REINCARNATION CURSE

Episode 1: The Familiar Stranger It started with the rain.Not the gentle kind that makes you want to sleep. This rain was heavy, loud, and cold — like something was being washed away. Or unearthed. The streets were quiet except for the steady hiss of tires cutting through puddles. Somewhere in the distance, thunder cracked like a warning. But at the old rusted bus stop just outside the university gate, Emrys stood alone, shoulders hunched, His shirt clung to his body. His bag was soaked. His phone? Long dead. “First day of uni and I already look like a rejected action figure,” he muttered. He rubbed his hands together for warmth and looked around. No umbrella, no other students. Just him and the storm. Then someone appeared, walking toward the bus stop like the rain didn’t exist. Tall. Calm. Dark hoodie pulled over his head, but not in a “hiding” way — more like he just didn’t care. As he stepped under the roof, he glanced at Emrys once and said, with a half-smirk: “You’re standing like a clown waiting for a ghost bus.” Emrys blinked, then chuckled. “If this bus doesn’t come soon, I’ll start performing.”The guy nodded. “Cortez.”. “Emrys.” They shook hands like two people meeting again after a long time. But neither of them could explain why it felt so… familiar. “Philosophy,” Cortez said. “You?” Emrys looked up, surprised. “Same. First year?” “Yeah.” Another coincidence. Or maybe not. Before they could speak again, a third figure approached. She walked with confidence — high braids, perfect posture, neutral face. She wore a grey top tucked into black jeans and carried a leather bag. She didn’t look at them. Didn’t greet them. Just stepped under the bus stop, leaned against the other side of the pole, and took out her phone like they didn’t exist. Martha. They didn’t know her name yet, but her presence spoke volumes. She smelled like fresh coconut lotion and seriousness. Emrys gave her a side glance, then looked at Cortez, mouthing, “Damsel.” Cortez smirked. “Zero interest in us.” And she didn’t disappoint. Not a word. Not a smile. Not a glance. Still… something about her pulled at them — like a wire connecting invisible pieces of a puzzle that hadn’t been touched in years. Over the next week, Emrys and Cortez kept crossing paths — same department, same timetable. Their friendship clicked fast: Emrys cracked jokes and downed food like fuel; Cortez was calm, thoughtful, a strategist at heart. But beneath the humor, Emrys was sharp — observant, analytical — he just preferred to hide it behind meat pies and sarcasm. They noticed her again — Martha. Always sitting alone, always answering questions with a tone that shut down any follow up. No stuttering, no filler words. Just intelligence and silence. Then came the shocker. During a heated class discussion on ethics and justice, Emrys raised a question that twisted the lecturer’s argument completely. Cortez built on it with a brilliant example. Martha, from the other side of the class, cut in and shut them both down with a flawless counterpoint. The professor paused, stared at the three of them, and slowly smiled, “Interesting. Very interesting. Since all three of you insist on challenging each other… you’ll do so as a team. "He pointed. “Group Two Cortez, Emrys, Martha. Presentation due next week.” Emrys’s jaw dropped. Cortez raised an eyebrow. Martha? She didn’t even blink. Just packed her bag and left. Then they met next day Day 1 – They waited in an empty lecture room. Emrys brought chin-chin, Cortez brought a notepad. Martha came in exactly five minutes late, sat across from them, and pulled out her laptop. “We’re doing our slides on the Plato section. I’ll handle the intro and conclusion. You both do the middle.” Emrys raised a brow. “No hello? No ‘how’s your day?’ Just PowerPoint?” She didn’t respond. Just started typing. Cortez tried to offer ideas. Emrys cracked jokes. She stayed silent the entire session, while Cortez kept on chuckling at the jokes the entire time. Day 2 – They met at the library. Cortez started mapping out structure, linking theories to modern-day morality. Emrys — in his Emrys way — pointed out how Netflix storylines actually reflect Socratic ethics. Smart, but masked in humor. Martha simply said, “Keep your examples academic,” and went back to typing. Emrys whispered to Cortez, “She’s like a beautiful robot. Cold… and perfectly efficient.” Martha, without looking up, replied, “Still more productive than a clown with snack crumbs on his notes.” Cortez chuckled. Emrys choked on his drink. Day 3 – They gathered in Cortez’s room. Martha came in, sat stiffly, arms crossed. Emrys tried again. “Okay. Let’s start with Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. But in our version, the shadows are deadlines.” Cortez nodded. “And the cave is the university system.” Martha sighed. “Can we not turn everything into a stand-up show?” Emrys leaned back. “Only if you promise to stop turning everything into a funeral.” The silence after that was tense. She packed her bag and left. Day 4 – They were in the faculty reading room. Awkward. Quiet. Emrys walked in late, holding a white bag. “Okay, team,” he announced, “I come bearing peace offerings.” He dropped three steaming meat pies onto the table. “Food is the bridge between awkward silence and actual friendship.” Martha blinked. Cortez gave a cautious smile. “Is that your theory of human connection?” Emrys nodded seriously. “Yes. I call it the Pie of Socratic Unity.” There was a beat, then Martha burst out laughing. It was quick, sharp, and sudden — a real laugh. She leaned back, shaking her head. “You’re actually insane.” Cortez, amused, added, “To be fair, it’s a better theory than half of what’s in the textbook.” Martha wiped her eyes. “Okay, fine. Let’s start over.” And just like that — the wall cracked. They stayed two extra hours that day. Cortez broke down the presentation’s argument so cleanly Martha said, " that’s actually genius.” Emrys added a slide with funny but accurate images of philosophers as modern-day characters. They worked. They laughed. They started becoming a team. --- One day, the trio were sitting under a mango tree, eating meat pie and talking about lectures. Emrys was on his second pie, licking his fingers. “I swear, if I don’t eat every two hours, I start losing IQ points,” he said. Cortez shook his head. “You’re already down to single digits.” Martha chuckled and said, if it keeps you going no problem, they all laughed. And that’s how it started. From then on, the trio began sitting together. Slowly, Martha opened up. She was smart. Witty. The type who didn’t waste words, but when she spoke — it made sense. They’d sit at their usual cafeteria spot — back corner, near the window. Like the universe was pushing them together, piece by piece. One night after class, they walked the long footpath back to their lodges. It was dark — the kind of dark that made silence feel like a warning. Then they heard it. Clink... clink… clink… Dragging metal. From the bush beside the path, a figure stepped out. A masquerade. Tattered robes. Mask carved from wood. Glowing eyes. It dragged a massive, rusted cutlass behind it, scratching against the ground with a horrible sound. They froze. And in an instant, a flash hit their minds, Screams. Fire. Blood. Running through shadows. The same masquerade swinging its blade. A car… a scream… a hand reaching out… Then gone. Silence again. The figure had disappeared. Martha turned. “Did you see that?” “I think…” Emrys blinked. “I saw fire.” Cortez looked pale. “Something’s wrong.” They didn’t speak more that night. Over the next week, everything got worse. Cortez dreamed of burning buildings and his own hands soaked in blood, Emrys would wake up hearing footsteps in his room, Martha started hearing voices whispering names she didn’t know. One morning, Emrys rolled up his sleeve and found claw marks on his arm. Thin. Red. Fresh. Another time, Martha saw her reflection move slightly slower than her in the mirror. They met under the mango tree again. It had become their spot. Three meat pies sat in front of Emrys. Cortez had a notebook. Martha was drinking chilled drink. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Martha said, eyes sharp. “We all saw the same masquerade. We’re all having weird dreams. Something is trying to remind us of something.” Cortez nodded. “And it’s tied to who we are. Or who we were.” Emrys swallowed a bite. “Wait… what if we’ve met before?” Martha tilted her head. “Like in another life?” “Yes,” Cortez said. “Reincarnation. It makes sense.” Emrys tapped his fork. “Okay, but… why us? And why now?” Cortez leaned in. “Because something wasn’t finished. And now we’re back.” Martha added, “Whatever happened before, we didn’t survive it. This time, maybe we’re supposed to.”Emrys leaned back. “Great. First year of uni and I’m in a horror movie.” They laughed — briefly. Then Emrys added, softly, “But I’m in it with you guys. So maybe it won’t be that bad.” And for a second, all three sat in silence. Not afraid. But aware. Something was coming. And this time… they