Zain stood in the presence of the enigmatic Mr. Oberoy, his mind spinning with the weight of the three choices laid before him.
Each path would lead to a drastically different life—each one filled with uncertainty, danger, and the looming shadow of death. There was no telling what awaited him after reincarnation. He would be on his own, forced to survive with nothing but his wits and whatever gifts these so-called powerful beings had bestowed upon him.
But what good were gifts if he died the moment he arrived in his new world? Strength took time to cultivate, and a single day of misfortune could end it all before it even began.
His fingers curled into fists as he tried to suppress the rising frustration. Was there no better option? No alternative that wouldn't throw him into a death trap?
Zain turned to Mr. Oberoy, desperation lacing his voice. "Isn't there anything else? A better option?"
Oberoy's expression remained unreadable. "No," he said, his tone absolute. "This is the best I can do. You should be grateful that you've been given a chance at all—to prove yourself, to grow stronger. Most 'Anomalies' die miserably at the hands of this world and its rules."
The cold finality in his voice sent a shiver down Zain's spine. This was it. There was no room for negotiation.
Zain exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think.
The vampire's body is out of the question. There was a very real chance that the demon who had killed him would still be there, waiting. Worse, it might have already taken over that body. If that were the case, stepping into it would be an immediate death sentence. And if there was one thing Zain knew about himself… it was that he had always been unlucky.
That left two options—the werewolf and the orphan boy.
His mind raced. The werewolf was undoubtedly a strong choice, a prodigy in his own right. If Zain took his body, perhaps that prodigious talent would carry over. But then again, why had he been killed? How powerful were his so-called cousins and uncle?
Zain grimaced. He had no desire to reincarnate into a doomed body.
Which left the last option—an orphan, a seventeen-year-old weakling who had already been killed in battle against beasts. A pathetic death. He had fallen to a simple tail swipe.
Zain ran a hand down his face. None of these choices were good. Each one carried a high probability of death. He didn't want to gamble his second life away so recklessly.
But he had no choice.
He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to Mr. Oberoy, whose form was growing fainter. The transparency of his body signaled that he didn't have much time left before entering his long slumber.
Zain clenched his teeth. What the hell do I choose?
The vampire's body meant facing a demon that had already killed him once.
The werewolf's body meant dealing with family betrayal and power struggles he knew nothing about.
And the boy? He was already in the middle of a battlefield, outmatched, outgunned, and slaughtered like an insect. If Zain took that body, he would be thrown straight into hell.
He exhaled sharply, his eyes darting toward the sky. No one here is even trying to help me. Everyone was avoiding his questions, acting as if throwing him into a pit of suffering was a perfectly acceptable thing to do.
"If I had the power," he muttered under his breath, "I'd beat the crap out of the bastard who came up with this idea."
It was becoming painfully clear.
He couldn't trust anyone.
Zain's gaze flickered to Mr. Oberoy, who was sitting peacefully under the shade of the divine war tree, completely unbothered by his turmoil.
"Motherf—"
He stopped himself, exhaling through gritted teeth.
He had no more time to hesitate.
After weighing all the pros and cons, Zain made his choice.
"The third option," he finally said, his voice steady. "I'll reincarnate as the orphan."
Oberoy raised a brow, clearly amused.
Zain continued, forcing the words out. "There are no family feuds, no royal politics, no hidden schemes… Just me against the beasts. If I can survive long enough, I might be able to pull something off. If not…" He shrugged. "At least I won't be shackled by anyone else's mess."
Oberoy sighed, shaking his head. "If you think you can survive, then do so. But remember—this world will not wait for you to grow stronger. It will chew you up and spit you out the moment you let your guard down."
Zain scoffed. "I'm not that stupid."
Oberoy didn't respond.
Instead, he looked up at the sky, his expression unreadable.
Bastards.
Zain cursed under his breath, glaring at the sky as if he could set it on fire through sheer will alone.
Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed.
Oberoy sighed again. "You've finally lost it."
Zain ignored him. He had every right to complain. This entire situation was insane.
Then, the air shifted.
A deep voice, ancient and commanding, resonated through the space.
"Thunder, prepare my student. He is ready to enter his trial world. We have done enough for him. Now, everything depends on him. He will survive… or he will die. It is up to him."
Zain's breath hitched.
He knew that voice.
His fingers twitched as his mind raced, pulling forth a memory buried deep in his consciousness.
The black-haired, red-eyed man… The one who had spoken to him as he was dying on Earth.
Zain swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Oberoy. "Who is Thunder?"
Oberoy smirked. "Me," he answered simply. "My original name is Thunder."
Zain frowned. "Why the hell didn't you say so earlier?"
Oberoy chuckled, but there was something strange in his expression—something almost… fatherly. "Oh, I couldn't tell you, Zain. But next time, I promise."
Zain tensed. Next time.
For some reason, that phrase left a sour taste in his mouth.
Then, another voice echoed across the realm, smooth and absolute.
"You have done enough, Thunder. Let him go."
Zain's fists clenched.
He turned his gaze upward, bowing slightly. "Thank you for everything, Master. I swear, I will not disappoint you. Even though I have never met you, you have saved my life. You gave me the truth of my existence. You gave my friends and family a new life. I will work hard, I will become as strong as possible. I will not disappoint you."
Silence.
Then,
"Good."
This time, the voice was softer.
"Do you have any questions for me?"
Zain hesitated.
Then, a fire lit in his chest. He straightened, eyes burning with something new, something fierce.
"Can I…" He inhaled sharply. "Can I become as powerful as you, Master?"
His voice didn't waver. His heart pounded.
Silence stretched between them.
His fists clenched tighter. Say something.
But no response came.
His stomach twisted. Was he asking for too much?
Then—
"Maybe."
Zain's breath hitched.
"Who knows?"
A slow smirk crept onto his face.
For the first time, confidence surged through his veins—unyielding, unbreakable.
The voice never spoke again.
Zain took one last breath. This was it.
No more cowardice. No more chains.
The mark of the cursed. The mark of the coward.
He would change everything.
He clenched his fists, stepping forward.