The alley was silent now.
No screams.
No steel pipes clanging.
No fists flying.
Just the slow, uneven footsteps of a bruised boy walking out from the shadows, each step echoing with pain.
Ravi pressed a hand against his ribs. They ached like hell. Every breath was a warning. His lip was swollen, one eye darkening with a bruise. His shirt clung to him with sweat and blood.
The sun had dipped below the skyline. The street lamps flickered on, bathing the path ahead in a dull amber glow.
He didn't know if anyone saw what happened.
He didn't care.
He walked on, head down, his mind heavy with silence.
Until—
"Still dramatic, I see."
The voice came from just over his shoulder. Calm. Unbothered. Mildly amused.
Ravi turned his head—slowly.
Beside him, walking as casually as if they were headed to a café, was a tall, lean figure in a charcoal-grey hoodie, sleeves rolled up, black jeans dusted at the knees. His hair was tousled just enough to look natural, and his face carried that same unreadable calm Ravi had come to associate with gods pretending to be men.
"Seriously?" Ravi muttered. "You couldn't show up before I got my face turned into a punching bag?"
Nithin shrugged. "And deny you the satisfaction of surviving it on your own?"
Ravi winced as he walked, muttering, "Sadist."
Nithin smirked, then reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small glass vial—no bigger than a lipstick tube. The liquid inside shimmered faintly between blue and gold, like sunlight trapped underwater.
"I made this for you," Nithin said, handing it over. "Healing concentrate. Rare. Took me two realms to find the right ingredients."
Ravi looked at it skeptically. "Is it going to make me grow wings or start glowing?"
"No. It'll just fix your ribs and stop your face from looking like it lost a fight with a lawnmower," Nithin said dryly. "Drink it."
Ravi hesitated.
Then—wordlessly—he uncorked the vial and drank.
It was surprisingly cold. Minty. With a strange aftertaste that reminded him of rain hitting hot stone.
The effect was immediate.
A soft warmth bloomed through his chest, rushing to his limbs, chasing away the pain like a tide pulling back. The swelling in his lip shrank. His bruises faded like spilled ink soaking into the skin. Even his posture straightened without meaning to.
"Whoa," Ravi whispered, flexing his fingers.
"You're welcome," Nithin said, sliding his hands into his pockets.
They walked in silence for a moment, passing shuttered shops and flickering tube lights.
"You still could've helped," Ravi murmured.
"I am helping," Nithin said calmly. "Just not in the way you expect."
Ravi sighed but didn't argue. His steps were steadier now.
They reached the bend near his home. Nithin paused.
"You're not done," the god said. "Today was just one trial. The harder ones won't come with steel rods and fists. They'll come with smiles. With temptations."
Ravi looked at him. "You're talking about Arjun, aren't you?"
"I'm talking about everything," Nithin replied. "Redemption isn't just about who you protect. It's about who you don't become again."
Ravi nodded slowly.
Then—just like that—Nithin vanished.
No flare. No smoke. Just gone.
Ravi stood alone at the edge of the lane, the smell of fried lentils drifting from his house nearby.
His wounds were healed.
But inside, the real battle was just beginning.
He started walking home .
The familiar gate creaked open as Ravi stepped onto the stone path leading to his house. The warm yellow light from the living room spilled out onto the porch, dancing gently with the shadows.
He paused at the threshold.
For a brief second, he just stood there. Not from hesitation—but from something deeper. The quiet ache of returning to a place where he no longer belonged the same way. A boy who had been given a second life… now standing in the doorway of the first woman who ever believed in him.
The screen door swung open with a sharp creak.
She was already there.
His mother stood barefoot on the front step, her eyes scanning the dark lane. She wore her usual cotton saree, faded at the edges, her hair tied in a bun with loose strands sticking to her temple from the kitchen heat.
The moment she saw him, her eyes narrowed.
"Where were you?" she asked—too sharp to be casual, too soft to be scolding. "I called twice. You didn't answer."
Ravi walked closer, trying to mask the residual stiffness in his body. The potion had healed the worst of it—but not the weight in his eyes.
"Just… walking," he murmured.
Her gaze moved quickly, expertly—years of motherhood making her faster than any detective. Her eyes locked on the faded bloodstain on his shirt hem, the split at the collar, the faint bruise that hadn't fully faded on his cheek.
She stepped forward, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
"Ravi…" she breathed.
Her thumb grazed the healing mark on his face. "Did you… get into a fight?"
Ravi didn't flinch.
He just nodded once.
Her shoulders tensed. But she didn't raise her voice.
Instead, her voice dropped to a whisper. "Is it happening again? Are you slipping back into—"
"No," he said quickly.
Too quickly.
Then slower. Firmer. "No, Ma. I'm not that person anymore."
Something in his tone made her go still.
He looked into her eyes. "I stopped something bad from happening. That's all."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then—quietly—she stepped aside and opened the door wider.
"Come in. I saved you some dinner."
