The black dome still trembled from Vikram's defeat. The echo of his body crashing through the stands rolled through Nalanda's bones like a funeral drum.
Even the banners seemed afraid to flutter. The air was heavy, reverent, choking with disbelief.
"He didn't even move…"
"Was that mercy or execution?"
"Crown Rank Instructor Aditya Raj—what kind of monster is that child?"
On the VIP balcony, voices traded venom under their breath.
The Yamalok Monk Elder reclined lazily, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
"Let the children worship their false god. The Raj bloodline was born from the void, not the light. Tonight my prodigy will remind them what true lineage means."
The Lotus Pavilion Elder exhaled through his nose.
"You breed arrogance like plague. Darkness devours its own."
The Beastmaster Elder cracked his scaled knuckles.
"If your girl survives, I'll lend her a dragon. If she fails—she'll feed one."
Principal Devendra stood silent, eyes fixed on the black dome.
"They think they're watching an instructor," he murmured. "They're watching a calamity pretending to be human."
At Nalanda's gates, space itself rippled. A bloom of violet-black light tore through the evening, humming with void resonance.
From it stepped Deepali Raj, age eight, draped in monks' robes so black they seemed to drink the sun. Her eyes—two eclipses—gleamed with amethyst fire. Every footstep cracked the stone; even the ground rejected her.
"Where is he?" she demanded, voice like a blade. "Where is that idiot brother of mine?"
The guards froze.
Then, from the crowd:
"… Crown Rank Instructor Aditya Raj—did you see what he did—"
She turned. Stillness. Then a smile, curved and venomous.
"Someone dares wear my brother's name?" she hissed. "Mocking the Raj bloodline for amusement? Fine. I'll erase this impostor and take the title back myself."
The air rippled in pain around her as she walked forward.
When Deepali entered Nalanda's waiting hall of contenders, the air folded around her. Conversation died mid-syllable; laughter collapsed into silence.
"You saw what happens when fools face power unprepared," she said softly. "Death doesn't honor courage—it eats it."
A boy from an outer clan muttered, "So says the girl who hides behind shadows—"
Reality twisted. The boy gasped and dropped to his knees, blood running from his nose.
"Lesson one," she said. "The void doesn't forget."
The crowd stepped back, fear crawling up their spines.
That night, beneath blue voidfire torches, Deepali gathered the restless—forty-one students desperate for shortcuts.
She raised her hand; a black cube hovered above her palm, etched with runes that pulsed like a living wound. It cracked open, revealing twenty-nine artifacts—rings, pendants, talismans pulsing with cold hunger.
"These were forged from temples devoured by the void," she declared. "Wear them. They will harden your bones, sharpen your minds, drown your fear. Listener, Lower, Upper—tear through them all. And when you reach that masked fraud, you will take the crown."
Her voice coiled around their hearts like smoke.
Twenty-nine stepped forward.
As fingers touched metal, the air screamed. Their veins glowed faint blue; shadows bent toward them.
From behind, Bhaskar Draksha crossed his arms.
"Power borrowed is power stolen from your own soul."
Deepali didn't even look at him. "Spoken like a beast too dull to steal fire."
Sita Lotusfold pressed her palms together, a soft glow blooming between them.
"You're feeding a hunger that never ends."
Deepali laughed. "The lotus speaks of hunger? Tell me, flower, what grows faster—purity or rot?"
Sita opened her eyes—serene, almost pitying.
"Rot grows quickly. Purity lasts."
The words brushed against Deepali's pride like acid.
Roshni stepped forward, eyes bright with defiance.
"Instructor Aditya doesn't forgive cheaters. You're walking into your own execution."
Deepali's lip curled. "Execution? No. Ascension. You'll watch from the mud while I burn the sky."
Zhang Xuan, leaning against a pillar, chuckled. "You talk like thunder before it learns rain."
Her gaze snapped toward him.
"Sectless trash. What could you know of power?"
He smirked. "Enough to know it doesn't come from jewelry."
