Mingma had barely come to terms with the strange events surrounding his rebirth, but as the night deepened, so did the growing dread that gnawed at his insides. The words in the notebook, the blood on his hands, and the haunting vision of the other him were all fragments of a puzzle he couldn't quite piece together. His body felt foreign, heavy with the weight of something unnatural, as though the very fabric of his being had been altered beyond recognition. He felt restricted as though some strings wanted to bind him
With a forceful exhale, Mingma turned away from the desk. The room seemed too small, too suffocating. He needed to leave, to find the answers that his instincts screamed were waiting for him outside. But where could he even begin?
A sudden, sharp pain shot through his forehead, the burn from the wound flaring up again. He stumbled, his vision blurring as his knees buckled. He reached up instinctively, his hand trembling as it met the jagged, raw scar that now marred his skin. The grayish-white fluid from earlier was there again, seeping from the wound, its presence both alien and deeply unsettling. He formed an eye tatoo at the forehead just like the doll of Kumari, whom he was sacrifising.
"No," he whispered to himself, eyes squeezing shut. "This can't be real."
But deep down, Mingma knew that it was. Whatever had happened in that basement, whatever curse had been placed upon him, had already begun to take hold.
As the pain subsided, he noticed something different. A presence, faint yet undeniable, lingered in the room—an energy that seemed to pulse through the very walls. It felt ancient, dark, and deeply intertwined with his own suffering. He turned sharply, eyes scanning the shadows of the room.
A voice echoed in his mind, cold and sharp.
"You are cursed now, Mingma." But I am generous enough to give my devotee a way out!
The words made him freeze. His heart raced in fear as the voice seemed to belong to something far older, far more malevolent than any human could comprehend.
Suddenly, the temperature in the room plummeted, and an icy gust of wind slammed against the windowpanes. He spun around, only to be met with the sight of an ethereal figure—pale, cloaked in red veil with eyes eerie black , but undeniably real. The figure's presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating, and Mingma instinctively took a step back.
"Who are you?" Mingma demanded, voice shaky but firm. "What's happening to me?"
The figure stepped forward, its face obscured by a veil. It raised a skeletal hand, pointing directly at Mingma's chest.
"You failed the ceremony. You were never meant to survive. But now, you are bound to the curse of sacrifice. You will only be able to wield sacrificial magic from now on—magic bound to life and death. And beware, for it will double the damage from any holy power you face."I am generous enough to have given you a part of my power to see the spirits and misfortune.(kumari is a godess who sees luck and misfortune)
Mingma's throat went dry. The implications of the words settled heavily on his shoulders.
Sacrificial magic…?
Before he could process the weight of this new revelation, the figure's gaze softened, almost with pity.
You can only be consumed by this curse. You will be the cause of the demise of your family whom you cheerished so much.
Its a pity!!
The figure's form began to fade as the shadows closed in around it, leaving Mingma with only the words to echo in his mind.
"Family?"
His mind raced. Family? He didn't have any memory of family, of any connection to anyone or anything in his previous life. He had woken up in this strange, forsaken place with no recollection of how he had arrived. The vision of the other version of himself only deepened the mystery. Who were these people that the figure spoke of? Does this figure not know about my transmigration?
I have to find answers asap!
He had to find them.
Mingma quickly pushed the thought aside. There was no time to waste. The curse was real, and the magic that now coursed through his veins would no longer allow him to turn back.
Mingma wandered the dimly lit hallways, guided only by the faint moonlight that filtered in through the cracks in the stone. The weight of the curse in his chest pressed down on him with each step. He felt it thrumming beneath his skin, something dark and ancient, like an unrelenting tide pulling him deeper into the unknown.
As he passed through a set of heavy doors, he found himself in a courtyard surrounded by tall, ancient trees. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and for a moment, Mingma wondered if this place had once been part of a grand temple or palace, long since forgotten by time.
It was then that he saw them.
A man and a woman stood together under the shadow of a large oak tree, their figures strikingly familiar. The woman's long, raven-black hair swayed in the breeze, and the man beside her was tall, with sharp, angular features. But what made Mingma freeze in place was the fact that their faces—his face—were almost identical to his own.
The man's eyes locked onto Mingma's with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine.
"You," the man said, his voice low and filled with an unsettling sense of recognition. "You're alive?"
The woman turned, her expression softening as she took in Mingma's appearance.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, her voice trembling. "How is this possible?"
Mingma stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. They were real—his brother and sister, or at least, they looked like they were. But the words they spoke seemed laced with confusion and fear, not the warmth or joy he would expect from family. How could they know him? How could they know what had happened to him?
He swallowed hard, trying to act as natural as possible. "I—I'm not sure what's happening," he stammered. "I woke up here, and... I don't know what's going on."
The man stepped forward, his gaze scrutinizing Mingma. "You don't remember, do you?"
Mingma shook his head, his mind a swirl of fragmented images and emotions. "I don't... I don't remember anything."
The woman reached out a hand, as though to touch him, but stopped just short of making contact. "You're cursed," she said softly. "The curse of the failed sacrifice."
The words hit Mingma like a slap, and he staggered back a step. How could they know about the curse? Had they been watching him?
"Who did this to me?" Mingma demanded, a surge of anger rising within him. "What am I supposed to do now?"
The man took a deep breath, exchanging a glance with his sister. "You have no choice now," he said, his tone resolute. "You must face it. Whatever happens next... we are in this together."
But Mingma was not so sure. The darkness of the curse still gnawed at him, pulling him into its depths, and he could already feel the power of sacrificial magic growing within him, like a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate.
The truth was now undeniable. Mingma's quest for answers had just begun—and it would take him to places far darker and more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.
READERS ARE RECOMMENDED TO ADD IT TO COLLECTIONS.PLEASE..