The Curator
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Chapter 236: Its Witchhunting Season
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 06:12:17 +0000 UTCThalion relished how the world dimmed around him, the shadows deepening with every step. Even though he had sealed most of his aura, the darkness still coiled around him like a living thing—eager, hungry. It was time to kill some witches. A small part of him regretted not doing it sooner, but better late than never. Trust was a rare commodity, and Thalion intended to move like a phantom—unseen, unheard.
Thankfully, the corridors were vast, their ceilings towering high above—at least fifteen meters, standard for system-shop architecture. Shadows pooled in every corner, giving him ample cover. Beneath him stretched another level—cellars where a coven of witches had descended earlier, flanked by their enthralled guardians. These poor souls, bound entirely to the witches will, likely had withered spirits, dried husks feeding the coven’s insatiable hunger.
As he approached the broad staircase, faint voices filtered up from below. Droplets of water echoed from the ceiling, falling in irregular rhythms. The stone walls were coated in pitch-black, and no torches lined the corridors. Of course not—undead thrived in the dark. Thalion moved down the stairs silently, each footstep absorbed by the still, heavy air. He emerged into a junction chamber, four tunnels spiraling out like dark veins. Voices echoed faintly from each one, but only a single passage carried the unmistakable arrogance of witches barking orders.
He slipped closer, weaving through cavernous rooms littered with the dead. The air grew fetid—thick with the copper tang of blood and the musty stench of decay. Bodies lay strewn about, pale and dry as parchment, every drop of life drained from them. He clenched his jaw and pushed on. There was nothing he could do for them now.
The sound of conversation sharpened as he neared the group.
“I thought you said one of the scouting teams headed down this corridor,” snapped a female voice, full of venom.
“I—I’m so sorry, my love. I must have been mistaken,” replied a man, his voice oozing subservience. Thalion felt a shiver of revulsion crawl down his spine.
“We could’ve easily caught them here. Running isn’t exactly easy in these tunnels,” the woman continued, her voice brittle with frustration.
Thalion finally reached the edge of the corridor, pressing into the shadows. What he saw made his blood boil. Six witches in revealing crimson robes stood in a semicircle, surrounded by twenty fighters—puppets under their sway. Among them were both men and women, each wearing an expression of hollow grief, like parents mourning a child. Their despair was almost palpable. Clearly, the witches were displeased, and the controlled felt every ounce of it.
This wasn’t some hidden scheme. This was open predation. Bold. Brazen. And unforgivable.
The witches themselves were level 80, their auras still intact, while their guards—clearly evolved—hovered around level 85. A balanced composition: tanks, mages, archers, even a few healers. It was a solid group. Thalion’s curiosity prickled—he wondered what tricks the witches might unleash—but there was no time for that. If they managed to send out a signal, things would escalate too quickly.
One thing was certain—there would be no conversation.
Everyone still associated the Umbra Predator with one of his forms, but this new identity, the Crippled Eclipsari, was something else entirely. They shared little traits or similarities. If anyone witnessed the attack and managed to escape, they’d only describe a terrifying new creature lurking in the fortress dungeons. Thalion preferred it that way. Cloaked in anonymity, he could strike without revealing his true hand.
As the Umbra Predator, he might have leapt straight into the fray, a whirlwind of teeth and shadow. But the Eclipsari… this form was different. Faster. More subtle. It wasn’t only about brute force—it was about the shadows themselves becoming the weapon.
And they were ready to kill.
From the obsidian embrace of the black stone walls, ten shadowy tendrils erupted, lancing through the air like fangs. They struck with merciless precision—impaling five witches and several of their enthralled fighters in one savage instant. Screams tore through the corridor as the victims were lifted into the air, writhing, blood bubbling from their mouths. Eyes widened in terror, fixed on the spears of darkness that had sprouted from their bodies. Flesh around the wounds blackened rapidly, decay setting in before their minds could register death.
Chaos exploded among the survivors. Believing the attack had come from the far end of the hallway, some turned on the tendrils with blade and magic, hacking them apart in desperation. Healers and mages conjured shimmering barriers—but only around the witches, leaving the expendable enthralled to bleed out in the gloom. Yet it was in vain.
Unseen, cloaked in silence and shadow, Thalion stood motionless. Around him, ten massive umbral spires, summoned and brimming with dark power, waited like wolves ready to pounce. The darkness not only concealed Thalion’s presence—it swallowed the presence of his magic entirely.
He released the spires.