She stepped closer, aura humming. "Careful, stray dog. I leash what I bite."
Bhaskar moved between them. "Enough. You'll get your fight soon. Save your poison for the dome."
Deepali's smile widened. "Oh, I will."
She turned to the crowd.
"The rest of you—kneel to your fear or rise with me. The void crowns only those who demand it."
Twenty-nine kneeled. The pact was sealed.
The Next Morning
The sun rose pale and sickly.
Those who wore Deepali's artifacts entered the domes first. The air shimmered around them; their movements blurred like ghosts.
Listener-Rank instructors fell without landing a strike.
Lower-Ranks tried, failed, and bowed in disbelief.
Each victory bled the color from the students' faces, their veins glowing blue-black.
In the stands, Sita whispered, "Their spirits are fraying."
Roshni nodded grimly. "They traded discipline for desperation."
The crowd's cheers turned uneasy. Every dome that shattered made the air colder.
Inside his dome, Aryan watched through flickering screens of light. His mask tilted, unreadable.
[System: "External rule breach detected. Amplification ×3. Creative cheating achieved."]
He blinked once.
"Cheating?"
[System: "Optimism with accessories."]
"Let's see how far it gets them."
Domes broke like eggshells. Instructors stumbled out, drained.
The announcer's voice cracked, disbelief leaking through his training.
"Batch Two has… cleared all ranks! Listener, Lower, Upper—defeated!"
Gasps, then silence.
Elders stared, expressions tight.
The Yamalok Elder rose, laughter booming.
"Behold! Deepali Raj—true scion of the void! The Raj blood returns triumphant!"
The Lotus Elder snapped, "Triumphant? She's burning her own essence."
"Better burned than forgotten," the Yamalok elder spat.
Principal Devendra murmured,
"Void against Death. The balance tilts."
From the last dome, Deepali strode into the light, robes tattered, eyes gleaming like polished obsidian. Her followers trailed behind, twenty-nine figures trembling under the weight of unnatural power.
The crowd parted.
She laughed—a sharp, mirthless sound.
"So this is Nalanda? The great academy that worships discipline? I see only slaves bound by fear. Instructors hiding behind mercy. Elders watching behind glass. Pathetic."
Gasps rippled through the stands.
She pointed toward the central black dome.
"I, Deepali Raj of Yamalok, reject your coward's rules. No three-move mercy. I and my twenty-nine will tear your Crown Instructor from his throne and claim the crown by right!"
The Yamalok elder clapped slowly, pride gleaming like oil.
"That's my blood."
Around her, students exchanged uneasy glances.
Bhaskar, voice low: "She's lighting herself on fire and calling it sunlight."
Roshni: "When pride drowns, it drags the world with it."
Sita folded her hands, eyes closed. "Every storm believes it is eternal—until dawn arrives."
Zhang Xuan smirked. "Let's see if her void knows how to swim."
Deepali turned to them, eyes flashing.
"Still clinging to your morals? Keep them. I'll bring you his mask as a souvenir."
She spat on the ground near Roshni's feet. "You can polish it with your tears."
Roshni's fingers twitched toward her blade before Sita's hand stopped her.
Sita's voice was soft, crystalline.
"Do not answer poison with breath. The lotus blooms even in filth."
Deepali laughed. "Keep blooming, saint. The void loves flowers—it buries them first."
The sky dimmed again. The air itself seemed to wait.
Thirty figures moved across the arena, step by synchronized step, each echo metallic, hollow, heavy.
The runes carved along the black dome pulsed crimson, as though sensing blood.
One follower whispered, trembling,
"Why does it look alive?"
Deepali didn't slow.
"Because the world fears what it can't control. So should you."
She reached the dome, extended her hand. The surface rippled like living ink, then inhaled.
In a single, soundless breath, all thirty vanished—swallowed by crimson haze.
The crowd froze. Elders leaned forward, speechless.
Principal Devendra's words fell like final rites:
"The second crown challenge… has begun."
The dome pulsed once—slow, deliberate—like a heartbeat in the dark.