The cursed doll's grip slackened.
Her black, hollow eyes widened in sheer terror, her entire body trembling as if she had witnessed something beyond human comprehension. The wires suspending her form quivered, straining under some unseen force.
Then, in a voice filled with disbelief and horror, she whispered:
"T-The King of Shadows… I saw him… seated upon the throne of darkness…"
Her body convulsed violently.
Julius barely had time to register her words before she released him, her clawed hands twitching as if burned. He collapsed to the wooden floor, gasping for air, his throat raw from the earlier strangulation.
A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air.
The doll clutched her head, her mouth stretching unnaturally wide as she shrieked in agony. Yet… amidst the wails of suffering, her voice changed.
One moment, it was filled with rage—twisted, bloodthirsty, desperate to kill him.
The next, it softened, trembling with sorrow.
"…B-Boy…" her voice cracked. "Set me free… from this hell…"
Julius, still catching his breath, froze.
His mind raced. What… is she saying?
Set her free? From what? And how?
His body was already battered, his abilities limited—he was weaker than her. If anything, he was the one who needed saving.
But the doll continued.
"You… possess the power of the Shadow King," she whispered. "That alone… is more than enough…"
Julius felt a cold chill crawl up his spine.
Before he could process her words, her deranged self snapped back.
The murderous side of her returned with a vengeance.
A twisted, rage-filled screech erupted from her throat as she lunged at him once more.
Julius barely dodged in time, rolling across the floor as her razor-sharp claws slashed through the wooden planks where he had stood seconds ago.
His mind reeled. She's unstable. It was as if two souls—one vengeful, one sorrowful—were trapped inside her cursed form, battling for control.
As he struggled to stand, the softer voice returned.
Her body twitched violently, struggling against itself, but she managed to utter, "Just… believe in your power. Accept your inheritance…"
She stumbled forward, her movements erratic.
"…And place your hand… upon my heart."
Julius blinked, his pulse hammering in his ears.
"What?" he rasped.
Her heart?
He had no idea where that was—or even if cursed relics like her had hearts.
Seeing his confusion, her trembling voice continued.
"All cursed artifacts… have a heart," she whispered. "A core—our single point of weakness…"
Julius's breath caught in his throat.
A weak point?
His mind raced. If what she was saying was true, then every cursed object—every damned being like her—had a vulnerability.
But—
He had no time to think.
The rage-filled version of her surfaced once more, launching herself at him in a wild frenzy.
Julius barely managed to summon Shadow Step, flickering a few feet away just as her claws slashed through the air.
I need to find her heart!
His eyes darted across her distorted form, searching for any hint of an opening.
Then—
A faint, unnatural glow pulsed beneath her ribcage.
There!
Julius had no time to hesitate.
Summoning all the strength he had left, he charged toward her.
She shrieked, her attacks becoming even more erratic. Her cursed limbs lashed out, forcing him to weave through the onslaught, narrowly dodging fatal blows.
Shadow Dagger!
A blade of darkness formed in his hand. He hurled it—not to harm, but to distract.
The instant she flinched, Julius lunged forward.
His hand stretched toward her chest—toward the flickering glow beneath her twisted form.
The moment his palm pressed against the spot—
The world shattered.
A deafening scream tore through the air as the cursed doll's body convulsed, her entire frame melting into a viscous black substance. Her limbs twisted, her form fought against the very act of breaking apart.
Julius gritted his teeth, his arm burning as shadows swirled around him, wrapping around his fingers, his wrist—his very soul.
The doll screeched. The wooden floor beneath them cracked.
And then—
Everything turned black.
When Julius opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.
The suffocating darkness of the cursed room was gone.
Instead, he stood within a dimly lit chamber—silent, eerie, unfamiliar.
Julius felt his consciousness being pulled into the abyss.
Darkness surrounded him, cold and heavy, pressing against his mind like an unseen force. His senses blurred, and when his vision returned—
He was no longer in the cursed room.
Instead, he found himself standing in the middle of a memory.
The air was thick with dust, the scent of damp wood filling his lungs. A dimly lit orphanage stretched before him—a crumbling building where the laughter of children never quite reached the eyes.
A young girl sat near a broken window, staring at the rain that drizzled against the glass.
She had long black hair, striking dark eyes, and a pale face devoid of emotion.
Cherie Lawrence.
She was small, thin—too frail for her age. The other children ran and played, but she remained alone.
A nun approached, her tone strict and cold.
"Cherie, a family has decided to adopt you. Get ready."
