In the depths of an unknown cavern, an eerie ritual was underway. The dimly lit space flickered with the glow of torches, their flames casting twisted shadows across the walls. An old man, draped in tattered robes, kneeled before a grotesque female idol.
His murmured chants echoed through the chamber, laced with a dark, sinister energy. Thick, greenish smoke curled around him, seeping from the cracks in the stone, enveloping him in a suffocating aura of power.
With a slow, deliberate movement, the old man rose, his frail figure belying the menace in his gaze. In his hand, he gripped an iron staff, its edge carved with an ominous, unfamiliar symbol.
A few feet away, the air trembled with desperate cries. A group of captives, bound and weakened, huddled in terror. Some pleaded, their voices breaking with fear—"Please… let us go…" Others screamed for salvation that would never come.
The old man strode forward, his staff tapping against the rocky ground. He halted before a trembling boy who, in one last act of defiance, tried to break free. But before he could take a step, a figure emerged from the shadows—a certain youth, his eyes void of remorse. With a single, brutal thrust, he plunged a dagger into the boy's chest.
As the life drained from his victim, the old man pressed the burning edge of his staff against the boy's forehead. A wretched, agonized scream filled the cavern as dark green smoke rose from the seared flesh, marking him forever.
The old man raised his arms, his voice rising above the suffering.
"Green represents Mother Nature, yet we—The Hollow Pact—shall rule over Mother Nature in the name of our divine ruler… the Queen of Thorns!"
"Hail the Queen of Thorns!" The youth beside him echoed in fervor.
The young disciple stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Master Shunyavakta, our army is prepared. Please, come witness the force we have gathered for the upcoming war."
With a slow nod, the old man—Shunyavakta—strode toward the cave's entrance. As he emerged into the pale moonlight, a sight of terrifying magnitude awaited him.
Before him, thousands knelt in obedience, their heads bowed in reverence. A legion of devoted followers, each one ready to enact his vision of destruction.
Shunyavakta's gaze swept over his forces, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice filled with absolute authority, he declared:
"Only 2.3 years remain until our war begins. The path to dominance is clear—gather the innocent, slaughter them, and forge them into Hollow Pact warriors. But there are five obstacles in our way."
His grip tightened around his staff as he continued:
"Two of them are already under our control through the Council of Six. But the remaining three…"
"Our first and most pressing obstacle… The choices of foolish men. Especially Aditya, the President, and his ridiculous Project M. How amusing, that he believes regrouping people under shitty project can stand against the almighty Council of Six."
"Our second obstacle… The ones who dare defy us within Project M. Though we hold the advantage, some Hollow Pact members was foolishly slain by the President's bodyguard. That mistake will not be repeated. Kill him. Immediately."
Shunyavakta's eyes darkened as he spoke the final words.
"And lastly, our greatest threat. Even though we succeeded, we failed our true mission at Numn University. I am certain—one of them survived. The unknown variable. The hidden survivor of Numn University. I do not know their identity, but I know this…
Every last one of the survivors must die."
------
The cavern fell into a tense silence as Shunyavakta's chilling words echoed through the air.
"Every survivor must die."
A certain youth, emboldened by zeal, stepped forward with barely contained excitement. "Master Shunyavakta, please allow me the honor of hunting down the survivors."
The moment those words left his lips, the temperature in the cave seemed to drop.
In an instant, Shunyavakta's withered hand lashed out, gripping the youth's throat with an iron grasp.
The sudden assault stole the air from his lungs, and a sharp gasp escaped his lips as he struggled against the crushing pressure.
"So, you dare order me… under the guise of a request?" Shunyavakta's voice was like ice, sending shivers down the spines of those watching. His grip tightened, his nails digging into the youth's skin, making it clear how little tolerance he had for insubordination.
The youth's hands shot up, desperately clawing at his master's fingers, but the effort was futile. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edge of his sight.
Shunyavakta leaned in, his gaze piercing and unrelenting. "You will obey my orders and my orders alone. If I request something, it is not for you to accept or decline. Your task is not the survivors…"
With a flick of his wrist, he flung the youth aside like a discarded doll. The force sent him crashing onto the stone floor, dust rising around him as he coughed violently, gasping for breath.
"…Your task is the President's bodyguard. Hunt him down and eliminate him."