had each other. Episode 2: The Past Never Died It began again… with a dream. But this time, it wasn’t just fire. It was screaming. Not just human — inhuman. Like animals twisted inside out. Cortez stood at the edge of a village, holding a burning torch. Around him, shadows circled. His face was calm. Focused. But his hands shook. Then a voice behind him whispered: > “You failed them before. You have one more chance.” He turned — and woke up, gasping. The university cafeteria was buzzing. Generators humming. Plates clinking. Voices rising. But at the back corner — their corner — Emrys, Cortez, and Martha sat silently. Emrys stabbed his fried yam without enthusiasm. “I barely slept,” he mumbled. “And you know how much I love sleeping. That dream again. Fire. People running. I think I saw... myself. Like an old version of me. Beard and everything.” Martha sipped her water slowly. “They’re getting clearer. Last night, I saw a little girl. She called me ‘Auntie M’... and then she started bleeding from her eyes.” Cortez was quiet. Then finally said, “I think we were part of something bigger. Like… a cult or a village ritual. But something went wrong.” Martha’s eyes sharpened. “A curse?” “Maybe,” Cortez nodded. “Or a punishment.” Emrys scoffed. “So let me get this straight — we died, got reborn, and now history is on a revenge tour?” He popped a puff-puff in his mouth. “Great. Reincarnation with receipts. Martha smiled — a small one, but genuine. That night, they left the lecture hall late again. Campus was nearly empty. Power was out in the staff quarters. Just the moon lighting their path. As they approached a bend in the road, a low chant echoed through the air. They froze. It wasn’t in English. Or Igbo. Or any human language. From the shadows between two buildings… figures emerged. They weren’t quite human. Tall. Skinny. Masks of broken wood nailed to their faces. Each holding long brooms made of thorns. They came forward — this time, on bikes. Old, rusted bicycles fused with bones and thorns. The wheels didn’t spin — they scraped. Like bone grinding bone.One of them pointed — and screeched. Martha gasped. “Oh God.” Cortez’s jaw tightened. “What do we do?” Emrys, eyes wide, pointed at them. “Two options: We fight and die now… or we run and die later. Either way — we’re still gonna die!” “RUN!” Cortez barked. They took off down the road, sprinting into the dark. Behind them, the riders accelerated — silent but terrifying. Then Martha pointed ahead. “A car!” Parked awkwardly on a grassy patch. Headlights off. The driver’s side door slightly open. “Who knows how to drive?!” she yelled, already running toward it. “Unless you wanna die now, I do!” Emrys shouted. Cortez grabbed his arm. “No, I think I know how. A bit.” “Since when do you know how to drive?!” Emrys yelled as they neared the vehicle, nearly tripping. “Doesn’t matter! My legs hurt!” Martha yelled as she yanked the back door open and jumped in. “Everybody get in!” Cortez called out. Martha was already strapping in. “Emrys, seatbelt!” “Why?! I don’t wanna be stuck when he crashes and kills us!” They all chuckled — breathless, terrified, but still them. “You’re not gonna die!” Cortez snapped as the engine coughed, then roared to life. The tires screeched against the wet road. For a brief second, there was hope. Then Martha looked back. “Umm… guys?” Cortez glanced in the rearview mirror. The bikers were gaining fast — wheels spinning like saw blades. “I’m on it!” Cortez slammed the accelerator. “OH MY GOD! WE’RE GONNA DIE! WE’RE GONNA DIE! WE’RE GONNA DIE!” Emrys screamed, gripping the dashboard. “You’re not helping!” Martha shouted. “I’m still too young to die" “They’re gaining!” Martha cried. Cortez risked a glance behind. “Oh God," Emrys saw and screamed, “What are you doing?! Look forward before you kill us!” .The car swerved dangerously, narrowly missing a pole. They all screamed. Then Cortez turned sharply into an overgrown compound and killed the engine. The car rolled behind a crumbling wall. They ducked low. Breathless, Shaking, Alive, for now. The compound was abandoned, silent except for their own panting. Emrys crouched behind the dashboard. “Those are not normal masquerades. They’re like... spirits.” Martha pulled her knees up, shivering. “They were watching us. Like they recognized us.” Cortez, ever calm, stared at the darkness. “It’s starting.” “What’s starting?” Emrys asked. “The pattern,” Cortez said. “Something is repeating. I think we were hunted like this before. And now… the hunt is restarting.” Martha nodded