The final system shop was only seconds away, and every faction waited with bated breath for the tutorial to end. Most tutorials had been conquered by a single faction. In others, uneasy alliances were forged. Some were overrun by swarms of monsters, while a few had only a handful of survivors clinging desperately to life.

Far away, in a different tutorial, deep within a jungle of titanic trees that stretched well over a hundred meters high, a lone figure stood in a clearing. The earth bore scorch marks from past battles, and broken branches littered the ground. At first glance, one might mistake the figure for a man. His form resembled that of a human male, but his skin shimmered with a dark green hue, his head completely bald, and his eyes gleamed like those of a predator, slitted and feline.

He wore no crown, no armor, no weapon. Only a black tunic inscribed with intricate runes, dormant and dull for the moment. His lean musculature seemed almost unremarkable, but the aura he radiated told a different story. This was no simple being. With one hand, he lifted a woman from the ground by her throat, his grip tightening inch by inch. She, too, bore the green skin of his race. The Vorakai had mastered magic even before the System came to their world, empowered further now by its high mana density.

A sadistic smile spread across the man's face as the woman struggled in his grip. "Why did you betray us? You were the prince!" she cried, her voice trembling with anguish. A tear slid down her cheek, glimmering in the fractured sunlight that pierced through the canopy.

Unlike Thalion's tutorial, where multiple races were thrown together, this one had only orcs and Vorakai. The orcs were inferior and easily crushed. The Vorakai had been blessed, or cursed to have the crown prince among them. To them, he had been a beacon of hope, leading them through impossible odds, devising escapes when defeat seemed certain, and slaying hordes of enemies with a strength no one could rival. Under his guidance, they built not just a camp, but an empire within the tutorial. They dreamed of emerging as one united people, stronger than ever, ready to rejoin their kin on the new world the System had prepared.

Then, one by one, they began to disappear. At first, a few. Then more. Nobles and commoners alike vanished without a trace, no bodies, no weapons, no sign of battle. The killer left nothing behind. Whispers spread, fear grew, and the Vorakai searched endlessly for the murderer in their midst. When only a hundred remained, the truth revealed itself. The predator they feared was no outsider. It was their own prince.

At first, the Vorakai were paralyzed by horror. They could not raise arms against their royal blood, to whom they had sworn their lives. To break that oath was to doom their souls, forever barred from the afterlife. So they did the only thing left to them. They ran and scattered like frightened prey.

But the prince hunted them like a beast on the wind. When camps were unguarded and warriors slept, he struck. None could match his speed, none could withstand his might. And he possessed a power beyond any spell they had known. A mouth that opened to spew forth a dark green mist. Wherever it touched, flesh dissolved and souls unraveled. When the victim was gone, he inhaled again, reclaiming the mist, devouring both body and spirit.

Their only reprieve was that he seemed unable to move while using this vile ability. Still, it mattered little. One by one, they all fell.

Now, only the High Priestess remained. She had broken her oath in desperation, sacrificing her soul's eternity to fight him. Yet even she was powerless. Her strength failed the moment his hand closed around her throat. She could not summon her spells, could not move her body. Only her voice remained.

"Why…?" she whispered, her words fragile as glass.

The prince's smile widened, his eyes glittering with hunger. "I'm just so very hungry." There was no remorse in his tone, only raw, unfiltered malice. The priestess trembled, paralyzed as the green mist poured from his maw, enveloping her whole. Her body writhed in silent agony, her soul unraveling as she screamed within, unable to escape. His gaze never left hers, savoring every fragment of her torment until nothing remained.

When it was done, he licked his lips and raised his eyes to the heavens. "Yes… all of them. Gone." His arms spread wide, his grin stretching unnaturally. "Now, it is time for the feast to begin, upon the new world."

And with that, as the final seconds of the tutorial ticked away, the prince vanished, his body pulled toward the last system shop.

<--

Thalion entered the final system shop of the tutorial in unusually high spirits. The weight of endless battles and relentless progress had lifted, and now only one thing remained. The Bloodcurse, his gateway to New Earth. He could hardly contain his curiosity. What had become of the planet since humanity's fall? Were the towering megacities still standing, or had time ground them to dust? Perhaps, he mused with a smirk, the System had even been kind enough to clear the oceans of plastic.

"Greetings, Voice of the System," Thalion said with theatrical flourish as he approached the golden statue that towered at the shop's heart. Its eyes glowed faintly, watching him with an impassive light. "I've come to forge the vilest curse this place can offer." His tone was playful, but beneath it lay a sharp edge of anticipation.

"Well then, let us begin." The System's voice reverberated through the chamber, resonant and calm. "You have earned enough credits from your bases to choose between two items. The greater costs four hundred and fifty million credits. The lesser, one hundred and fifty million. Should you choose the first, little of your wealth will remain. Perhaps enough for a bottle of beer, nothing more." Two items materialized before him in golden motes, hovering just within reach.

Thalion arched an eyebrow. "I assume the expensive one delivers far more than the cheaper trinket? Why even tempt me with the lesser?"

"Yes," the Voice of the System replied with a tone stripped of amusement. "And not by a small margin. The lesser will grant only an incomplete curse. Both are single-use, and you may carry only one curse forward. It must be strengthened within your body, so the fact that you cannot transport the cauldron itself is of no consequence."