They howled through the air, silent as death until they struck—then came the crash. Shields shattered like brittle glass under the force, offering not a heartbeat of resistance. The spikes tore through the formation with monstrous force, several embedding themselves deep into the stone walls behind their targets. Two corpses remained skewered, twitching in agony. The others collapsed with gaping wounds, devoured from the inside by creeping black corruption.
The witches, wounded but clinging to life, looked momentarily more intact than their companions—until the severed tendrils, reformed and thrumming with raw power, launched again. They struck without mercy, ending this coven once and for all.
Without pausing, Thalion activated Abyssal Devourer. The darkness surged forward, swallowing the bodies whole. Only the spatial rings were left behind—tokens that could be tracked. He ignored them and darted back toward the stairs, vanishing into the shadows.
There was more work to be done.
He knew at least one more group of witches hunted nearby. With no time to lose, he shot down the next corridor. But this one was quiet—no signs of conflict, only the steady return of a group of fighters. They hadn’t been attacked. Not wanting to be seen, Thalion reversed course before they could glimpse his silhouette in the gloom.
He took the third corridor.
Almost immediately, the sound of battle reached his ears—steel clashing against steel in sharp bursts. He broke into a full sprint. The tunnel led into a wide hall where two swordsmen fought desperately, surrounded by six heavily armored foes. In the center, four witches knelt over subdued victims—three women and one man—pressing them to the cold stone floor, mouths locked on theirs in predatory kisses.
The aura around the witches was suffocating, pulsing with potent magic. The victims trembled beneath them, trapped in a trance of pain and ecstasy, their souls being drained with each second that passed.
Thalion didn’t hesitate.
A shadowclaw ripped from his outstretched hand, a blur of black force. It tore through the air and struck. The witches never saw it coming. Their bodies were shredded mid-embrace, torn from their victims in a cascade of gore. The enthralled guards spun around in horror, but before they could raise a weapon, Thalion unleashed Umbral Spire again. Spikes erupted from their own shadows, impaling them from below.
Then came the tendrils—dozens of them, surging outward from Thalion’s body like an infernal bloom. They latched onto the stunned fighters, draining them of light and life, reducing them to dust and fragments of armor. Their weapons clattered to the ground beside the only things that remained were their spatial rings.
Breathing deeply, Thalion stepped forward. A dark grin spread across his face, gleaming with feral satisfaction. His voice rolled through the chamber like a whisper from the void itself—deep, malevolent, undeniable.
“Don’t look so shocked. Heal the wounded and return to the fight. The witch-hunting season has officially begun.”
<--
"How are we supposed to kill the witches without any of them seeing us?" Josh asked, his voice low but tense.
The two of them stood beneath the dense jungle canopy, where light filtered in dim, shifting beams. They’d been hunting the last of the vampires in the forest when Thalion declared open season on the witches—a genocide, Jack had called it, with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to a festival. Naturally, Jack had been on board from the first breath. But they were far from the center of the fortress now, with only a handful of allied scouting parties nearby.
"I say we move fast—you charge in first, and just when it looks like they’ve got you cornered, I sweep in like the glorious savior I am," Jack replied with a wide, mischievous grin.
Josh raised a brow, unimpressed. "Oh sure, great plan. So which direction are we going? And more importantly—can you even keep up with my full speed?"
"Not in my human form," Jack admitted, puffing up with mock pride. "But as the almighty squid? I’m faster than a fighter jet. Just don’t ask me to make any sharp turns."
Without warning, Jack’s body shimmered and shifted. In a swirl of magical energy, he transformed into a massive, airborne purple squid, tentacles trailing like streamers. He hovered upward, awkwardly gaining altitude like a festival balloon someone had accidentally let go.
"Can you even see where you're flying this time?" Josh asked skeptically, memories of past collisions still fresh.
"I’m good now!" Jack said, far too innocently.
Josh let it go, made himself lighter using his gravity skill, and blasted off through the jungle like a dart, leaves whipping past. They had a small, enchanted map showing the positions of nearby fighters, and their mission was simple: locate every witch, and eliminate them.
The first two groups they checked were comprised of loyalists—warriors in white uniforms, possibly under the witches' influence. Josh hoped they could be saved once the coven was gone.
The third group, however, was unmistakably led by witches.
Josh and Jack had always disliked them, often mocking their arrogance from afar. But today was different. Today they would do more than mock—they would destroy. Just the thought of what these monsters did to people made Josh’s stomach twist. Where others fought to survive, the witches feasted on souls and enslaved minds, a twisted parody of power.