The eleven-year-old girl turned her gaze toward the nun, her expression unreadable.
"…A family?" she murmured.
The nun did not smile. "Yes. Be grateful."
Cherie wasn't grateful.
When she was brought to the aristocratic household, she quickly realized the truth—she wasn't wanted.
The couple treated her with indifference. She was given food, shelter, and fine clothes, but never affection. Their biological children mocked her, calling her an unwanted stray.
"You don't belong here."
"A filthy orphan like you should be grateful Father even lets you eat at our table."
They never hit her, never locked her away—but their disdain was constant, an unspoken truth that ate away at her young heart.
And so, at seventeen, she made her choice.
She ran away.
The next memory blurred into focus.
Cherie, now older, stood behind the counter of a tavern, pouring drinks for drunken men who barely acknowledged her as a person.
She had no money, no family, no home.
So she worked.
She cleaned tables, served drinks, endured wandering hands, and ignored lewd remarks. She survived.
With the money she earned, she continued her education, studying late into the night when the tavern grew quiet.
And then, after years of struggle—
She succeeded.
At nineteen, she was accepted into the Academy of Arts, a place she had only dreamed of.
For the first time, she felt hope.
Then, he saw him.
Jad.
A fellow student, a young man from an aristocratic family.
Unlike the others, he was kind to her. He shared notes with her, helped her with assignments, and made her feel seen.
At first, she was grateful.
Then, gratitude turned into affection.
And affection… into love.
One evening, in the dim glow of candlelight, she gathered her courage and whispered:
"Jad… I think I've fallen in love with you."
For a moment, he didn't speak.
Then, he smiled.
Not out of mockery, not out of pity—
But genuine warmth.
He cupped her face, brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, and murmured:
"Then let me love you back."
What followed was a night of stolen kisses, whispered promises, and soft laughter.
Cherie believed—truly believed—she had found happiness.
But happiness was fleeting.
The next day at the academy, Jad was different.
Distant.
Cold.
Cherie, confused, tried to brush it off. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was just busy.
So she invited him over again.
He agreed.
She waited for him that evening, heart pounding with excitement.
When a knock sounded at the door, she ran to open it—
But when she swung the door wide, it wasn't Jad who stood there.
It was four men.
Her blood turned to ice.
The tallest among them smirked.
"Expecting someone else?"
Panic seized her. She tried to slam the door shut—
But they forced their way in.
"I'd advise against that," another man chuckled. "Your 'lover' told us we could have a little fun with you."
Cherie froze.
"…What?"
The men laughed at her expression.
"Jad said you were quite the little actress. Let's see if you scream as prettily as you smile."
And then—
The nightmare began.
Julius watched.
Watched as they grabbed her.
Watched as they violated her.
Watched as they broke her.
She fought, she screamed, she begged—
But no one came.
When it was over, they left her bleeding on the bed, her face swollen, her body shaking.
She whispered, over and over—
"Jad… I'm waiting for you… Jad…"
Julius's hands trembled. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He felt sick.
How?
How could she love someone like that?
How could she have been so blind?
He didn't love her. He never did. He sold her. He killed her.
Julius clenched his fists, his entire being shaking with fury.
This world is cruel.
A presence stirred in the shadows.
From the darkness, a figure emerged—
A man, face obscured by a dark hood.
His voice was devoid of warmth.
"You're dying."
Cherie barely moved.
She didn't care anymore.
The only name she whispered was—
"Jad…"
The hooded man scoffed.
"Do you want to live?"
She was silent.
Then, in a weak breath, she asked:
"…Can I be with Jad again?"
A chuckle.
"You can have far more than that."
Her bleeding lips trembled. "…How?"
He knelt beside her and whispered:
"Repeat after me."
Julius could hear the words—but he couldn't understand them.
Ancient, twisted syllables that slithered through his mind like a curse.
Cherie, in her broken state, repeated them.
The moment the last word left her lips—
Her body exploded.
Blood splattered the walls, bones shattered into fragments—
And at the center of the destruction, a core of writhing energy emerged, gathering the broken pieces back together.
Julius's breath caught in his throat.
Before his very eyes, the remnants of Cherie Lawrence melded into something new.
A doll.
A cursed artifact, bound by something far more terrifying than simple magic.
Julius staggered backward.
"What the hell…?"
His gaze snapped back to the shadowed man.
Who was he?
What had he turned her into?
And more importantly—
Was Cherie Lawrence still inside that cursed form… or was she lost forever?
To be continued…