Ravi entered, the warmth of the house wrapping around him like a blanket he wasn't sure he deserved.
She followed behind, locking the door.
And for a while… neither of them spoke.
But somehow, in the silence, something fragile had been repaired.
The dinner passed in quiet simplicity.
Ravi barely spoke. His mother didn't press. She served him more dal than he asked for, handed him warm rotis without a word, and gently insisted he take one more spoon of rice "just in case."
When he finished, he thanked her softly and retreated to his room, the door clicking shut behind him.
She went to hers shortly after, the hallway light left on between them.
Silence settled over the house.
But elsewhere…
The night was anything but still.
---
Nithin walked through another alley.
His boots stepped lightly over damp concrete, eyes scanning the peeling walls, the broken glass, the splintered crates where rats skittered away into darkness.
To mortal eyes, the lanes were empty.
But Nithin didn't walk as mortals did. His gaze peeled through the veil. Every flicker of shadow, every drop of dried blood, every soul that had once screamed and vanished—he saw them all.
He was looking for something. Or someone.
Not the thugs Ravi had fought. No—they were dust. Irrelevant.
There was another presence he had sensed—faint, cold, distant. Watching the same girl Ravi had saved. Watching before Ravi even arrived.
A predator that preferred silence.
"Cowards don't always fight with fists," Nithin muttered to himself, eyes flicking across a cluster of rooftops.
He raised his right hand slightly.
The wind shifted.
Dust curled unnaturally.
Somewhere beneath the layers of this city's noise, he felt a sliver of something wrong. Not physical. Not fully present.
But curious.
"Still hiding," he murmured, as his hand dropped.
He stepped into the next alley, and the shadows there parted for him—not out of fear, but recognition.
He belonged to every realm. Even this one.
And in this realm, a boy was trying to change his story.
That mattered more than most would ever understand.
---
The alley ahead narrowed to a slit between two forgotten buildings, lined with dumpsters, a broken scooter, and a blackened puddle that never dried.
Nithin stepped into it like he was stepping into memory.
The air shifted again.
Thicker. Heavier.
Wrong.
He closed his eyes.
There.
It pulsed once—barely a ripple. A presence curled around rusted pipes and cracked brick, woven into the filth and stillness.
Not human.
Not alive.
But watching.
Nithin didn't bother calling gently.
His voice rang through the narrow walls like a blade dragging across steel:
> "Come out, demon."
No echo. Just silence.
Then… a hiss.
High and thin. Too quiet for mortal ears.
A shadow peeled itself off the far wall—slowly—like oil rising from a corpse.
It formed a vague shape. Long-limbed. Half-seen. Its edges flickered between rat-like and reptilian, eyes glinting with hunger and low cunning. No horns. No fire. Just filth. And rot.
The kind of demon that didn't scream or roar.
The kind that whispered to thugs in dreams. That watched girls from rooftops. That waited for someone like Ravi to fail… so it could crawl back in.
It grinned—its teeth human, its voice mocking.
> "You can't protect him forever, Dragon."
Nithin tilted his head slightly.
Didn't blink.
> "He doesn't need protection. He needs pressure."
The demon twitched. A slow shiver that echoed across brick.
> "He'll fail. Just like last time. And when he does—"
Its smile widened.
"—we'll be waiting."
Nithin stepped forward once.
That was all it took.
The entire alley shuddered.
Mold curled off walls. Rats scattered. Streetlights two blocks away flickered and died.
His hoodie didn't move. His hands stayed in his pockets. But the divine weight behind his presence crushed the space flat.
> "Try it," Nithin said softly.
"But remember who gave you permission to crawl in this world. And who can erase you from it."
The demon didn't answer. It just… evaporated.
Gone like a lie caught in daylight.
Nithin exhaled through his nose.
No victory. No drama.
Just one more roach exposed.
He turned back toward the street.
The boy still had battles to fight.
And now, so did the shadows.
The alley stank of old violence.
But Nithin remained a moment longer, standing in the middle of it — eyes half-lidded, breath steady.
He raised a hand, two fingers extended.
A soft pulse rippled outward — quiet as breath, clean as dawn.
The puddles evaporated.
Graffiti peeled from walls.
Blood vanished from concrete.
Even the rats stilled, then turned and scattered, their instincts whispering that something sacred had touched this place.
No mortal would find evidence.
No police would ask questions.
The girl would remember fear, but not confusion.
The world would move forward, unaware of the battle it had nearly lost.
Nithin lowered his hand slowly.
Then—muttering to himself—he pulled his hoodie tighter and stepped over the now-pristine ground.
> "Man, I need to recharge my mana reserves…" he muttered, rolling his shoulder.
"Traveling between universes is burning through more energy than it used to."
He sniffed once, as if annoyed by his own limits.
> "Guess even gods don't run on infinite fuel."
With a final glance at the now-empty alley, he stepped into the dark —
—and disappeared like a breath held too long.