slowly. “I’ve seen symbols in my dreams. A triangle with three eyes. I think it’s a mark. Maybe even the source of the curse.” “I see food in my dreams,” Emrys muttered. “But somehow, it still ends with someone bleeding.” They laughed weakly. Then Martha said: “We need to go back. To where it started. Wherever that was... in our past life.” The next morning, they each woke up with the same mark on their skin. Small. Faint. A triangle on their inner wrist. Three tiny dots in the middle. Cortez called it a binding sigil. “It’s a mark of unity. Or punishment. But it ties us together.” Emrys was panicking. “So it’s like a friendship tattoo from hell?” Martha, tracing hers with her finger, whispered: “This is it. Proof we didn’t imagine it.” That day, they went digging. In the university’s old archive section, buried behind shelves of cobwebbed history books, they found a journal — handwritten, torn, and unnamed Inside: drawings of masquerades, rituals, and a symbol identical to the one on their wrists. The final page read:“They failed the gods. The blood pact was broken. Until the three return and fulfill the vow, the land will know no peace. Their souls will never rest.” Emrys leaned back, eyes wide. “So we’re cursed. Literally. Until we finish something from a past life we don’t fully remember.” Cortez closed the book. “And the punishment isn’t just death.” Martha stood, her voice steady. “It’s being hunted. Again. And again. Until we make it right.” That night, Martha woke up screaming. Carved into her wall were the words: YOU HAVE SEVEN DAYS. She called Emrys and Cortez. They all came running. Staring at the carved message, their stomachs sank. “Seven days till what?” Emrys whispered. “Till it begins again,” Cortez said. “Till the full curse returns.” Martha clenched her fists. “Then we use these seven days to remember. To fight back. To finish what we couldn’t before.” And outside, beyond the walls of the hostel, something laughed in the dark. It had waited long enough. Episode 3: The Awakening and shrine of memory The campus sun was high and hot — beating down like a spotlight, exposing everything. It was one of those afternoons that felt ordinary, even boring. Until it wasn’t. Emrys, Cortez, and Martha were walking back from class along the narrow back road that cut through the abandoned agricultural faculty — a shortcut most students avoided. But they liked it. Quiet. Peaceful. “I’m telling you,” Emrys said, juggling a meat pie and a bottle of malt, “if this school serves this pie with fried plantain, I’ll propose.” “To who?” Cortez asked. Emrys gave a lazy wink. “To the pie, obviously.” Martha shook her head, amused. “Your obsession with food is disturbing.”Then the laughter died. Threw guys stepped out from behind an overgrown hedge, another 3 came from the side bush, 4 came at the trio back surrounding them. mean looking, confident. A few had belts wrapped around their fists, some with chains. One with a scar across his lip smirked. “Drop your bags. Nobody has to bleed today.” Cortez’s expression darkened. “We’re not in the mood.” “Oh?” the leader mocked. “Ten of us. Three of you.” “Count again,” Emrys muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “Make we teach una sense!” one yelled — and charged. Cortez moved first — controlled and surgical. A thug lunged at him with a baton. Cortez stepped aside, caught the swing, and redirected it into a brutal tai chi throw that flipped the guy onto his back. Another attacker came at him with a chain. Cortez blocked, twisted his arm, and knocked him unconscious with a short backfist strike. Calm, precise. Minimal effort. Maximum damage. On the left, Martha faced three. She dodged a punch, grabbed the attacker’s wrist, and yanked him into a shoulder lock. Then she spun into a spinning elbow to another’s chest, followed by a powerful heel stomp to the third. Elegant and fluid — like she’d done this all her life. And then came Emrys. He stepped back, tossed the last bite of meat pie aside, ” Two guys charged from the front. Emrys ran up a low wall, pushed off mid-run, and flipped backward, kicking both in the face in the air. He landed clean. Three more came. One swung a chain — Emrys ducked, swept his leg, flipped forward, and landed a spinning elbow into the next guy’s ribs. He twirled one thug’s belt around his wrist and used it to yank him off his feet. Flashy. Smooth. Still effective. Martha, even while fending off her final attacker, glanced sideways. “I thought he was just a clown.” “Same,” Cortez grunted, flipping his fourth opponent