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- Kamal Asthaan, Ujjain -
- November 10, 1939 -
The chamber that Aryan called his office was quiet except for the faint sound of the river breeze brushing against the open windows. His desk was strewn with papers, maps, and half-finished sketches of sigils that glowed faintly under his touch. Behind all of this, his mind was elsewhere.
He had grown accustomed to his newly acquired skills. The energy within him no longer felt foreign, no longer burned him with every breath. It had begun to flow as though it had always belonged there, weaving with his own strength. What occupied him now was the slow, deliberate work of bloodline integration.
"Current level: twelve percent," Vaani's calm voice whispered in his mind.
Aryan leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He knew well what this meant. The first threshold awaited him at twenty percent — the point where his bloodline would open in a way that would change everything. Vaani had made it clear: only after that would he stand a real chance of stepping into the void and surviving the enlightenment it demanded.
He had faced battles, empires, gods, and monsters. But this felt different. The void was not an enemy he could strike down with his fists. It was a path that demanded surrender as much as it demanded strength. And he was not foolish — he wanted every advantage he could gather before attempting it.
"I will reach twenty percent," he murmured to himself, not as a hope, but as a promise.
For now, though, other matters lingered. His thoughts drifted to Britain, to the shadow that was Morgan le Fey. She moved her pieces carefully, bending the Kingsmen under her will. But Aryan did not move against her yet. He had seen enough of her to know she would not shatter their truce so easily. Fear lingered in her eyes when she faced him — whether it was her own, or the caution of the other self she had absorbed, he couldn't be certain. But fear was there, and that gave him room to breathe.
Still, Aryan was not one to leave doors unguarded.
"The Hidden Flame will watch her closely," he ordered earlier that day, his tone leaving no space for doubt. "If her hand strays, act. Interfere. Do not wait for my word."
Those loyal shadows, his Hidden Flame, had bowed deeply and vanished into the dark to carry out his command. He trusted them — they were his eyes where he could not walk himself.
And then there was Egsy. Aryan almost smiled when he thought of the young agent. He had seen through the boy's act during his visit to the Kingsman base, despite him being unconscious at the time due to his Haki's effects. Egsy wore obedience like a mask, hiding his defiance. The way he spoke, the subtle flicker in his gaze — Aryan knew he was pretending. That kind of courage in such an unfamiliar world impressed him.
"Will he turn to America, to the Statesmen? Or perhaps Carter, or MI6?" Aryan wondered aloud, the curiosity easing some of the weight on his shoulders. Whatever Egsy's plan, Aryan wanted to see how it unfolded. Sometimes, watching others carve their path was as instructive as walking one's own.
Yet, the heart of his focus was here, in Bharat.
The supernatural side of his homeland was still a tangled mess — factions clashing, old spirits roaming unchecked, ancient traditions clinging stubbornly even when they caused more harm than good. Aryan could not allow that chaos to last. Not if Bharat was to rise.
So he had sent his Void Servants.
They were his will made manifest, his soldiers who carried both discipline and strength beyond mortal measure. Their duty now was to bring order, to take control of the supernatural landscape of Bharat and weave it into something unified, something that served the future instead of feeding on the past.
Aryan closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back in his chair.
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- A Remote Village, Chattisgarh -
- November 10, 1939 | Midnight -
Deep in the heart of Chhattisgarh, the night was alive. Not with the sound of birds or crickets, but with something older. Whispers rode on the wind, carrying names that villagers never spoke aloud after dark. Fireflies glowed faintly near the sal trees, but even their light seemed uneasy, flickering as if something unseen pressed down upon them.
The forest here had always been haunted. For generations, the people of the nearby village spoke of Betal and Prets that lurked near the riverbanks, of witches who danced under mahua trees, and of shadowy figures that sometimes stole cattle or made children sick. Some spirits helped, others harmed, but all demanded respect. And since Aryan's rise as Samrat, those restless presences had grown sharper, more violent, as though they too sensed their place in the world changing.
