The Burden of the Curse..
The screams hadn't stopped. Not truly. Even after Nolan had mentally pulled back from that dark alley yesterday, the horrific demands of his curse echoed in his mind, growing louder, more unbearable. He'd tried to resist, to push back against the invisible tormentor, but the entity retaliated, twisting his reality into an even more agonizing nightmare. Sarah's whispers, Lily's phantom cries, the faces of his victims – they were constant, inescapable, tearing at the edges of his sanity. The requirements had gone up by two. Two more lives. He had to find targets.
His cursed feet, almost against his will, led him through the humid, bustling city streets. The chaotic symphony of traffic, distant sirens, and the murmur of the crowd became a dull thrum beneath the terrifying crescendo in his skull. He found himself drawn to yellow tape, flashing blue lights, and the hushed, urgent voices of police officers. It was a small, dilapidated apartment building, its facade peeling paint like sunburnt skin.
He heard a uniform mumble, shaking his head, "Senseless, absolutely senseless. Woman and her child. Dealers. Found 'em this morning." Another officer, younger and paler, scribbled furiously. "Yeah, they think it's about a bad deal," he muttered. "Poor kid didn't stand a chance."
The words hit Nolan like a physical blow, silencing the internal screams for a moment. A woman and her child. Killed by drug dealers. The rage, cold and absolute, simmering beneath his despair, ignited. These weren't random innocents. These were monsters who had preyed on the vulnerable. A twisted, perverse sense of purpose solidified in his gut. The curse demanded blood, and now, it had given him targets that, however horrific the means, felt almost... justified. The hallucinations, for a brief, terrifying instant, subsided. The silence was more deafening than any scream. "Fuck you," Nolan murmured, barely audible, a raw whisper of defiance against the entity that controlled him. He knew what he had to do. The curse had given him his next assignment.
The rage, coupled with the temporary reprieve from the curse's immediate torment, gave Nolan a grim focus. He had to find these individuals. The police chatter was vague, no names or addresses, just the nature of their crime. For a normal man, that would be a dead end. Nolan was not normal anymore.
A subtle shift occurred in his perception. The city's cacophony seemed to filter itself, individual sounds becoming clearer, more distinct. He picked out the faint scent of stale chemicals clinging to the air around the apartment building – the lingering residue of their illicit trade. It was a faint trail, but it was there.
He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing, pushing past the echoes of Sarah's screams and Lily's cries. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the humid air. Beneath the general smells of exhaust and street food, he detected something else – a sharper, metallic tang mixed with a sickly sweetness. It was faint, overlaid with cheap cologne and stale cigarette smoke, but it was a direction. The residue of their lifestyle. His hearing, too, seemed amplified. Snippets of distant conversations became almost understandable. He focused, not on words, but on the tone, the undercurrent of fear or aggression often accompanying the drug trade. He moved slowly, deliberately, letting these enhanced senses guide him through the urban labyrinth.
He followed the faint chemical scent, drifting through crowded alleyways and past bustling markets. The metallic tang grew slightly stronger in certain areas, then faded. It was a broken trail, but his newfound awareness allowed him to piece it together, like a predator tracking wounded prey.
Hours passed. The sun dipped towards the horizon, casting long shadows. Just as his resolve wavered, a new scent cut through the urban miasma – the unmistakable, cloying sweetness he'd detected earlier, now much stronger, mingled with a harsh, chemical odor. He also heard raised voices, gruff and laced with paranoia, emanating from a rundown building tucked away on a less-trafficked street. He stopped, senses on high alert. This felt right. The smell was potent, and the tone of the voices resonated with the darkness of the crime he'd overheard. Without hesitation, driven by the curse's escalating demands and his own twisted sense of purpose, Nolan moved toward the building, the hunt drawing to its grim conclusion.
The voices grew louder, harsher, echoing from within the dilapidated building. Nolan didn't hesitate. His cursed feet carried him silently to a rear window; the smell of chemicals and the metallic tang of blood were now almost overwhelming. He peered through grime-caked glass, confirming his quarry: two men, one significantly larger than the other, arguing heatedly over a scattered pile of drugs.
