The light of dawn had not yet pierced the horizon.
In the corridor of the servants' quarters, Tasnim stood frozen. Her body arched violently as bile mixed with vomit forced its way up her throat.
The air was thick with the copper tang of fresh blood—a smell so potent, so metallic, it felt like tasting iron. It was unbearable. She knew, with a sinking dread, that behind that closed door, her mother and sister were engaged in a game of horrors.
Inside the room, a massive circle of blood dominated the floor.
At its center lay a Pentagram. At the five points of the star, Aspia had meticulously drawn five smaller circles.
The entire intricate design was painted in human blood. Shirin had carved a chunk of flesh from her own shoulder to provide the ink. But as they reached the final circle, the supply ran dry.
Shirin turned to scowl, but before she could speak, Aspia committed an act of pure madness.
Without glancing at her mother, she bit down hard on her own index finger.
CRUNCH!
The sickening sound of bone snapping echoed in the room. Skin tore, and a fountain of fresh blood spurted out.
Aspia did not flinch. Instead of curling in pain, a twisted, sadistic grin stretched across her lips. With that fresh blood, she completed the final circle.
Shirin, momentarily shocked by her daughter's insanity, soon broke into a smile of twisted satisfaction. She placed five candles inside the five circles. Aspia, with her blood-drenched hands, lit them one by one.
In the dead center of the circle, a name was scrawled in blood—
'Shoniteshwar' (The Lord of Blood).
Shirin reached into her satchel and pulled out a doll.
It was the length of a human arm. Its body was not made of cloth or cotton—it was stitched together from the dried skin of a corpse. A contradictory scent wafted from it: the stench of rotting meat mixed with the intoxicating fragrance of some unknown, divine entity's blood.
A thick needle was driven through the doll's head, from one temple to the other. Attached to this needle was a crimson thread, two meters long and dripping wet.
Next, Shirin pulled out a peculiar object—it was no ordinary metal. The 'carriage driver' had given it to her yesterday, claiming it was a 'Gift from the Eagle'.
A pitch-black needle. It was shrouded in a dark mist that clung to it like a second skin, refusing to dissipate.
With trembling hands, Shirin tied the black needle to the other end of the doll's thread.
Then...
She placed the sharp tip of the black needle directly against the center of her own forehead, right between her eyebrows.
She closed her eyes and pushed.
KRR-RACK!
The sound of the skull grinding. Shirin gritted her teeth, forcing the foreign object deeper into her own brain.
Her eyes rolled back into her head, turning white; her body convulsed in a violent seizure. But she did not stop. She pushed until the needle sat lodged in the very center of her cerebrum.
She was moments away from death. Only the dark magic kept her tethered to the mortal coil.
With a shaking hand, she picked up a sharp knife.
The chanting began. A voice that was not hers—heavy, inhuman, and hollow—tore from her throat.
"Om Raktang Dehi... Prana Dehi... Abhishap Punarjanma...!"
(Blood to me... Life to me... Let the Curse be Reborn!)
Shirin extended her left hand. With a swift motion, she severed her little finger at the root.
SLICE!
The severed digit flew into the first circle. She crushed it with the hilt of the knife.
"O Shoniteshwar!" she screamed.
The second finger.
"Om Hring Kling...!"
The third finger.
"Let Ruhan be destroyed!"
The fourth finger.
"Let the curse be renewed! That which was ending, let it become eternal!"
The fifth finger... the thumb. She raised the knife. But before she could speak—
BOOM!
A shockwave of eldritch aura exploded from the doll. The room shook. Laughter—disembodied, terrifying, yet filled with ecstasy—rang in the ears of both mother and daughter.
Shirin mumbled through the pain, "This power... it is no less than that monster, Azgaar!"
The spilled blood on the floor became alive. It defied gravity, floating up to gather before the doll. Bubbling like boiling lava, the red liquid began to take shape, forging itself into a needle.
This was no ordinary needle. It was as thick as an iron rod and as long as a forearm. The sound of boiling blood hissed from it.
But halfway through the transformation, the blood ran out. The construction halted.
Shirin's eyes widened in panic. Without a second thought, she swung the knife at her own right shoulder.
THWACK!
She hacked off a massive chunk of flesh. The white of her shoulder blade and clavicle—her very skeleton—was laid bare.
She hurled the meat at the doll. Like a starving ghoul, the doll absorbed the flesh and blood instantly.
The needle was complete.
One end was dangerously sharp; the other, blunt. It emitted no light, yet looking at it made one's soul want to flee the body.
It was a manifestation of pure terror.
As soon as the needle was forged, Shirin collapsed. Having sacrificed all fingers on her left hand and the flesh of both shoulders, she was now little more than a breathing corpse.
Aspia rushed to her mother. Using medicinal leaves stolen from the Ahmed Palace gardens and towels, she frantically tried to staunch the bleeding. Concern etched her face, but her eyes gleamed with the triumph of their success.
Meanwhile, the Blood Needle floated out through the gap under the door.
In the corridor, Tasnim sat slumped against the wall.
