The Famous Shaman

“Don’t come near me!”

A young woman screamed at the top of her lungs. Tears streamed down her bruised cheeks. The white wedding dress she wore was covered in stains—mixed between wet dirt and colored drinks to blood.

Those injuries should have been painful, yet it seemed as though the pain receptors in her body had ceased to function. Instead of pain, she felt only overwhelming terror. In stark contrast to the woman’s pitiful appearance, not far from her, there's a man walking toward her with a beaming smile.

He calmly moved his long legs toward the woman. He deliberately took short, measured steps, looking delighted. He even smirked occasionally, as if mocking the woman, whose body trembled incessantly as she stared back in despair.

“Oops, forgive me, Ceila! I really tried to walk as slowly as possible.”

The man was now standing right in front of the woman named Ceila. His brow suddenly furrowed deeply; the smirk on his face shifted into an expression of concern.

He then lifted Ceila’s chin with his index finger. “Why does your face look so awful? What kind of bride has a face covered in bruises like this?”

The man’s voice trembled, filled with anxiety.

“Oh, God! My Ceila! Who could have the heart to do this to you, my dear?”

He cried out in anguish, cradling Ceila’s cheeks in his hands.

“I won’t stand for this! I will have my revenge! Whoever hurt you will die by my hand!”

Tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes. His strong arms wrapped around Ceila's weak body, holding her tightly, as if trying to extinguish the fear rising in her chest.

“But since *I* am the one who intended to hurt you, I promise to end my own life after I kill you...”

A sinister smirk suddenly formed in the corners of his lips.

With a gentle motion, he plunged in the sharp knife he had been concealing in the pocket of his black tuxedo all along. Stab that pitiful bride few times.

Ceila’s body shuddered violently as a wave of agony pierced through her. She knew she should fight back and try to escape. But Ceila’s energy was utterly spent to escape this man; she had no strength left.

“I will curse you!”

That was all Ceila could whisper into the man’s ear amidst her agony.

“I will become a vengeful spirit and drag you down to hell with me!”

Ceila kept speaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The excruciating pain that had once made her want to scream slowly began to fade as her vision darkened.

Like a madman, the man laughed and cupped Ceila’s face in his hands once more.

“Yes, yes, yes—I shall welcome your spirit with joy, my dear wife.”

He planted a kiss on her lips, causing her to wince in disgust as her consciousness slipped away.

In this life, Ceila had indeed given her heart to an unworthy man. The man she believed loved her deeply turned out to be the very person who wanted her dead.

I will curse you!

I will haunt you!

I will kill you!

I will...

Finally, Ceila’s vision went black, just as her heart ceased its beating...

***

Tringg... tringg... tringg

The tinkling sound of bells rang out loudly, shattering the stillness of the night. The chimes intertwined with the sound of the breeze and the voice of a woman reciting a spell. It was a quiet incantation, but it sent shivers down the spines of anyone who heard it.

“Oh gods, oh kind ancestors, help your lost child! Show me what I must do! Come! Come!” whispered a young woman sitting in the middle of the courtyard of a large, ancient house.

However, despite its ancient appearance, anyone could tell that the owner of this house was wealthy. From the wooden building, which cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, to the extraordinarily spacious yard, to the row of expensive cars neatly parked in the garage.

The woman, who still had her eyes closed while reciting the spell, was not alone; around her sat ten people with anxious expressions on their faces. Their eyes were fixed solely on the woman they knew as Melya, a young shaman who was very popular in their country. She was so popular that to use her services, they had to make a reservation three months in advance.

“Oh my God!”

The woman named Melya screamed loudly before her body suddenly collapsed onto the grass, as if she were losing consciousness. Melya slept for a long time.

One of the men kneeling nearby whispered skeptically to someone who sitting beside him ,

“Are you sure she’s really trustworthy?”

he asked with a raised eyebrow. The woman sitting next to him answered his question in a low voice,

“Hush! Trust me! She’s very reliable! If this ritual doesn’t work, I’ll hand over all my inheritance rights to you!”

After hearing that, the man finally chose to keep quiet.

“Insolent fools!”

Melya, who had previously been lying down, suddenly sprang up and shouted—a scream that made everyone present shudder with terror.

Her voice had completely transformed into that of an old man; even her posture mirrored that of a stooped, elderly man.

With eyes blazing in fury, Melya began to stalk toward the people still kneeling before her. She stopped right in front of the man who had earlier questioned her abilities.

“How dare you let my grave fall into such a filthy state! Ungrateful descendants! I risked everything—even cozying up to the colonizers—to amass that fortune! Yet you simply forgot me! Die! Die!” Screaming these words, Melya began to strangle the man.

The man instantly screamed in terror, struggling to break Melya’s grip on his throat. Desperately, he glanced at his other relatives, hoping for help. Yet, no one moved to help him; they could only stare at his face with worried expressions.

The reason?

Before the ritual began, Melya had warned that if a spirit possessed her, no one was to resist or intervene. To do so would cause the ritual to fail and result in all their deaths.

The only proper course of action left was to prostrate themselves and beg for forgiveness from the spirit possessing Melya.

“Forgive us, our honored ancestor! We have sinned! We have sinned! Please, forgive us!”

One of the women spoke in a tone filled with remorse, pressing her palms and forehead against the ground.

Everyone in the courtyard followed suit in unison. “We do not know which grave you are referring to, Ancestor. We beg you—guide your foolish descendants so we may locate that grave and atone for our wrongdoing.”

Melya’s hand, which had been gripping the man’s throat, now went limp at her side. She then shifted her gaze toward the woman. A sneer formed at the corner of her lips.

“Do you think all of this will end just by cleaning my grave? You’ve left me lonely for far too long!” Melya said, crouching down to spit at the woman who remained kneeling on the ground.

Yet, the woman showed no anger; instead, she spoke again in a voice filled with desperation,

“We will do whatever the Great Ancestor demands! Please, have mercy on us!”

“Hmm, really? In that case...”

The spirit possessing Melya began to speak at length, detailing every condition she required. Meanwhile, not far from the ritual site, a woman hovered in the air. She was clad in a blood-stained wedding gown.

She had been watching the events unfold all along. A triumphant smile spread across her lips. “Gotcha! I’ve found her! I’ve found my perfect vessel!”

She murmured happily...