Atlas exhaled.
"…Fuck…"
The word scraped out of his throat like something torn from inside, something heavier than breath. His chest felt tight, too tight, as if the curse was trying to wrap fingers inside his lungs, twisting, turning, tasting.
He could feel it now—feel the damn thing crawling along his mana veins like ink spilled inside water. A slow, greedy seep. Every pulse of mana inside him trembled, warped, as if the curse wanted to bend its nature, force it to become… something else. Something wrong.
The sensation carried a strange temperature—cold at the surface, burning underneath. It reminded him of frostbite and fever at the same time. His skin prickled. His heartbeat stuttered.
The tattoo of lightning on his arm buzzed again, faint but insistent, like a mosquito trapped under skin. It wasn't Odin calling. It was the tattoo warning him—foreign interference detected.
Lady Fate. She wanted to use this opportunity.
