Four days had passed. Four days trapped in the bunker, far longer than the usual two, as the full curse had raged inside him with a violent persistence that refused to end. Izana lay on the blood-stained mattress, his body pressed into the thin padding, chest rising shallowly with ragged breaths. The white silk blindfold that normally hid his eyes was tossed into a corner, soaked in blood, useless and abandoned.
His right shoulder ached sharply from the repeated impacts, his broken bones refusing to settle. Every few seconds, a cough wracked his body, bringing up flecks of blood. Even in his exhaustion, his mind was a storm: hallucinations twisted reality, fingers brushing against shadows where no one stood, whispers crawling along the walls. Paralysis, one of the cruel side effects of the curse, had left his limbs useless. He could not move, could not shield himself from the world—even as it approached.
The heavy steel door of the bunker groaned open slowly. Bright sunlight stabbed into the small, damp room. Izana's body jerked violently at the intrusion; his eyes, unshielded, burned painfully. His shallow breaths turned into sharp, terrified gasps.
"Ahhh. Fuck..." he croaked, voice hoarse and layered with pain.
Outside the threshold, Elias stood, composed but alert, flanked by a medic, two guards, and Dante. Elias's gaze did not waver from the figure on the floor.
"Dante," Elias said, voice firm, "get his blindfold. Carefully."
Dante stepped forward cautiously, the chains of caution in every measured step. He entered the bunker, scanning the floor. The blindfold lay twisted in a corner, bloodied but intact. Dante picked it up, careful not to touch Izana's quivering form. He placed it near the mattress, close enough for Izana to reach—but the boy could not move.
"I…he can't put it on himself," Dante muttered under his breath, glancing at Elias.
Elias's eyes narrowed. "Then you'll have to touch him. Do it carefully. Tie it properly."
Dante swallowed, fingers trembling as he bent closer to Izana. The moment his hands brushed the edges of the blindfold toward Izana's face, the cursed boy thrashed.
"Don't... don't touch me! Don't you dare—!" His voice cracked and warped, a guttural, almost inhuman rasp. His paralysed body convulsed with panic.
Dante adjusted, gritting his teeth. He leaned in slowly, pressing the blindfold to Izana's face. "I'm just putting this on—."
"FUCKING STOP! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" Izana roared, his voice layered with malice. Despite the paralysis, his head snapped violently from side to side, trying to resist.
The struggle was brief, but precise. Dante managed to secure the blindfold, tying it behind Izana's head. Step by careful step, he retreated to the threshold, leaving the cursed boy unable to see the bright, cruel world beyond.
The medic stepped forward next. "Izana, we need to move you. The stretcher is ready."
Izana's head jerked toward him, a cold glare searing beneath the blindfold. "Do not touch me," he said, voice clipped and dangerous. "I will rip your hands off."
The medic ignored him. "Guards, bring the stretcher in." Two of the guards stepped inside, placing the stretcher carefully beside the mattress.
Izana froze as the first pair of hands brushed against him. Panic surged in his chest; his body trembled in fear and rage. The broken shoulder screamed as a guard's hand pressed against it.
"GET OFF ME! I SAID. DON'T TOUCH ME!" His voice boomed through the bunker, each word like a whip.
Despite the resistance, the guards maneuvered him with precise, calculated effort, lifting him onto the stretcher. Izana's body arched violently, thrashing where he could, the curse and paralysis warring inside him.
Step by painstaking step, they carried him out of the bunker, chains clinking faintly, his coughs punctuating the silence.
By the time they reached his bedroom, Leah was already waiting outside the door, eyes wide. She knew she shouldn't approach, but her fear and concern overrode caution. She followed silently as the stretcher was lowered onto the bed.
Izana coughed violently, blood trickling down his lips. Each touch from the medic and guards made him hiss and snap, his voice low, sharp, dangerous.
"Stop touching me!" he growled. "Do not! Do not touch me!"
The blindfold hid his eyes, but Leah could feel the icy intensity behind them, the cruelty and raw danger that lingered even in his weakened state.
He sensed her presence immediately. His head turned, voice cold, razor-edged.
"Get out," he said. The words were deliberate, venomous.
"I just… wanted to check on you," Leah whispered softly, stepping closer despite the fear clawing at her chest.
Izana's body stiffened. "There is no point in checking on me! We are married because of obligation. You do not need to pity me. Your concern is useless," he spat, cruel and precise.
Leah flinched, her head lowering instinctively, pain mingling with fear.
Elias interjected sharply, "Izana! Stop! You are being cruel to her!"
Izana's lips curled faintly, noting Leah's flinch, and he seized the opportunity. "GET OUT!" he roared, voice cutting through the dim room.
Leah hesitated, swallowing back her hurt, but she whispered gently, "I—I just… I hope you get better soon…"
The words, soft and genuine, pierced through him. For the first time in days, Izana faltered, the anger and malice around him twisting in confusion. Something unfamiliar, warm, flickered inside him. The curse didn't disappear, but it loosened slightly.
"…Don't," he murmured, voice low, almost human for a moment, before the cruel mask returned.
He leaned back slightly, glaring beneath the blindfold, voice now sharp and commanding: "LEAVE. EVERYONE. GET OUT!"
The medic, guards, and even Elias retreated, leaving him in the dim room with only his pain and the faint lamp light. Elias glanced at him one last time, voice soft. "I'll check in again," he said, closing the door.
Alone at last, Izana coughed again, blood streaking his lips. The blindfold hid his eyes from the light, but he felt every sound, every movement, every heartbeat in the room. Leah's words lingered, strange and unwelcome, but somehow comforting. He flexed his fingers slowly, still unable to move his shoulder fully, still weakened from the paralysis, yet the flicker of warmth—of human connection—had touched something deep inside him.
He was human. Broken. Cursed. Dangerous. Cruel. And alone, as he had demanded.
And for the first time in four days, he could simply breathe.