Realizing his mistake, the youth immediately scrambled to his knees and bowed his head to the ground in submission. "Forgive me, Master Shunyavakta. I shall fulfill your will."
Shunyavakta ignored him, his gaze shifting toward the man they had stabbed earlier. The body lay motionless at first, but something unnatural was happening.
The bleeding from the man's wound had stopped entirely. His veins blackened, his skin turning an unsettling shade of dark green. A sickening laughter gurgled from his lips as his once-vacant eyes snapped open, now glowing with an unnatural light.
A Hollow Pact had been formed.
Shunyavakta allowed a rare smirk to cross his lips. "As for the remaining survivors…"
His gaze flickered toward an old, tattered poster pinned to the cavern wall. The image on it was faded, but the words were clear.
[NSRM City , Singing CHAMPIONSHIP – REGISTRATION OPEN!]
A glimmer of cruel amusement danced in his eyes. "I have already predicted and foresight the location of one survivor."
He turned toward the gathered cultists, gesturing toward the now-revived figure. "Complete the ritual. Send them to this location."
---
Meanwhile – Outside the Cave
The youth, still nursing his sore throat, made his way toward a rusted jeep parked at the edge of their encampment. Eight figures awaited him, all clad in dark robes, their eyes filled with anticipation.
One of them stepped forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "We found the location of the President's bodyguard."
At those words, the youth let out a low chuckle. He rubbed the bruises on his neck, the lingering pain a reminder of Shunyavakta's lesson.
Then, a twisted smile stretched across his face. "Perfect. Let's meet, greet, and kill our prey."
He climbed into the driver's seat, revving the engine. The jeep roared to life, its headlights cutting through the darkness as they sped off into the night—toward their next target.
---------
Deep within a dense forest, the night was alive with chaos. Metallic sound waves cut through the air like invisible blades, followed by sudden bursts of red flashes illuminating the trees like eerie warning signals.
Yet, amidst the deadly spectacle, a lone man stood, unfazed. His dagger flickered in the dim light, moving with impossible precision. Every time a soundwave rushed toward him, he countered with his own metallic resonance, creating a sharp clash that echoed through the woods.
He murmured under his breath, "These red flashes are useless against me."
His movements were smooth, calculated—like a hunter playing with his prey. Then, his sharp gaze caught sight of a group of thirty figures emerging from the darkness.
Without hesitation, he moved.
The sound of flesh being torn filled the air as he weaved through them, his dagger dancing through their ranks with merciless efficiency. Bodies fell. Blood stained the forest floor.
But then, something unusual happened.
Among the corpses, two figures he had already slain moments ago were rising again.
His expression didn't change—there was no shock, only a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "…So, my Theory No. 8 is also correct."
With a deep sigh, he ran his bloodied fingers through his hair. "Only two theories left."
He kicked aside one of the twitching bodies before settling himself down on the thick stump of a fallen tree. For a brief moment, silence returned to the forest, broken only by his steady breathing.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, only to find the screen completely black. He stared at it blankly before exhaling in mild annoyance.
"Battery's dead. Just my luck."
His gaze drifted toward the sky, watching the faint shimmer of stars peeking through the forest canopy. Then, almost as if speaking to the universe itself, he murmured…
"Rathore…don't fail this mission."
Whether it was a wish, a warning, or a premonition, only he knew.
But the moment of quiet didn't last.
A shift in the air. A whisper of movement. The rustling of leaves, too unnatural to be the wind.
His eyes snapped back to the forest. Fifty figures now surrounded him, their silhouettes emerging from the shadows.
And worse—some of the enemies he had already slain before were standing again.
A wicked grin spread across his face. He stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders as his dagger gleamed under the dim moonlight.
"So… you think I'm tired?" He let out a dry chuckle, stretching his neck.
Then, his voice boomed across the clearing—filled with untamed excitement.
"Let's see then—who hunts, and who gets hunted!"
As the night deepened, the forest became a graveyard of the fallen—only for the dead to rise again, their hollow laughter echoing through the trees. But Rudra didn't stop. His dagger gleamed under the crimson moon, carving through flesh and bone with ruthless precision, his every move a testament to relentless mastery.
The hunt was no longer just survival; it was domination. With each enemy that fell, only to stand again, his smirk widened—because no matter how many times they rose, he would cut them down again and again, until the forest knew only one name: Rudra, the eternal hunter