The enemy force in the clearing ahead was sizable. Over twenty witches stood in scarlet, skin-tight garments that shimmered like blood. Around them were armored warriors, scouts, and a handful of mages. All were level 80 or above. Josh’s pulse quickened. He had no idea if he could take them all—and Jack, of course, was nowhere in sight. Typical.
Still, hesitation was a luxury he couldn’t afford. These parasites needed to die. He took a breath, made his decision, and launched himself from the undergrowth.
Energy surged through him as he leapt, claws glowing. Mid-air, five meters high, he unleashed twin arcs of raw force that screamed through the air. The witches in the center—arguing over their next human hunting grounds—had no time to react.
The slashes landed.
Two witches collapsed in silence, cleanly bisected, their blood soaking into the roots of the jungle floor. Screams erupted as their servants dropped to their knees in despair. Josh didn’t stop—he tore through the stunned fighters, too fast for their sluggish minds to follow. For a moment, chaos reigned.
Then came a voice, shrill and slicing like glass.
"Kill him. Now!" a tall blonde witch shrieked, her body bouncing with furious energy.
The moment of grief vanished, replaced with a wave of reckless aggression. The warriors surged toward Josh, while mages raised barriers around the remaining witches. A translucent dome shimmered to life, wrapping the witches in protective light.
Josh ducked low as a greatsword swung over his head with a guttural roar. He retaliated instantly, slashing the attacker’s leg and dropping him like a rag doll. Another fighter charged, but Josh used his gravity skill to yank him mid-air into a spinning upward strike. The body sailed back, lifeless.
Activating his boosting skill, Josh's frame expanded—more muscle, more fury. He met the attackers with unrelenting violence. The enchanted steel of his claws shredded armor like parchment. The warriors were slower, weaker—likely victims of soul-draining manipulation. He took no pleasure in ending them, but mercy was impossible now.
One by one, they fell, blood soaking the earth until it became a crimson pool.
Then he turned to the witches.
A red-haired woman raised her hand, a curse on her lips. Josh sneered. "Yeah, not today," he muttered, charging a devastating blow to shatter the dome.
But then—heat. A wave of searing, liquid desire crashed into his body like a tidal wave. His muscles seized. The energy he had been gathering slipped from his fingers. Dazed, he blinked—and there she was. The blonde witch, sauntering toward him, hips swaying like a hypnotic pendulum.
She appeared before him in an instant.
He tried to swing.
She ducked, caught his arm, and pressed her lips to his skin.
A second wave of lust hit him like a hammer to the chest. His knees buckled and he collapsed.
He was strong. Faster than her. But none of that mattered. Her voice coiled around his senses like silk.
"Now… shift back to your human form," she purred, her breath warm against his ear.
Josh fought it—but his body betrayed him. Limbs softened, muscles shrank, and he reverted.
"No... stay..." he growled at himself, desperate.
Then her lips met his. A cold fire ran through his core. Something inside him shifted.
His soul.
She was devouring it.
He struggled—pathetically. Even a child could’ve beaten him now. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Just as he turned his head slightly to whisper a final plea, she seized his face and kissed him again, deeper.
"Jack..." he muttered. "Jack... he—"
He couldn’t finish. His voice drowned in the kiss.
Then the ground shook.
The witch paused and turned around.
Josh’s vision was a blur, his strength gone. He barely turned his head.
Where once stood the remaining witches, now there was nothing but blood and crushed bones. Hovering above, the shadow of a monstrous, airborne purple squid.
"Jack..." Josh breathed, voice weak. "What took you so long?"
Jack loomed over the clearing, his voice echoing in a deep, rumbling tone.
"Well, you looked like you were having a very intimate moment. I didn’t want to interrupt all that… tongue action."
Josh groaned. "You're just doing this so you can brag to the others later..."
Jack’s voice grew mock-innocent. "Me? Never."
Then his tone turned playful. "But hey, I want a kiss too! Come here, witchy-witchy..."
The blonde witch's face twisted in rage—but too late.
A massive tentacle lashed forward, coiled around her, and yanked her into the air with brutal force. She vanished into a storm of flailing limbs.
A moment later, the jungle echoed with a shriek—high, shrill, and final.
Then only a loud crunching sound.
Comments
Some Guy
TFTC
Freelin
Thanks for the chapter!
Johannes Röhrl
The part with the soul devoured is like a small wound that will heal in no time. Nothing permanent.
ManguKing
Does Jack not know that a part of Josh's soul has now been devoured cause he wanted to be funny? I expected some character growth from that, but the expected comedic relief landed well. I do wonder what the puppets will do after the witches die
Lan
Loving the start of the witch hunt. Thanks for the chapter!!
