Chapter 10: A Final Sacrifice
Part 1
Released, yet utterly abandoned, I walked aimlessly, the vast city streets echoing my hollow solitude. The sun dipped, casting long, purple shadows, and I knew I needed shelter. I found myself at the edge of a park, collapsing onto a foot-worn patch of grass. Looking up at the beautiful, silent moon, I felt an ache for a world that was always just out of reach.
Suddenly, a familiar shadow fell over me. It was the female police officer who had led the raid.
"Shekhar? Why are you still out here?" she asked, her voice carrying that same gentle concern. She noticed the threadbare clothes I was wearing. "Why didn't you go home?"
I met her eyes with an innocent, emotionless blankness—the only defense mechanism I had left. "I have no home," I replied simply. "Everyone abandoned me."
Her expression softened immediately. Without another word, she offered her hand. "Come with me."
I went, not out of trust, but out of complete exhaustion. I asked her why she was helping me, but she only smiled—the first person to ever help me without asking for something in return. Her name was Rina.
At her modest apartment, after a much-needed bath, she gave me a set of her comfortable, loose clothes. They were infinitely preferable to the frilly, restrictive garb I had been forced to wear for the last four years.
"You know, Shekhar," she said, watching me with a kind gaze. "You really look cute."
That was the second time in my shattered life I felt a genuine flicker of warmth and happiness, a true connection. Rina didn't treat me like a monster, a joke, or a commodity; she treated me like a person.
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Part 2
Sitting in her living room, I finally told her everything. Starting from my naive college days, the relentless bullying, the murder of the first girl, the cruel framing, the decade in prison, the betrayal of my family, and the four horrific years of exploitation. I laid out the entire, brutal narrative of injustice.
Rina listened with a profound concern that reached beyond mere pity. She was a detective, trained to hear the ugliest truths, but my story seemed to genuinely move her. Although I assured her I was okay, trying to minimize my suffering, her investigative mind was already at work, already sensing the rot behind my original conviction.
Unbeknownst to me, Rina began a quiet, highly sensitive investigation into the decade-old murder case, using her official access to review the old files and witnesses. She sought the truth, the truth that had cost me my life.
A few weeks later, the world stopped again. A few uniformed police officers came to the apartment. They were solemn, avoiding my gaze. When they finally spoke, the words were a physical blow: Rina was dead. Her body was discovered naked and floating in the riverbank—the very river where my college friend had been found years ago.
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Part 3
I was totally freaked out and deeply disturbed. This was the second time tragedy had struck someone close to me—and in the exact same horrifying way.
Shekhar's Thought: My heart hammered against my ribs, a cold, terrible realization forming. It felt like a curse. Every time a girl showed me genuine kindness, every time someone got close, their life ended in tragedy. Was I an harbinger of death?
I didn't have time to process this terrifying thought before the world shifted again. Rina, the kind officer, had been renting the property. When the owner learned of her sudden, unnatural death, they swiftly reclaimed the apartment.
I was kicked out. Homeless, alone, and under the shadow of a recurring tragedy, I was back where I started. But this time, I carried a fear far greater than abandonment: the chilling, terrifying fear that my presence itself was fatal to anyone who cared for me.
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Part 4
I was once again emotionless, disturbed, and profoundly depressed. The recurrence of the tragedy—the death of Rina in the same haunting way as my college friend—shattered the last vestiges of my self-worth. I hated myself. I was consumed by the belief that I was too weak, that I couldn't save anyone, and that my very existence had become a fatal reason for their deaths.
Under this unbearable pressure, I spent the few remaining rupees I had on five packets of sleeping pills. I walked back toward the riverbank, the moon casting a cold light on the water. I intended to end my life there, swallowing all the pills, hoping for a quick, painless release.
But it was only an imagination. A morbid fantasy. Even in my darkest hour, the instinct for survival, or perhaps the fear of pain, stopped me. I didn't take the pills.
The Opportunity for Meaning
Instead, I found myself wandering toward a hospital, needing to speak to someone, anyone. In the waiting area, I saw a man, frantic and utterly desperate. He was pleading with a nurse, explaining that his young son needed an immediate heart transplant, but the hospital was critically out of stock. There wasn't much time left.
In that moment, a profound, chilling clarity washed over me. I couldn't save lives while living, but I could give my death meaning. I could save someone as a sacrifice.
I approached the frantic father. "If you want," I said, my voice eerily calm, "you can have my heart."
The father was stunned, then overwhelmed. When the Head Doctor arrived, they quickly rushed me into an office to understand my reasoning. I recounted my entire, tragic story—the frame-up, the suffering, and the belief that my life was cursed to bring harm to those I loved. I told them that the only way my existence could be justified was if my body was used to ensure someone else's future.
The Condition
The doctor, a man who understood loss and necessity, eventually agreed to my condition: I would be a full-body donor. They would take every usable organ, tissue, and blood to save as many people as possible. It was the only peace I could find—the one productive act of my existence.
My operation began immediately. A nurse administered the anesthesia and sleep injection. As the drug took effect, I felt a familiar, comforting blackness descend.
They took out my heart and brain.
But inside, my consciousness didn't vanish. I was no longer on an operating table; I was floating in a blackhole, an infinite, silent void where there was no up, no down, and no end. I drifted, completely alone, as the scattered fragments of all my memories—the laughter, the rage, the betrayal, and the cold, terrifying love—flashed like distant, dying stars.