over his shoulder.The last two bullies turned and ran. The trio stood tall in the middle of the scattered groaning bodies — dust in the air, sweat on their foreheads, but barely winded. Emrys brushed off his shirt. “Ten-zero. Under the mango tree, they sat silently for a moment, letting it all sink in. “That wasn’t normal,” Martha said. “We fought like… professionals.” Cortez nodded. “It wasn’t luck. Those were trained movements. Muscle memory.” Emrys, biting into another meat pie, said, “I did a backflip. I’ve never done a backflip in my life. Unless jumping over my cousin’s goat counts.” They laughed, still processing. “Looks like the curse didn’t just follow us,” Cortez said. “It brought… everything back.” Later that evening, in the cafeteria, Emrys suddenly snapped his fingers. “Wait — I’ve got it.” Cortez raised an eyebrow. “Got what?” “A map,” Emrys said. “We plot all the weird stuff: where we saw the masquerade, where Martha saw the wall writing, where the bikers appeared… maybe there’s a pattern.” They stared at him. “That’s... actually brilliant,” Cortez said. Martha leaned forward. “Wow. I really thought you were just a clown.” “I’ve brought good ideas before!” Emrys said, dramatically offended.They chuckled. Then got to work. After mapping out the locations on paper, a shape began to form a triangle. Three corners. All pointing to the center — an abandoned shrine, according to old university records. “That’s it,” Martha said. “The center of the curse.” “We go there,” Cortez said. “During daylight,” Emrys added quickly. “Like noon. Bright noon. Sun burning our faces.” “Agreed.” Martha circled the location in red. “This might trigger something big.” “Then let it,” Cortez said. “We’ll be ready.” That night, Emrys dreamed again. But this time, it wasn’t fire. It was a training hall, lit with candles. Three warriors trained barefoot on polished stone: him, Cortez, Martha. His past self leapt through the air — spinning, blocking, striking. A blur of power and grace. Then, in the dream, that version of Emrys turned to face him. “It’s time.” Emrys jolted awake — heart racing. He glanced at his hands. They still shook… but not from fear. From readiness. The shrine stood where the map pointed — deep within the old part of campus, hidden behind the collapsed greenhouse, near a section long sealed off by rusted fences and forgotten signs. They arrived just past noon, the sun was blinding, even birds avoided the area. Cortez pushed the rotting gate open with effort, the air changed — heavier. Still. Martha whispered, “This feels like walking into a grave.” “Nope,” Emrys said. “Worse. A cursed grave. With interest." The building was tiny — cracked walls, vines curling through broken windows. At the center of the room stood a stone altar, covered in dried wax and dust. Emrys coughed. “I feel like something’s watching.” “It is,” Cortez said quietly, staring at the altar. “This place is alive.” Martha ran her fingers along a pattern etched into the wall. “It’s the same symbol as our marks the triangle.” Suddenly, the doors slammed shut and the air turned red. They froze. All three marks on their wrists began to glow — faintly at first, then brighter. Painful. A voice echoed from nowhere or everywhere: “They failed once. Let them suffer again.” The walls pulsed, then shifted — images forming from stone and smoke. They saw themselves — three people in ancient warrior robes. Their past lives. Standing before a crowd. A burning village behind them. Screams in the air. Then a shadowy figure appeared — masked, tall, with long dreadlocked hair. Emrys stepped forward. “That’s the one who cursed us.” “No,” Cortez said. “That’s… our fourth.” Martha’s eyes widened. “We had a fourth friend.” The figure pulled off its mask. A girl. Sharp eyes. Betrayal in her expression. And as the memory faded, one word echoed in all their heads: "Olamma." They staggered out of the shrine — shaken, weak, silent. “What… what just happened?” Emrys said, breathless. “We were four,” Cortez said. “She betrayed us. And died with us. But maybe she didn’t reincarnate the same way.” “Maybe she came back broken,” Martha whispered. “Or worse,” Emrys added, “maybe she remembers everything. And she wants revenge.” Cortez pulled out the notebook. “That shrine showed us the truth. Now we know the origin. Next step — we find her.” “Before she finds us again,” Martha said. That evening, walking near the hostels, they felt it again. The shift in the air. The silence. Then the sky flickered like a glitch. And out of nowhere, a figure