Max couldn’t help but laugh as he cast another fireball, watching it explode in the distance. The weak goblins in the clearing scattered, screaming in terror as they tried to escape the fiery wrath of the young mage. Max’s laughter echoed through the forest, fusing with the crackling of burning wood and the distant cries of the fleeing creatures.
“This is too easy!” Max shouted, grinning from ear to ear as he raised his staff to cast another fireball. The spell came to him effortlessly now, the magic moved through his body and made him comfortable. The rush of power, the thrill of the destruction—it was addictive.
He had been wandering through the forest for hours, blasting everything in his path. Trees, rocks, small animals—nothing was safe from his fireballs. He wasn’t doing it for any particular reason, just the sheer fun of it. It felt good to let loose, to forget about everything, and just blow things up. For once, there was no pressure, no expectations. Just him, his magic, and the world around him, ripe for the burning.
Max cast another fireball, this one larger than the others, and he sent it flying into the air. It flew past the treetops before exploding, the shockwave sending birds into the sky. Max watched them fly away, their dark silhouettes flying away in the fiery sky.
“Why can’t every day be like this?” For a moment he just stood there. It was peaceful, in a way, standing in the aftermath of his own chaos.
But the peace was slowly running away from him. Eventually, he would have to return to the reality he was so desperately trying to avoid. But for now, he pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the next thing he could blow up.
Max’s grin faded and he lowered his staff. The thrill of destruction became boring. It was easy to get lost in the moment, but he knew he couldn’t ignore the bigger issue forever—the curse.
He flexed his right hand, looking at it, nothing wrong with it now. It wasn’t just the physical pain; it was the way it twisted his magic, drawing the attention of stronger monsters, and making him a target wherever he went.
He’d told Merlin everything about the curse. Merlin had listened quietly.
“I’ll look into it,” Merlin had said. “There’s always a way to break a curse. But it won’t be easy. It never is.”
Max thanked him, grateful but not entirely convinced. Merlin was powerful, no doubt about that, but this curse was different. It wasn’t just some random hex or simple spell gone wrong—it was punishment by the system, a mark left on him by his own mistakes. A reminder of the friends he’d killed.
He shook his head, trying to push those thoughts aside. Merlin was probably in his little house right now, buried in ancient tomes and scrolls, searching for a way to lift the curse. Max had faith in him, but he couldn’t help the doubt that crept in. What if there was no way to lift it? What if he was stuck with this for the rest of his life?
Max took a deep breath. The forest around him was quiet now. He stared at his hand again. Normal.
“Come on you bald fuck,” he muttered to himself, "find something.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared. Scared of what the curse might do to him, scared of the monsters that seemed to be drawn to him like moths to a flame, and most of all, scared of what he might become if the curse developed more.
He sighed. This world was a lot different from the world he once knew. He remembered the hum of city life, the cars and people, and the comforting familiarity of the same everyday routines. It was a world where he had a place, where he belonged.
Comparing it to this world, this world was chaotic and unforgiving. The world was filled with dangers and uncertainties, and he had never quite felt like he belonged here. His old world had been predictable, and safe, with its own set of problems that felt manageable at the end of the day. Here, everything was dangerous.
Max closed his eyes for a moment, drifting back to those memories from his world. The warmth of the sun through a car window, the sound of his favorite music playing, and so much more.
He missed the simplicity of it all. The feeling of being grounded, having a place where he could just be Max, without the constant pressure of heroism. He missed the days when his biggest concern was choosing between a pizza or a burger, not whether he would survive another attack or if he wouldn’t wake up tomorrow because the demons destroyed the world.
“Maybe things could be different,” he said, looking at the forest once more. “Maybe I can find a way to make this place feel a bit more like home.”
----------------------------------------
Boorg moved fast through the forest. His massive body moved silently among the trees, each step heavy but soft at the same time. His eyes, sharp and focused, he looked around.
He had been tracking Max for days now, following the destruction left behind him. The mage’s reckless use of fireballs was not only a clear sign of him being there but also it showed that his power increased. Boorg knew that Max was much stronger than before.
The more Max destroyed, the easier was it for Boorg to follow him. It was like following a trail of breadcrumbs, each burst of flame guided him closer to his target.
He gripped his sword tightly, he was ready to put an end to it. Boorg could see the traces of burned wood, a fresh lead.
“Gotcha,” Boorg muttered under his breath.
He stepped into the clearing, his footsteps became loud now and heavy, breaking the silence. Max was nowhere in sight, but Boorg knew he didn’t have to search far.
Boorg paused, taking in the strange sight before him. There was an odd, magical picnic setup—a tablecloth draped over a rock, floating lanterns, and enchanted cushions scattered about. It was bizarre and out of place in the midst of the destruction, and it made Boorg pause for a moment.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Boorg grunted. He had seen many things in his time, but a cozy picnic setup amidst a battlefield was new to him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter—Max’s laughter. Boorg’s instincts kicked in. He moved swiftly, following the sound through the forest. The clearing led him deeper into the trees, where he found Max lounging comfortably on one of the enchanted cushions, seemingly relaxed and lost in thought.
Boorg took a deep breath, calming himself. He gripped his sword and stepped forward, his presence finally making itself known.
“Max,” Boorg said calmly. “I’ve come to finish what was started.”
Max looked up, and he saw Boorg but at the same time, it wasn’t the Boorg he knew.
“Since when can you speak that well? Good to see you come join me!”
“By the light of justice, I have come to fulfill the duty that has long been set before me. The time has come for reckoning!”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Translation please.”
“This is no mere jest. You have strayed from the path that was set for you, and I am here to guide you back—or to bring justice for your actions.”
“Guide me back? I’m just having a bit of fun. What’s wrong with that?”
“The path of a hero is fraught with more than just battles and victories. It is also about the burdens we carry and the consequences of our actions.”
Max leaned back on his cushion. “Did someone hit you on the head? I can’t understand a word you’re saying, Boorg.”
“The name is not Boorg. Barg the Paladin is here to bring justice.”
“What? Who now? Barg the Paladin? Did you get a promotion or something?”
Barg didn’t give him an answer with words, he dashed straight at Max with his sword readied to kill.