Detonation? Really?" The masked figure said, shaking his head with detached calmness before snapping his fingers.

Before Ethan could be consumed by the explosive force of his own body, he was enveloped in a surge of black flames. The inferno consumed him swiftly, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.