The Deadly Charm

Part 46 : The Dark Spell in the Shadows (Part 1)

The Blindfold Ritual of the Abyss

Deep in the forest, nestled within a secluded wooden hut cloaked in centuries of secrecy, the thick scent of incense and ancient herbs hung in the air like an invisible veil. Flickering candlelight cast warped shadows across the walls, illuminating only enough to reveal the silhouette of two figures seated in stillness.

Opposite one another sat two forces.

Chanya—radiant, determined, and unapologetically ambitious—rested atop an old leather mat, worn by countless rituals of those before her. Her gaze was unwavering. She had come with purpose, and she would leave with what she desired.

Facing her was Yong San, a young Khmer sorcerer whose sharp, commanding presence resonated from every inch of his inked skin. Intricate sigils crawled across his exposed arms and collarbone, each one carved in ancient script long forgotten by time. His dark eyes, still as death, stared into Chanya's soul with quiet authority—he didn't need to speak to be heard.

Between them stood a ritual table carved from old wood. Upon it, three black candles burned in a triangular formation. Surrounding them were relics from the deepest corners of Khmer occultism—earthen dolls, charmed oils, and gleaming animal bones sanctified by the dead.

"I want Ekkawat back," Chanya said plainly, her voice laced with hunger and hope.

Yong San regarded her without emotion. Then, a faint smirk formed at the corner of his lips.

"Love born of black magic never lasts," he warned. "If you want him back, you must accept the price."

"I don't care," she replied without hesitation. Her voice was firm. Her desire, absolute.

Yong San narrowed his eyes. "How strong do you want it to be?"

"The strongest. Unbreakable. Irreversible."

There was silence for a moment. His stare pierced through her. The air between them grew thick with unseen fire.

"Very well," he finally said, his voice low.

"I will do two things for you. First, I will anoint your body with Namman Prai—oil from the dead—to enhance your allure."

Chanya nodded without blinking. "And the second?"

"A seven-day enchantment ritual," he said. "Seven days. Seven nights. You must remain here for the entire duration. Can you do that?"

"I have all the time in the world."

"Good," he said with a crooked grin. "Then I'll seal this place. No one will enter. No one will find us."

"And the price?" she asked, tilting her head.

Yong San looked her dead in the eye. "You."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Your body," he said flatly.

Chanya hesitated.

Yong San remained still, composed, silent.

He wasn't conventionally handsome, but there was a gravity to him—a dark magnetism that pulled at something primal within her. His lean, toned frame peeked through his robe, and for a split second, Chanya felt heat bloom under her skin.

"...I accept."

A knowing smirk curved across his lips.

Yong San was a master of shadowed arts—tall, lean, with golden-olive skin that reflected the flame's light like a living sigil. His deep, bewitching gaze had pulled many under his spell before. But none had seen the truth: behind that face lay a predator of fate—one who could twist destiny to his whim.

Before the ritual could begin, Yong San knew one thing: this place must be protected. Nothing—no man, spirit, or god—could be allowed to interrupt what was to come. And so, he began the Blindfolding Spell of the Abyss.

He stepped outside the hut beneath a glowing moon. Raising one hand, he summoned invisible energy from the world around him—air, earth, ether—all bending to his will. His lips moved in slow, ancient syllables, speaking in a forgotten tongue.

"Dark veil of the abyss... Blind every watching eye...
Let no soul see what is forged in the flame of desire..."

His voice echoed through the woods, slicing the night air like a blade. The words summoned shadows that stirred the wind and awoke the stillness.

From his pocket, he drew bones—gathered from the cemetery where spirits never slept. He knelt, carving symbols into the dirt surrounding the hut. The earth glowed faintly red. Each mark pulsed like a heartbeat.

He planted the bones into the ground, one by one, breathing a cold breath over each to awaken its latent power.

Then, he circled the hut.

From his satchel, he scattered earth gathered from seven different graveyards, mixed with herbs known to confuse the eyes of both the living and the dead. The wind howled in response, stirring the trees, as though nature itself bowed to the ritual's command.

"Hear me, wandering souls...
This place is closed. None shall see. None shall enter..."

A black mist crept from the ground, encircling the hut like a cocoon. It thickened with every breath, every whispered syllable. The mist was not just concealment—it was fear itself, woven into shadow. Any who came near would feel it—chilled to the core, compelled to turn back.

No one would find this place.

No one would interfere.

Standing at the center of his sealed domain, Yong San exhaled slowly. His eyes shimmered with power.

"When the ritual begins... nothing will stop it."

With that, he stepped back into the hut, leaving the forest behind. Silence returned. The mist grew denser.

And Chanya?

She would get the spell she craved.

But the cost... would be far greater than she ever imagined.

—

✨ End of Episode 46 (Part 1) ✨
The dark doesn't forget.
And power always demands its due.

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