My name is Bhishma Mantri. I died as a forgotten accountant in India—quietly, painfully, and alone—while the world kept spinning like I had never existed."
The clock on the wall blinked 3:17 a.m. A dull hum from the ceiling fan echoed across the empty office floor, broken only by the soft clacking of keys. Fluorescent lights flickered above like they, too, were tired of pretending to be alive.
Bhishma Mantri sat slouched at his desk, surrounded by cold coffee cups, unwashed Tupperware, and a half-eaten samosa that had gone stiff hours ago. His white shirt was crumpled. The last button was missing. His tie hung loose around his neck like a noose that hadn'tfinished its job.
This was the third all-nighter this week.
He was 28. An accountant. A nobody. The kind of person who worked overtime so his manager could take credit—and got blamed when the numbers didn't line up.
He blinked at the spreadsheet in front of him. Thousands of rows. Red-highlighted errors. Numbers that didn't care if he lived or died.
His eyes burned. His back ached. His chest... felt tight. But Bhishma ignored it like he ignored everything else. He had learned long ago that pain was cheaper than rest.
And then he gave in—just for a moment.
He opened a private browser tab.
A guilty habit. A few clicks. A distraction from reality.
"Just one video," he told himself, "then I'll go back to work."
But reality had other plans.
Without warning, a sharp pain exploded in his chest.
His fingers froze. His breath caught. Panic surged through him as the edges of his vision blurred.
He gasped, reaching for his phone—but his arms wouldn't move.
His legs gave out.
And then he collapsed onto the cold tile floor, his face pressed against the concrete like it was already his gravestone.
The last thing he saw was a pop-up on his monitor:
"You won't last 5 minutes—🔥"
Ironic.
He didn't even last five seconds
There was no tunnel of light. No gods. No judgment.
Only silence.
And then, something stirred in the void. A voice—not loud, not soft, but ancient.
"So... this is how it ends for you?"
Bhishma tried to reply, but there was no voice. Only thoughts.
He expected fear. Regret. But instead, what came was a strange sense of peace.
And then—light.Warmth wrapped around him like a forgotten memory. And when he opened his eyes again, the world had changed.
Sunlight poured through an open window.
The air smelled of wet earth, sandalwood, and something else—something ancient.
He sat up on a simple wooden bed, his skin smooth, young, and full of unfamiliar strength. The room around him was handcrafted, simple, yet humming with energy.
Then the memories returned.
Not just his life as an accountant in India.
But this life too—one lived in a nation called Bharat (India), on a parallel world known as Blue Planet.
Here, humanity had evolved differently. Power was real.Beasts were mutated by mana storms. Magic existed—not in fairy tales, but in scrolls, bloodlines, and ancient ruins.
At the age of 18, everyone in Bharat (India) underwent an Awakening Ceremony. Their Talent Rank would be revealed—deciding their role in society, their strength, and often, their fate.
The strong rose.
The weak died.
And Bhishma? He had just completed his own Awakening.
⚡ The Talent System
There were six known ranks:
Normal Talent
Special Talent
Unique Talent
Rare Talent
Legendary Talent
Mystical Talent (rumored, but unconfirmed)
Only once in recorded history had anyone awakened Mystical Talent—a man named Kim Jiang in the eastern nation of Japan. He had become a living legend.
Now, Bhishma had become the second
A glowing panel materialized in the air before him.
Name: Bhishma Mantri
Level: 1
Race: Human
Talent Rank: MYSTICAL TALENT
(Talent Effect: View the complete memory—past, present, and future—of any artifact.)
Strength: 12
Agility: 11
Mana: 3
Mental Energy: 5
He stared at the panel in silence.
Most people awakened with explosive powers—flame control, sword mastery, beast summoning. His power didn't throw fire or split mountains.
But it did something even more dangerous.
He could touch any artifact—a sword, a scroll, a ruined temple wall—and witness its entire history. What it had seen. Who had held it. What it had been created for.
Past. Present. Future.
A living archive of the ancient world.
"They'll say this is useless," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
"But I know better."
In his past life, Bhishma had studied Indian scriptures.
He had read about Mahabharata, Kundalini, yogic powers, mantras, and tantras—the forgotten spiritual sciences that once unlocked immortality.
Most of it had been dismissed as myth.
But in this world, it was all real.
And now, he could find it all.
A new path begins
Bhishma stood slowly. His hands trembled—not from weakness, but from something deeper: purpose.
This time, he wouldn't be just another file in someone's HR folder.
He wouldn't live a quiet life.
And he damn sure wouldn't die with a browser tab open to regret.
"Let them chase swords and fire."
"I will chase truth."
"I will walk the forgotten path of sages."
"And I will become the first Mystic of Bharat (India).
Support with golden ticket