Cursed - V

"You do?"

Ul-Sasan locked eyes with his grandson.

The tension and heat in the hall was thick and heavy as everyone readied their weapons and gathered their wits about them. Eyes were on Isetzar–pointing his damascened sword at his grandfather with eyes burning with wrath.

"That saves us time then. So, you understand why we do this?"

"...."

Ul-Sasan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I see…Your father has involved you in his transgression."

"...."

Realizing his priority, Isetzar took a breath as well and calmed himself down. He tossed his sword beside him and focused all his attention on Nuriya, whom he lifted above his knee and cradled as he carefully examined the spellbinds.

"Setzya. Enough. I know you want to save her. But it's over."

"...."

"Setzya?"

"...."

"She'll be gone in a couple of minutes. We'll bury her properly and I'll explain to your friend why his bride-to-be had to die. So, kiss her goodbye and rise …You're a member of House Sasan. You must maintain reas–"

"...."

Isetzar's eyes narrowed and he put two of his fingers around Nuriya's neck.

A pathetic sight. A futile gesture.

"Deluded boy! You and we know very well that you can't do–"

"--ghaaq!"

Nuriya gasped!

All at once, precious air rushed inside her lungs and brought life and color back into her frame.

The magical thorns around Nuriya's neck were severed and dispelled–allowing her to breathe again.

Isetzar weakly smirked as he watched his sister cough and breathe again. She smiled at him and let out a weak chuckle in gratitude.

Ul-Sasan and the Sasan mages looked on in absolute shock.

"...."

Ul-Sasan had his eyes now firmly on Isetzar.

Now? He was the one with his fingers on his hunting horn.

"Setzya? H-how…did you?"

Arbaz was the one who spoke up, his finger shaking and pointing at his niece and nephew.

But everyone probably wanted to know the same thing.

Isetzar only cared about one thing now though.

"Now, that's done with…" he spoke up. Tensed, but glad to be out of his state of emergency. There was still stuff to undo: the spell was indeed masterfully crafted beyond a shadow of a doubt. But Nuriya was out of danger–for now.

He remembered the moon…

And then, as he sat down crossed on the floor of the great hall, and attended to his recovering sister– he looked up at the rest of his family. "I have questions."

"Fair enough," Ul-Sasan said, genuinely intrigued now. He knew for sure this grandson of his was ungifted. He was there when he was born. He conducted the test himself. "So do we."

"Let's have a family discussion now, shall we?" Isetzar said with malicious courtesy.

The stand-off continued.

Only now, the mages of House Sasan had more cause to worry about what their "Setzya" can do.

"How?" Ul-Sasan started.

"Same as you would. I identified the spell's power source and severed the connection."

"Don't give us that, Isetzar!" cried Malatzar. "You're ungifted and that was a laced spell!"

"Not just laced. It was corded," added Solahi. "Two spells wound tightly into one. Even if you could dispel one, doing both is next to impossible."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Nuriya and Grandfather here could very well–"

"CUT THE CRAP!" Arbaz yelled, his twitching looking absolutely perplexed. "Isetzar! HOW?!"

Isetzar gazed into his uncle's eyes. The corner of his lips now gleaming with mischief. He gently put Nuriya down on the floor and slowly stood up as picked up his sword...

Then? With a big, toothy, wolfish grin? He said:

"I READ IT IN A BOOK!"

Malatzar and Baratzar threw knives at Isetzar!

"!"

Malatzar whistled to his host of spirits and used his fingers to direct them.

Isetzar swung his steel and deflected the attack–only for Malatzar to hurl it back at him again with his magic. Each downward swing of his arm–the magical knife sped like an arrow at his nephew. Baratzar complemented his father by playing his flute behind him: commanding his own spirits to overwhelm or unbalance Isetzar in an attempt to slow and even stop him.

And every time? Isetzar deflected.

But it wasn't just that...

Isetzar was doing something a mere swordsman shouldn't be capable of by any stretch of the imagination.

Every wave of spirits Baratzar sent his way? Isetzar banished with a swing of his sword. Every deflection of the knife? The spirits holding the blade chipped away, weakened, and whittled in number with every knock, block, and parry. Every swing, dozens upon dozens of his uncle and cousin's hosts he swept aside–weakening them the longer the battle went on.

"Spiritbane..." Solahi remarked as she observed.

With masterful grace and dexterity, Isetzar danced and whirled and fended off every attack. With great strength, he stood his ground like a mountain fending of the howling winds.

"!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Arbaz sounded his horn.

The knife flew even more swiftly! It inched closer to its target than ever!

But it was all for naught…

"What the hell is going on?"

Isetzar parried it all the same.

Malatzar then took the moment to drive it even faster and send it flying towards Nuriya like a lightning bolt.

"...!"

This?

Isetzar could not allow this to go unpunished.

As the flying knife dashed closer to Nuriya–

"!"

–he blocked it with his off hand. Catching it like an arrow as its edges dug into his skin and flesh.

The knife shook and rampaged between his tightly-clenched fingers–a small pool of Isetzar's blood dripped into the floor.

Exactly what he needed.

He took a step forward and one fluid swing of his sword made a small cut on his uncle's leg as he hurriedly tried to evade. His other hand then snapped the darting blade with his hand–cutting its magic, opened his bloody palm, and called out a name:

[Arue!]

And to his hand? The blood gradually formed and shaped itself into a small axe made of his life's crimson.

Isetzar swung it wildly around him–again and again–and with every swing a steady stream of Malatzar's blood was being siphoned out in a hundred horrifying little streams from his wounded leg towards Isetzar's axe.

"!"

To everyone's horror…

This was a magic they've never seen before.

Can it even be called that?

For all the years they've studied the arts, they have no idea what mechanism allows Isetzar, supposedly someone ungifted, this kind of power.

The red axe grew in size bit by bit, as a red mist made from Isetzar and Malatzar's blood swirled around the great hall–and after enough blood had been drawn? Malatzar completely passed out. Pale and dazed. His son stopped in a panic to care for his father, and the rest of the house, Solahi and Arbaz in particular, steadied their nerves–now looking upon "Setzya" with a mix of shock and awe.

When Isetzar stopped swinging? The axe stopped growing.

And in its wake? All that's left was a dread-red monstrosity that only Isetzar can wield.

"....."

As Ul-Sasan watched this?

He understood.

"Oh, Mitraz! My poor son, what have your children become?"

His grandson had been cursed too.