Mumu slammed both massive paws into the shadowed ground, intending to crush the Curse of Hatred beneath him. The monolith of darkness twisted aside and the blow landed on empty air. He rose—chest heaving in loud, tired huffs—each breath labored. His sides rose and fell unevenly, and for the first time, Mumu recognized the sensation: exhaustion.

Mumu wondered to himself why exactly he felt tired, brow furrowing on his stitched fur. For six years, since Dama breathed life into him, fatigue had been a foreign concept to him. No matter the battle, he'd never needed rest—yet now each muscle throbbed, each movement weighed him down.

The Curse watched though watched Mumu struggling with cruel fascination. The blue vine-like markings on Mumu's body—once alight with Dama's golden fury—now flickered between gold and their original hue. The power Dama had poured into his bear had begun to ebb.

"Soon", it hissed inwardly, "he will be nothing but empty stuffing."

The Curse's mocking voice then echoed in Mumu's head, "Tired already, little bear? You fought well—briefly—but you're losing energy. Once I'm done with you, I will take delight in tearing your companions apart—piece by piece."

That word snapped Mumu's resolve. He lunged, eyes blazing. But a shadow tendril lashed out first, slicing straight through his left hip seam and spilling stuffing. Mumu stumbled back, paw pressed to the painless wound, surprise and doubt flickering in his eyes.

Before he could recover, four tendrils snaked up from the void behind and beneath him, coiling around each limb. A fifth curled around his neck, tightening like a constrictor.

The Curse laughed, manic and triumphant. "You can't reflect my strikes while you attack, unlike a certain someone! And now you've wasted every last drop of your master's power. You're nothing but a toy at the end of the day!" It tugged on the tendrils, intending to rip Mumu apart.

Then—a blinding slash of light. Five tendrils snapped as if cleaved by unseen blades. The Curse recoiled, darkness flickering as its eyes blinked against the glare.

When the light dimmed, Mumu found himself kneeling, freed from the shadowy bonds. In front of him stood Saa'ir, arm braced on one knee, the other raised. Both arms extended in a wide cross—an unmistakable challenge.

Even in the dim glow, Mumu sensed the difference in "Saa'ir's" aura: broader, more clumsy, something not confident. Mumu then realized this aura was akin to Dama's, and even his own—it was Nini! Her message was clear, "Not one step closer!"

The Curse of Hatred's grin sharpened as it leveled its glare at the figure posing as Saa'ir. "Back on your feet so soon? Impressive will, but you must be more clever than this." It mocked, voice echoing through its tendrils. "Your magic is already doomed to null—why persist?"

The faux-Saa'ir—Nini in disguise—didn't flinch. She raised both arms, thumbs and index fingers touching just like the sealing gesture Saa'ir used, forming the same crossed-finger seal.

The Curse sneered. "You want to repeat the same mistake? Very well, then!" It lunged, a living wave of shadows crashing forward.

But in that instant, the real Saa'ir sprang from the darkness behind the Curse of Hatred. With a whispered incantation, he wove his soulura into a binding snare of ancient hieroglyphs that exploded around the creature and its disembodied claws. Shadow and slime congealed as the tendrils froze mid-strike.

"YOU!" The Curse of Hatred roared, twisting its head to face its captor, voice trembling with rage.

Saa'ir chuckled, eyes twinkling despite the strain. "One of my theories holds true: your shadow-negation isn't a passive shield, but a conscious choice. You can't negate what catches you unaware!"

Fury warped the Curse's features. "CURSE YOU! BUT HO—!?" It spat, shadow-fist trembling. Then its roar broke, "That damn fox—!"

Saa'ir felt the snare strain beneath the creature's growing rage and power. "Now, Dama! Mumu! Nini! Execute the plan!" He barked in desperation.

At his call, Dama emerged from behind Mumu, breath ragged. He offered a trembling smile to the bear. "Thank you, Mumu," he said, voice trembling yet filled with confidence, "now, come on! Lets finish this!"

Mumu's stitched eyes darted from Dama to the still-locked Curse, unsure. Before he could react, Nini—still in Saa'ir's form—slipped beneath Mumu's left arm. In one fluid motion, she shifted into Mumu's likeness: same broad shoulders, same heavy paws, but with the blue vine-like markings now glowing gold. She braced Mumu's arm over her shoulders and helped him upright.

Mumu stared at his doppelgänger, jaw seemingly slack. Nini gave him a gentle clap on the head with both paws, then nuzzled his snout, offering a cheery stitched grin.

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Their reunion was cut short as Saa'ir shouted, "Hurry!" The hieroglyphic snare around the Curse flickered as it writhed to break free.

Mumu squared his stance and reached out his right paw to take Nini's left paw. Their eyes locked in agreement—partners sharing a single fierce resolve. At that moment, Mumu felt warmth surge from Nini through their joined paws.

The same golden energy that Dama had lent began to flow into Mumu, filling him as though Nini's spirit was a well that refilled his own. The blue vines along Mumu's right paw glowed bright gold, the light racing up his arm and his entire frame with renewed vigor.

Now recharged by his sister's gift, Mumu stood ready to strike back at the Curse of Hatred—together, their bond stronger than any shadow.