burst out from the treeline — same mask from the shrine, body moving like smoke and shadow. But it wasn’t alone. Three masked spirits followed it — dragging long blades that didn’t touch the ground. Emrys pulled the others behind a wall. “Options?” Cortez asked, calm. “We can’t run. We’re surrounded,” Martha said. “Then we fight,” Emrys whispered. “And this time… we don’t hold back.” The spirits rushed forward, blades slashing air with supernatural speed. Cortez deflected the first with an open-palm block, redirecting the energy into a high tai chi parry, then countered with a shoulder slam that made the thing burst into black mist. Martha spun between two others, using their speed against them — dodging one, flipping over the other’s back, then snapping a dual elbow strike into its chest. But the leader — Olamma — didn’t move. She watched. Smiling. Then Emrys ran straight for her. She raised her arm — he ducked low, flipped sideways off a crumbling wall, and kicked her hard enough to knock the mask sideways. For a split second — they saw her face, still young. Still beautiful. But her eyes… were wrong, dead and glowing. “You’ll fail again,” she whispered. “Like before" then she and her squad disappeared, the trio looked at each other, Emrys shouted, I'm not done with you yet, come out. Martha whispered, let's go guys, it's getting creepy around here, Emrys added, yeah seems like she ran so that she could live to fight another day. Then they went back home, That night, all three of them had the same dream. Olamma standing in the ruins of the shrine. Surrounded by fire. Holding something. A knife. Covered in blood. And behind her, three shadowed graves. “You have one day left,” she whispered. “To finish what you started. Or I will." They met again the next day getting ready to go back that place at night. Night fell like a lid over the sky. Not peaceful — suffocating. The wind refused to blow. The trees near the abandoned shrine stood like frozen statues. The trio arrived just after midnight. Cortez held the tattered journal tightly, scanning the faded ritual instructions. Martha had stolen chalk from the art department — now clutched in her right hand, knuckles white. Emrys? A bottle of Sprite and meat pie stuffed into his jacket pocket. They stepped into the shrine. The air changed — colder. Thicker. Their triangle mark began to tingle as if something inside their blood recognized the place. “I don’t like this,” Emrys whispered.“I don’t either,” Martha said, kneeling to draw a large triangle on the cracked floor, Cortez placed the journal on the altar, opened to a yellowed page. “We need to stand at each corner. Bleed into the center. And chant this.” “Bleed?” Emrys frowned. “You couldn’t have mentioned that part before we came?” Cortez replied, "sorry about that" They took their positions. Martha slit her finger with a penknife. Emrys winced but followed. Cortez didn’t flinch. Drops of blood fell into the triangle’s center. Cortez began to chant, then A low hum vibrated the walls. The floor glowed faintly. The air turned red. And then—FLASHBACK They weren’t students anymore. They stood in robes — ancient, ceremonial. The shrine was alive. Fire danced along the walls. Villagers surrounded them, chanting. Olamma stood at the altar, face hard. A sacred blade in her hand. “You expect me to kill for this?” she asked, voice trembling. Cortez’s past self stepped forward, face calm but stern. “The blood pact requires it. The curse demands balance.” Martha’s past self nodded. “You knew this when you joined. We all did.” Emrys’s past self stepped closer, gentler. “Olamma… we do this for the people. Not ourselves.” Olamma looked around — at the fire, the eyes, the pressure. “You’re cowards,” she whispered. “All of you.” Then—she turned the blade on herself. Gasps tore through the shrine. Fire sputtered. The chanting stopped. Her blood hit the stone floor in the center of the triangle — the same one they stood in now. But this time, it sizzled. The ground rejected it. The light turned black. “NO!” Emrys’s past self shouted, rushing forward — too late. Olamma collapsed, her robes blooming red. Her eyes stared straight through him. Suddenly, the shrine shook violently. A wind burst out from the triangle, howling like a thousand screams. The villagers scattered. The flames rose higher, then imploded inward, sucked into a single point of darkness at the triangle’s heart. The three friends — in their past forms — stood helpless as a curse was born. The darkness screamed. And everything went white........