Her mind was filled with Ruhan. Her heart screamed at her to run to him, to tell him to flee. She loved him. His melancholic smile, his refusal to break—it captivated her. She was weaving a dream in her head, an impossible future where she and Ruhan were together...
Suddenly, a blinding red glare pierced her vision.
She looked up.
A massive, crimson rod was floating toward her through the air.
The moment her gaze locked onto it, she felt as if a thousand ghosts had latched onto her soul. Before she could scream, the 'Demonic Will' emanating from the needle crushed her consciousness into dust.
She fainted, collapsing onto the cold floor.
The needle ignored her. Like a silent assassin, it drifted toward the storeroom.
It slipped through the cracks of Ruhan's door. Inside, Ruhan was in a deep sleep, perhaps still searching for his mother's warmth in his dreams.
The needle hovered over his head. It did not hesitate.
SQUELCH!
It pierced Ruhan's left ear. It tore through bone, gray matter, and tissue, exiting through his right ear.
Ruhan's body arched like a bow. No sound escaped his throat, but his eyes rolled back, turning completely white. His limbs thrashed wildly, a macabre dance of a body fighting death itself.
An invisible, dark smoke began to rise from his pores.
After seconds of this hellish seizure, the needle began to melt.
The solid blood turned to liquid and seeped back into his brain through the ear canals.
Miraculously, the wounds on both sides of his head sealed shut. The thrashing stopped. His body went limp, falling back onto the mattress.
Everything returned to normal.
Except for the neurons in Ruhan's brain, which were now rewired with a new command. A new cage.
Outside, the light of dawn was breaking. But in the sky of Ruhan's mind, an eternal eclipse had just begun.
✦✦✦
Half-past six in the morning. The Academy Headquarters.
The room reeked of opulence. Intricate woodwork covered the walls, and a carpet made from the fur of a rare beast covered the floor. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling.
Two giant oil paintings dominated the upper walls. One depicted the Academy's founder; the other, the current Headmaster's ancestor—a legendary warrior of the Cheng Clan.
In the center of the room, reclining in a massive mahogany chair, slept the current Headmaster—Rasel Cheng.
An Elder of the Cheng Clan and a powerful Rank 4 Masterer. Yet, in this moment, his dignity was absent. The silence of the room was rhythmically broken by the thunderous sound of his snoring.
Suddenly—
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The bell tolled, vibrating through the entire Academy grounds.
Rasel jolted awake. Before the sleep could fully leave his eyes, an official entered with a stack of urgent documents. Behind him came a servant carrying a silver tray. On it sat a steaming cup of coffee.
This was no ordinary brew. It was the Ahmed Clan's specialty—'Stardust Coffee'. A single whiff was enough to electrify the nervous system.
Cup in hand, Rasel walked to the massive glass window. From here, he had a bird's-eye view of the entire Academy.
From above, the structure resembled the English letter 'O'.
A colossal circular fortress. In the center lay a vast, open ground. Surrounding the perimeter stood numerous two- and three-story buildings: classrooms, research labs, fusion chambers, art galleries, storehouses, and student dormitories—all arranged in a precise geometric pattern.
The resonance of the bell had barely faded when students began pouring out of the dormitories. In the morning mist, they looked like a disciplined army of ants. Five to six hundred students. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they assembled in the dead center of the ground.
The PT Master's whistle blew.
TWEEET! TWEEET!
The morning drill began in unison. Six hundred pairs of feet struck the earth.
THUM! THUM!
The air trembled with the rhythm of their collective breath. After thirty minutes of synchronized calisthenics, the running began. They circled the ground, a churning wheel of humanity.
Then would come the baths, then breakfast in the canteen. Classes would commence at 9:30 sharp. The routine was etched in stone.
Rasel Cheng watched this mechanical spectacle, sipping his coffee.
Suddenly, he felt a shift in the air pressure. A figure entered the room and bowed deeply. Rasel didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Sadik Kabir.
The wonder of Shitapur Village. A living legend.
His footsteps made no sound, as if he moved in harmony with the wind itself.
At age 11, he had achieved Rank 6.
At age 15—when most students were merely struggling to awaken their 'Soul Realm'—he had reached Rank 5.
And now? At age 19, he stood at Rank 4.
A feat that had taken Headmaster Rasel Cheng until the age of 30 to achieve!
The boy slowly lifted his head. A warm, humble smile played on his lips. Rasel Cheng had nurtured him with his own hands. He was not just a student; he was the future strength and hope of the village.
"Master," Sadik's voice was rich and confident. "An emergency meeting has been called at the village's Central Palace. The Elders await your presence."
Rasel nodded slowly. He took the last sip of his coffee and sighed.
"So... the time has finally come?"
Sadik said nothing, only lowered his head in affirmation.
"Go, Sadik. I am coming."
Sadik left the room. Rasel watched his retreating figure and muttered to himself,
"Just as darkness lies beneath the lamp... so too does disgrace exist amidst a crowd of geniuses. On one side, an epic prodigy like Sadik... and on the other, an epic failure like Ruhan."
He looked at his own reflection in the window glass and smiled wryly.
"Though... this script was written a long time ago."