I was the soul of the dead man, trapped between worlds, ready for the next chapter.
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Part 5
In the absolute blackness of the void, my consciousness was not empty, but violently full. I was caught in a current of desperate memory fragments—the soul's final, agonizing testament.
The First Life: The Curse of Helplessness
A momentary flash of sunlight and warmth: the laughter of my real father, the gentle smile of my mother, the comfort of our small home. Everything was perfect... then, in an instant, it turned to ash. Their bodies—lifeless, broken, and gone forever.
I was too young, too small. I couldn't do anything. A piece of my soul died with them.
The fragments darkened. My so-called "new family." My stepmother and stepfather brought not love, but relentless pain and torment. Their words cut deeper than any blade; their actions crushed what little spirit I had left.
School was no better—a desolate battlefield of humiliation and isolation. College was just the next circle of hell waiting. And then came that day: an innocent girl died right behind me, and I was the one framed, stained, and discarded. The world turned its back.
The thought echoed in the void: "I should have died long ago. When my real parents passed, my life became a colossal, unforgivable waste."
The Second Life: The Nightmare Repeats
Fate, however, was a cruel artist, perfecting my suffering. Even in my second life—the cycle continued. The nightmare returned, more brutal than before.
My mother—violated and murdered. My father—slaughtered. The people I loved most were ripped away from me again.
Yet, in that same twisted world, there were two lights: my stepfather, the only one who ever truly cared, and the kindness of Miss Siya. They were the small, fragile proof that goodness could still exist.
Then came Hina, a brief, fierce light in the deep gloom. But even that light was destined to be consumed. Her own father, driven mad by ambition, was willing to sacrifice her to the Demon Lord for power.
And me? I could only watch. I was still trapped, still witnessing the destruction of innocence.
My final thought, the one that echoed loudest as my soul prepared for rebirth, was an agonizing confession: "I am too weak to protect the ones I love. I am too weak to change anything."
But even if the world delights in watching me suffer—I can't keep running from it anymore.
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Part 6
The silent void was suddenly ripped apart by a blinding, incandescent light. From this fierce glow, two figures materialized before the shattered fragments of my soul.
The First Figure, stern and uncompromising, scoffed at my despair. "Don't be ridiculous. Yes, you were weak. Yes, we died, and your life became a hell. But so what?"
The Second Figure, radiating a warmer, persistent energy, spoke next. "You were given a second life. I know you lost everything and ended up alone again, but this time is different."
Shekhar's Thought: They were right. The pain was still here, but now there was a clear path.
"You still have one thing to protect: your own future," the Second Figure continued, their voice ringing with purpose. "You have two powerful reasons to grow strong now: the memory of those you couldn't save and the chance to finally live for yourself."
"You still have a chance to grow strong—high enough that you can finally spread your wings and fly above all that darkness. ALive for today. Stay alive for today and enjoy your present life. Because who knows what will happen tomorrow? You might alive, or you might die. But today, you choose to be strong."
The Morning After
The words—a mix of brutal realism and defiant hope—were the last things I heard.
Shekhar woke up.
He lay tangled in the sheets of his new bed in the strange, international school dorm, his eyes stinging. Tears, the first true tears of feeling since Rina's rescue, streamed down his face. The vague sense of a flickering memory that had clung to him earlier was now a massive, brutal weight of history.
It was morning. The sun, indifferent to the trauma of a newly resurrected soul, cast a bright, hopeful beam across the small dorm room. The noise of other students starting their day could be heard in the halls. The past was over, but its scars were his new foundation.
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Part 7
He heard movement, and then concerned voices right above him.
Sidhant: "Hey bro, are you okay? You were crying in your sleep." Sidhant hovered, his usual frantic energy subdued by worry.
Rudra: The noble vampire, leaned against the foot of the bed. "Need any help?"
Sion: The elf stepped closer, his expression earnest. "If you have something on your mind, you can share it with us. We can help you solve that, because we are friends, right?"
The question was met with immediate, warm affirmation from the others. Sidhant and Rudra both chimed in, reinforcing the sentiment with bright, genuine smiles.
Shekhar pushed himself up, wiping the last tears away with a swift, subtle gesture. The anguish of two lifetimes was locked down, replaced by the only defense mechanism he knew would work in this bright, new world. He gave them a peaceful, slightly shy smile—a smile designed to deflect and charm.
Shekhar: "It's nothing, truly. I just missed my family who died a long time ago. But I'm okay now."
His words, stating such profound loss with such an easy, tranquil demeanor, instantly shocked the three boys. Their initial concern faltered under the unexpected gentleness of his admission.
The effect of his sweet, innocent smile was immediate and overwhelming.
Sidhant's Thought: He is so cute... and so cheerfully sad!
Rudra's Thought: A face like that shouldn't carry such pain. Adorable!
Sion's Thought: He looks like a doll. I must protect him.
All three flushed slightly, their minds instantly distracted from the tragedy he confessed. They began whispering to each other, their original worry quickly morphing into mutual agreement: "He is so cute and cheerful!"
The mask held. His internal vow—to stop running and grow strong—was now hidden behind the first layer of his new identity.
To be continued.......