Thalion exhaled through his nose. The thought of all his hard-earned credits vanishing into a single purchase stung, yet the chance to craft his own curse was priceless. New Earth would not grant him such an opportunity again. The choice was obvious. Still, he wanted to see what he was truly buying.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The Cauldron of the Withered Hour

Forged in the twilight of a dying star, the Cauldron of the Withered Hour resembles a vast basin of blackened bronze veined with fissures of molten crimson. When touched, it beats with a warmth disturbingly close to living flesh. Glyphs writhe endlessly across its surface, never the same pattern twice, as though they resist mortal comprehension. At its base lies an hourglass, fused into the metal itself. Its sands shift erratically, sometimes rushing, sometimes pausing mid-fall as if mocking the very concept of time. The Cauldron will create new unique curses, by weaving together the essences of rare beasts, corrupted relics, or the blood of powerful beings. Unlike common curses, those born of the Withered Hour are of high quality, compared to any other newly crafted curse. [450,000,000 Credits]

"That's a hell of a price tag," Thalion muttered, lips curling. Knowing the number was one thing. Seeing it hanging above the artifact was another. Still, the absence of clear instructions unsettled him. "How exactly does one create a curse with this thing?"

"It is simple," the Voice replied. "Begin with the curse you wish to form, placing it as the foundation within the Cauldron. Add materials as you wish to shape its nature. Your own blood is essential, as are the vines from your plant. Without them, the curse may turn upon you, or upon your companion rather than grow alongside you."

A grin spread slowly across Thalion's face. "Good. Then let's begin."

With a flick of his wrist, he confirmed the purchase. His credits vanished in an instant, and before him the true Cauldron appeared, heavy and pulsing with unnatural life. He wasted no time. From his pack, he retrieved Nathaniel's severed arm, carefully unwrapping the bandage, a strip of tanned human skin. It was only one of many ingredients he intended to feed into the abyssal basin. This would be no ordinary curse.

Many across the multiverse wielded curses, yet through Evelyn's knowledge Thalion had learned of the two most formidable: Ankhu-Ra, the Sand Wraith and patron of Nathaniel, and Morgana, the patron of the infamous bloodwitch Cathrin. Fortune favored him, for Evelyn still possessed the witch's corpse, and scattered in the wilds roamed stray undead bloodbeasts who had never heeded their mistress's final call.

When Thalion drew forth the witch's body, he grimaced. The corpse was hideous, twisted in its final agony, her death etched into every withered line. With a sweeping gesture, he pulled the blood from her remains. It tore free in steaming rivulets, writhing like living tendrils before pouring into the Cauldron alongside Nathaniel's skin-wrapped bandage. Nathaniel's curse promised overwhelming destructive force, while the witch's gift corrupted and reshaped lesser creatures into her monstrous bloodbeasts.

"Do you think I should throw in the beasts' blood as well?" Thalion asked, his eyes narrowing at the swirling brew. The choice gnawed at him. Quantity or quality? The witch's essence was potent, far greater than that of her spawn. Dilution might weaken the final product.

"No. Do not add it," the System's voice declared with cool finality. "Only the strongest materials matter. The more condensed the essence, the greater the result. Too many ingredients will render the curse unstable, its outcome impossible to control."

Thalion nodded in thought. "Good. Then two more pieces remain." His voice hardened with resolve. One would be his own essence blood. The other, part of the Sanguis Impera.

He drew upon his blood, forcing it to rise and coil around his left hand. The effort drained him, his body trembling as heat burned through his veins. When he looked closer, he realized his essence had transformed. Dark red flames licked from the liquid, fire birthed from his very lifeblood. "Burning blood," he whispered, a grin spreading across his face. "That's… incredible."

The Sanguis Impera, however, resisted. The crimson plant quivered with defiance, refusing to relinquish its strength. "Stubborn little parasite," Thalion muttered, bargaining with it through sheer will. "Come on don't be so stinchy. Sacrafice a bit of your power now, and you'll grow stronger in return." Time stretched, minutes dragging by. Then, at last, a red flower bloomed from his right hand, petals unfurling to reveal a hovering orb of molten blood. Its glow was fierce, alive, and burning with the same strange fire as his own.

The revelation struck him. The plant's blood was stronger than his, infused with both divine skill and bloodline. It made his own flames look like embers by comparison. Thalion smirked but added more of his own essence to balance it. He would not risk being overshadowed by his companion. Together, he poured his burning blood and the Sanguis Impera's sacrifice into the Cauldron and sealed the act with a mental command.

The Cauldron awakened. A deep hum filled the chamber, vibrating through the black stone beneath his feet. The air grew heavy, and though Thalion sensed no flow of mana or energy, the vessel surged with a strength beyond mortal comprehension. His mixture swirled violently, transforming from a bubbling broth into a churning vortex of concepts of life, death, corruption, and something stranger still. Time itself seemed to fracture around it, as the blood shifted forms endlessly: liquid to flame, flame to crystal, crystal to smoke and back again.

"Uh… when will it be finished?" Thalion asked, watching as reality bent above the cauldron.

"Approximately three hours," the Voice answered with dry calculation.

"Three hours?" Thalion groaned, then smirked. "In that case… I'll take a beer." He leaned back, cracking the drink open as the curse within seethed like a living storm.

By the time the mug was drained, Thalion's restlessness had returned. He wanted to test his power now. He let his essence swirl around him, flames erupting in great arcs as he unleashed blood and fire in equal measure. Each spell erupted violently, tectonic slams tearing the black surface and sending waves of molten heat rippling outward. Even his simplest techniques were transformed. His mana waves surged in deep crimson, burning through the air like wildfire.

His armor responded in kind, amplifying every blood skill until they roared with raw, untamed power. He had no control, only ferocity and Thalion reveled in it, laughing madly as he hurled spell after spell across the chamber. The Sanguis Impera joined in, vines whipping outward like serpents, their tips dripping fire-tainted blood. Together, they danced through the system shop turning it into a stage of chaos and flame, their combined strength a living declaration of what was to come.

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