Mumu and Nini's paws remained locked together as they sprung forward in perfect unison. Their combined will—Dama's fierce determination, Mumu's loyalty, and Nini's courage—channeled into a single, earth-shaking punch.

Golden light flared at the point of impact, burning away the Curse of Hatred's inky surface with searing force. A blood-curdling scream shredded the air as the creature's shadow flesh melted back, exposing Giona's small, trembling form trapped within its core.

Weakened, the living darkness recoiled and was flung like a rag-doll toward Saa'ir. He caught it effortlessly, soulura flaring around his arms as he seized its head in a vice-like grip. "NOW!" He roared, eyes blazing.

At that signal, Mumu and Nini launched themselves at the two disembodied shadow claws, each leaping onto one with determination in their eyes. The claws thrashed in a weakened fury, but their weight held them fast.

Meanwhile, Dama sprinted forward, ribs aching with each breath. Giona's small hand reached out, trembling with hope. Dama closed the distance in a heartbeat, grasped her fingers, and pulled with all the strength he had left. They tumbled together to the ground—Dama rolling to cushion Giona's fall against his chest.

Freed from its prison, Giona collapsed onto him. The Curse of Hatred let out one final, ragged shriek of agony as Saa'ir, Mumu, and Nini released their hold. It dissolved into tendrils of smoke that curled into the nearest shadows, its high-pitched wails lingering before fading into silence.

Dama lay on his back, heart hammering, the void around them eerily still. When he realized the darkness was gone, relief flooded him. He exhaled a breath so deep it rattled his broken ribs.

But his victory was cut short by soft, gut-wrenching cries. Giona's quiet hiccups and muffled sobs sounded through him. He sat up and wrapped his arm around her. "Giona…it's okay. You're safe." He whispered, voice thick with emotion.

In response, Giona lifted tear-streaked blue eyes to his, her face etched with sorrow, fear, and the fresh sting of betrayal. Dama's own chest tightened at the sight—he wanted words to mend her heart, but none came. Instead, he held her closer, sharing her pain in silence.

Moments passed in unspoken communion, until another wave of tears broke free. With a high, keening squeak, Giona buried her face into Dama's chest and let her sobs echo through the void—her grief raw and unrestrained, filling the silent aftermath of their victory.

Mumu and Nini stiffened as Giona's wails filled the void. The fox's form rippled, and in an instant she morphed back into her original stitched shape. Both guardians' shoulders slumped; their stitched ears drooped and their tails hung hopelessly as they watched Dama cradle Giona's sobbing form.

Saa'ir moved to stand between them, placing a reassuring hand on each of their heads. He stroked and ruffled Mumu's and Nini's patchwork fur. "You both did an incredible job," he said softly, "Giona's shaken, but she'll be alright."

At his words, the two stuffed creatures lifted their heads. Their ears twitched, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at their stitched mouths—yet their tails remained low, and their eyes still reflected concern.

Saa'ir straightened, scanning the space around them. The comforting stone corridors had vanished. Now they stood in an endless sea of inky blackness: no bricks, no walls, no hint of the path they'd followed.

His heart tightened. "We should be at the center—the heart of this place," he murmured so low, only he heard, "where Giona's soul waits. So why..."

A cold, distant laugh then through the shadows. Giona froze, eyes wide; Dama's arms stilled around her as he met the darkness with a frown of shock. Saa'ir, Mumu, and Nini all turned, straining to pinpoint the sound in the boundless black.

Then the laugh spoke directly into their minds—smooth, mocking, unmistakably the Curse of Hatred. "Welcome to my ocean of shadows," it purred. "No light, no escape, no hope." Another manic peal of laughter echoed, warping the darkness around them.

"Why?" Saa'ir shouted into the void. "How are you still here!?"

In response, the shadows beneath them bubbled. A shape ascended from the inky depths, emerging slowly into view. It was the Curse of Hatred—no longer a towering monolith, but the height of Giona and Dama, like it was previously. Its form was pure obsidian, eyes like empty white wells and a grin stretched across its face, just as malevolent as before.

It hovered before them, small but ominous, grinning at its foes—rather weird.

With no hesitation, Mumu lunged and his fist connected with the Curse of Hatred, his remaining golden energy churning through his veins. The Curse of Hatred shattered under the blow, its form fracturing into globs of living shadow that splattered across the void like spilled ink.

Mumu slammed both paws together in triumph, stance wide and chest heaving. But Saa'ir's instincts screamed on the contrary. He tightened his guard and swept his gaze across the darkness—and heard it first: that hollow laugh echoing once more.

Before any of them could react, the nearest shadow-globules stirred, coalescing into the exact silhouette of the Curse of Hatred. As Mumu prepared to strike again, another form rose beside it from another group of globules—identical in every grotesque detail.

"Attack again, little bear?" Both voices purred in cruel unison, their heads cocking at the same impossible angle.

Saa'ir's heart sank as two more shapes materialized from the surrounding inky floor. Then three. Four. Soon, dozens stood before them in a perfect swarm—each one the same visage, each one a smiling void of pure, malicious hatred.

-

Next: (Chapter 70) Dama's Declaration

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