That was why a squad of Void Servants now marched beneath the dense canopy, their blackened armor gleaming faintly under the moonlight.
At their head strode Varaki, once a towering demon-like monster that Aryan had crushed in the dungeons of the other world. His corpse had been remade into something darker, but not mindless. Now, with a voice like gravel and burning violet eyes, he led his squad with grim certainty. He was tier-5, strong enough to split boulders with his claws, but more importantly, he could think, speak, and command.
Behind him followed a dozen others — monstrous shapes twisted by the Void, yet disciplined like soldiers. They were his loyal followers from the time when he was defeated by Aryan in the Dungeon world, who alongside him were also converted into Void Servants and put under his leadership again. Some carried jagged weapons that dripped with faint black mist, others simply walked on clawed feet, their breaths steaming unnaturally in the night.
Despite their appearance, the people of the nearby village had no fear. In fact, when the first villagers spotted the dark squad moving toward the forest shrine, they bowed, pressing foreheads to the ground.
"They are the Samrat's shadows," one old man whispered. "They come to free us."
The squad moved silently until they reached the shrine at the forest's edge — a crumbling platform of stone where offerings of rice and flowers lay scattered. Candles flickered nervously in the night wind. It was here that the Dakini, a spirit who once protected the village, had turned restless. Where once she healed the sick and blessed crops, she now appeared at night wreathed in fire, demanding sacrifices of goats and grain. Those who refused suffered from sudden fevers, their fields blighted by unseen hands.
Varaki raised his clawed hand, and the squad spread out, surrounding the shrine like an unholy guard. The villagers stood at a distance, watching with bated breath.
From the shadows of the trees, a sound rose — a laugh, high and shrill, echoing like broken bells. The Dakini appeared, her body glowing faintly blue, her hair flowing like smoke, her eyes burning with hunger.
"You dare intrude upon my forest?" she hissed, her voice sharp enough to sting the ears of mortals. "This land is mine. These people are mine. Leave, or burn with them."
Varaki stepped forward, unflinching. His jagged teeth glinted as he spoke in a deep, steady tone.
"This land belongs to the people," he said. "And the people belong under Samrat's protection. You will bend or you will be broken."
The Dakini shrieked, the trees shuddering with her rage. Fire swept around her in a ring, scorching the grass. Her form twisted, elongating into something more monstrous — a mouth too wide, claws too sharp, eyes filled with malice.
But Varaki only growled low, a rumble like a storm.
"Squad — forward."
The Void Servants charged. Shadows spilled with them, blotting out the moonlight, their claws tearing through the flaming barrier. The Dakini shrieked again, launching fire and illusions, filling the air with cries of children and screams of dying animals. For a moment, the battlefield was chaos.
Yet the Void Servants did not waver. They had once been monsters themselves. Fear and illusions were their old weapons. Now, under Aryan's will, such tricks were nothing but dust.
Varaki himself leapt into the air, his claws igniting with void-fire as he struck the Dakini's chest. She howled, her glowing form cracking like glass.
"Submit," Varaki thundered, pinning her down. "Or vanish from this world."
The Dakini writhed, her power surging, but she saw the inevitability in those violet eyes. These were no mere hunters. These were shadows bound to something greater than even her old gods. With a final, trembling scream, her body dissolved into pale light. Bound chains of void wrapped around her essence, forcing her to kneel.
The villagers gasped as the once-feared spirit lowered her head. Varaki turned to them, his voice loud, echoing across the night.
"She is no longer your master. She serves Samrat now. Her strength will bless your fields once more, but her cruelty is ended. Remember this — the Samrat watches over you, always."
The people fell to their knees, tears streaming down their faces. To them, the sight of a spirit bound by Aryan's will was proof beyond doubt. His shadows were not curses. They were deliverance.
And as the Void Servants marched back into the forest, their mission complete, whispers spread quickly from village to village.
The supernatural forces of Bharat were not untouchable anymore. One by one, they would bow to the Samrat.
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