He read the title at the top of the page: Blasphemous Blood Curse.
Beneath it, a description followed:
"The Blood Curse of Blasphemy is a dark magic that binds the blood to the violation of sacred laws. When someone defies what is considered divine, their blood turns black as a mark of their rebellion. This curse grants the power to control others through their blood."
He read on, absorbing the details.
"The cursed person can manipulate emotions by letting others drink a single drop of their blood. Through this, the host can make someone feel love, hatred, or resentment—whatever they wish. However, the influence is temporary, and the victim's mind is never the same after."
The text continued:
"The true power of this curse comes when the host consumes the blood of another while looking into their eyes and speaking their name. This act allows the host to absorb the other's magic, spells, and abilities. But once the blood is consumed, the host is bound to the curse forever."
"Hmm, nice... but the drawback is also hard to ignore," he thought.
"But maybe I should try it... not going to miss any chance to become stronger."
As he slowly read how to activate the curse...
It said that to activate it, he had to recite an incantation while in a wounded state.
As he read further, the instructions became clearer:
"To bind oneself to the Blasphemous Blood Curse, one must be wounded, blood drawn as a mark of defiance. Then, recite the incantation as the blood flows."
He glanced at the dagger in his hand, the edge glinting in the dim light. He knew there was no turning back if he chose to do this.
With a deep breath, he pressed the blade against his palm and drew it across his skin. A line of blood welled up, dark and rich.
The moment the wound opened, the book pulsed again, a red, spectral energy leaking from its pages. It moved like a living thing, drifting through the air before diving into his chest. A searing heat spread through his body, making his muscles tense.
He began to recite the incantation, his voice steady despite the fire coursing through him:
"By this blood, tainted and black, I accept the chains of the forbidden, to bind my blood in defiance."
The moment the last word was spoken, the red energy burst into his veins, igniting every nerve with sharp, electric pain. He felt the a energy settle deep into his essence.
_____________________________
[Displaying Status Panel...]
[Status Panel]
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Name:
Constellation Title: Keeper of Unseen Chains
Titles: First, Enemy of the World
Death Meter [0%]
Ability:
- Mist Of Derapivty
- Blasphemous Blood Curse
Authorities:
Authority of Absolute Nullification(Limited): Nullify anything—physical, magical, even abstract concepts like emotions.
Authority of Unseen Chains(Limited): Summon and control unseen chains that bind both the body and mind of any target, even concepts.
_____________________________
He glanced at the newly revealed status panel, eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar entry.
"Death Meter [0%]?"
Confusion settled over him. He took a breath and directed his thoughts inward.
"System, what is this Death Meter? What does it track?"
The response appeared swiftly, as if the system had been expecting the question.
[The Death Meter measures the extent to which your life force is bound to the curse. It increases with each use of the Blasphemous Blood Curse or DeathBlood Sorcery. A higher percentage indicates a stronger hold death has over you. Should the meter reach 100%, death becomes inevitable.]
"Ohhh..."
"Then, will it make the effect of my rebirth ability ineffective?"
[Your title, First, ensures the effect of rebirth remains active and cannot be bypassed, even if the Death Meter reaches 100%. While death would otherwise be inevitable when the meter is full, your rebirth effect overrides this outcome, ensuring your return.]
"So... I've overcome the drawback of this sorcery?" he muttered as he tugged the collar of his shirt down slightly, revealing a dark, intricate mark etched onto his chest—a jagged symbol of the curse now permanently embedded in his body.
Exhaustion began. The process had drained more than just his physical energy; it felt as though his very essence had been scorched. he sank onto the thin mattress.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, closing his eyes, "I will see what this power can do."
...
"Miss, have you found one?" A voice called, the speaker's face aged and weathered, his posture hunched. Before him stood the same woman, her golden blonde hair cascading down to her back, her purple eyes shining with quiet intensity. Her beauty was undeniable, marked by both youth and maturity.
"No," she replied, her voice steady and composed.
The old man sighed, his hands clasped in front of him. "Then... Miss, we should try to find one as soon as possible. The faster you inherit it, the better it will be."
"I understand," she said softly.
"But I will focus on the mission for now," she added.
...
'Huff... I kind of feel stronger,' he thought as he examined himself. He had just woken up, and it was already late morning.
He could definitely feel it now—this body, though not his original one, had gained a noticeable increase in strength. It must be the effect of the curse.
"I don't think I'll have the opportunity to test my power in this village. Well, it doesn't matter," he muttered, his focus sharpening. "The main objective is to turn these villagers into my followers."
He stood, stretching his limbs, his mind already formulating a plan. The power he now possessed would be useful, but it was only a tool. The real challenge was how to gain their loyalty, how to make them believe in him and submit to his influence.
He glanced around the room, noticing the faint markings of the curse still glowing on his chest. It's a good start, he thought. Now, he just needed to make his presence known, to build trust and, most importantly, control.
After a few moments of contemplation, he walked over to the mirror and adjusted his clothes, making sure his appearance was impeccable.
He stepped outside and squinted against the morning sunlight. The village was bustling with activity, but his eyes caught something unusual—a gathering of villagers near the center, where a small crowd had gathered.
Curious, he made his way through the streets, careful not to attract too much attention, but just enough to make his presence felt. As he approached the crowd, the scene before him became clear: a man, bloodied and broken, was lying on the ground, clearly near death. His face was pale, and his body was ravaged by the savage attacks of some animal.
Beside him knelt a woman, tears streaming down her face as she held his hand. The villagers surrounding them looked on, some helpless, others grieving, but none capable of offering any real help.
'This is it..'. he thought, a cold smile curling on his lips. An opportunity.