Before he could act, a glint of metal caught his eye. A security camera, poorly placed but active, swiveled toward him. A moment later, muted footsteps raced to the back entrance.
"Who's out there?!" a gruff voice barked.
Nolan braced. The door burst open, revealing the larger of the two men, a burly figure, easily 6'2" with a wide, scarred face. He held a pistol, raised and aimed directly at Nolan's chest. Four concussive blasts erupted in quick succession, tearing into Nolan's flesh. The impact felt like sledgehammers, punching through skin, muscle, and bone. Pain, sharp and immediate, flared through him, but it was a familiar agony, a dull throb compared to the unending torment in his mind. The bullets, however, did little more than inconvenience him. They lodged deep, but his superhuman durability meant they hadn't crippled him, hadn't even slowed his relentless forward momentum. His slow healing meant they'd remain, aching, but not stopping him.
His eyes, now burning with a cold, terrifying light, locked onto the shooter. The man's eyes widened, a flicker of pure terror replacing his aggression as Nolan, bleeding freely but utterly unfazed, continued his steady advance. Before the dealer could fire another shot, Nolan was on him. With a terrifying surge of inhuman strength, he grabbed the man's arm, twisting it sharply until the pistol clattered to the ground. Then, with a single, contemptuous heave, Nolan easily threw the 6'2" man. The dealer became a screaming projectile, sailing through the air with impossible speed, clearing the narrow alleyway. He hit the opposite wall with a sickening, wet thud that reverberated through the night. The sound of splintering bone and crushed flesh was unmistakable. The man didn't move again. He was dead instantly, a broken, lifeless heap.
Nolan didn't pause, didn't even glance at the crumpled form. The curse demanded two. One down. His gaze, colder, more focused than ever, turned back toward the open doorway, where the second dealer, his face ashen with dawning horror, fumbled for his own weapon. Nolan continued his silent, terrifying march.
The second dealer, smaller and wirier than his dead accomplice, stumbled backward, eyes wide with incomprehensible terror. He fumbled frantically for the pistol holstered at his hip, fingers clumsy with fear. He saw Nolan, bleeding but unfazed, approaching with the unstoppable momentum of a force of nature. He saw the shattered remains of his partner plastered against the opposite wall. Before he could even draw the weapon, Nolan was upon him. A hand, moving with impossible speed, clamped around the dealer's throat. It was no gentle grip; it was a vise, crushing bone and windpipe, instantly cutting off his breath. The man's feet left the ground, dangling uselessly as Nolan lifted him. Nolan didn't slam him immediately. Instead, he pulled the dealer close, then with a terrifying burst of speed and power, he leaped. He soared upward, clearing the dilapidated building's low roofline with ease, reaching a dizzying height above the alley before the stunned man even registered what was happening.
Dangling in Nolan's grip, suspended against the darkening sky, the dealer's face contorted. His eyes bulged, tears streamed, and a strangled gurgle escaped his throat as he tried to beg. "Ple… please… don't… don't…" he wheezed, pathetic and desperate.
Nolan's eyes, burning with a cold, hollow rage, stared into the man's pleading face. The words, forced through the crushing grip, grated against Nolan's already frayed nerves. Then, through the chaos of his mind, a voice, colder than his own, echoed a chilling reminder.
"Begging?" Nolan's voice was a low, guttural rasp, barely audible over the wind rushing past them. "You did not spare a child."
The words were a death sentence. Without hesitation, without the slightest tremor of remorse or effort, Nolan released his grip. He didn't just drop him; he hurled him down with sickening velocity.
The impact was a wet, explosive splat, like rotten fruit hitting concrete. The dealer's body crumpled, utterly broken and lifeless. He was dead instantly, a ruin of flesh and bone.
Two down. The requirements met. A faint, almost imperceptible easing occurred in the monstrous grip on Nolan's mind. The loudest, most insistent of the screams and whispers subsided, leaving a hollow, aching silence. He was still bleeding, still in pain, but the immediate, crushing compulsion had receded. Nolan landed softly in the alley, amidst the scattered debris and the lingering stench of fear and death. His task was done. For now.