Chapter 303: Lifting Curse Part 3
The moment Adrian gave the command, the ritual array surged to life.
Runes etched into the floor blazed with silvery-blue flames, forming layered concentric circles around Adrian, Isolda, and the suspended crystal containing the Abyssal Harbinger. The chamber filled with a divine chill, and the scent of incense and raw mana thickened the air. One power was celestial — borrowed from Seraphina’s deep mana reserves. The other… abyssal, ancient and coiled like a snake, ready to strike.
Adrian stood at the very center, his palm placed firmly over Isolda's chest. His other hand reached toward the crystal, which floated within the apex of the containment sigils. As the light intensified, the warmth of the sigil — gifted by the Goddess of Fate — pulsed steadily against his skin beneath his robes. A heartbeat. Calm. Anchored.
At the edge of the ritual, Seraphina stood tall, her staff planted firmly in the ground. Threads of magic flowed from her fingertips into the surrounding glyphs, maintaining the formation’s stability and feeding it the mana necessary to hold back the dark.
Christine, too weak to contribute directly, stood further back, eyes wide with tension. Her hands were clasped tightly at her chest, lips murmuring silent prayers — more from hope than divine intervention this time.
From the crystal, the Harbinger’s essence slithered forth.
A stream of oily shadow emerged, hesitating just for a breath before pouring into Adrian’s outstretched hand. It wound through his veins like molten tar — thick, cold, invasive.
Adrian gritted his teeth but didn’t falter. The sigil burned silently beneath his chest, not repelling the abyss but masking the soul itself. The Harbinger had no idea it was pushing its will into a dead-end.
Its tendrils snaked down Adrian’s arm, passed through his chest, and exited into the palm placed against Isolda’s heart. As it reached her, the curse — a black web buried deep within her soul — resisted like a wounded beast. It pulsed with malevolence, flaring up in defense.
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “Brace!”
She raised her staff, channeling more mana into the formation. The glowing runes surged, containing the backlash as the Harbinger’s essence tried to overpower the protections.
Isolda arched slightly, her mouth parting in a silent gasp. The black veins threading through her skin flared visibly — but they were no longer expanding. They were being drawn inward. Unwoven.
“Keep the flow steady!” Seraphina barked, sweat beading on her brow from the sheer volume of mana being funneled through her staff.
Adrian focused. He didn’t flinch. The corruption flowing through him had weight, hunger, intent. But the sigil rendered it null — harmless. It was like letting a flame pass through a glass tube: seen, felt, but never touching.
The curse writhed. It fought. The abyssal power screamed — and then began to unravel.
With a guttural hiss, the corruption around Isolda’s body began to crumble, turning to wisps of dark smoke that evaporated into nothingness. The threads of the curse pulled inward, devoured by the Harbinger’s own essence as it worked, unknowingly destroying itself.
Adrian’s voice was steady as stone. “It’s working. Almost there.”
Seraphina’s magic flared once more. “Final sequence, Adrian — now!”
Adrian clenched his teeth, channeling the last surge of energy through his arm, into Isolda. The curse coiled violently, one final shriek erupting from deep within her.
And then—silence.
The darkness shattered like glass.
Isolda’s chest rose slowly. Her skin, once pale and veined with corruption, now glowed with healthy color. Her breathing eased. Her expression… softened. Peaceful. No pain. No torment. Just rest.
Adrian pulled his hand back gently, lowering his head. His chest heaved slightly, not from pain — but from the weight of knowing it was done.
The curse was gone.
But the ritual circle still glowed.
The Harbinger’s presence still lingered, coiled within the shattered crystal — and it stirred again.
“Oh…” came its voice, slithering, low and too pleased. “Oh, how interesting. You truly let me through…”
Its essence began to creep again — not toward Isolda, but back through the link, back toward Adrian.
“Such trust. Such arrogance,” it hissed, tendrils curling around Adrian’s arm again. “You really thought you could wield me without consequence?”
Adrian remained still.
“Yes… yes. I see now. You’re strong, boy — but strength alone doesn’t matter here. Your soul is open. Your body was my vessel.”
Adrian let his eyes widen — a flicker of fear playing at his lips.
“W-What is this…?” he whispered, stumbling a half step back. “You… you tricked me…”
Seraphina tensed. “Adrian—!”
The Harbinger cackled with glee. “Of course I did! I am the Abyss, child. Deceit is my gift.”
It surged now, flooding into Adrian’s spiritual channels, aiming straight for the core of his being.
“Yes… yes, I see it. Let me in. Let me—”
Adrian smiled.
A slow, calculated smirk.
The Harbinger paused.
“What…?”
Adrian’s voice dropped, razor-sharp. “Did you really think… you were in control?”
The shadows hesitated, confused.
Adrian reached into his robes, pulled forth the coin — the sigil of Goddess of Fate — and held it aloft.
The Harbinger recoiled instantly. “No—! That… that’s not possible—what have you done!?”
“Oh, this?” Adrian said, amused. “Just something gifted to me by a real power.”
The sigil flared — not with light, but with the crushing weight of inevitability.
The Harbinger screamed.
Its essence clawed backward, trying to escape — but there was no exit. The sigil closed the loop.
The trap was complete.
“You wanted a channel?” Adrian said coldly. “I gave you one — straight to your end.”
The sigil pulsed once — and the shadows were sucked inward, devoured by an unseen force. The crystal cracked, then imploded silently.
And then… nothing.
No sound. No essence. No presence.
The Abyssal Harbinger was gone.
Erased from existence.
Adrian stood motionless at the center of the circle, the sigil resting calmly against his chest. He looked down at Isolda — peaceful, finally freed.
Then he turned to Chrisitine and simply said:
“It’s over.”
Christine stood frozen the moment Adrian said the words.
The silence that followed wasn't empty — it was sacred.
The tension that had gripped the air for days, the horror that had clung to her mother's soul for years, was suddenly… gone.
Christine’s breath hitched as she stared at Isolda lying peacefully on the ritual bed, the dark veins that had plagued her mother now completely vanished, her body no longer trembling with pain.
There was no agony in her face.
No nightmares tugging at her spirit.
Just soft, steady breathing.
Just… peace.
Christine's lips trembled. Her knees gave out as the first tear slipped down her cheek.