A ripple of laughter spread through the enemy ranks — cloaked silhouettes, faces hidden under hoods slick with poison mist. The air stank of rot and victory. From the broken courtyard, Kartik heard it echo: Varunaas and his dark-hearted allies mocking the warriors of Trinetra who now knelt, drained and trembling, as if the
gods themselves had turned away.
Agastyan, old ink bands across his arms dimming like dying embers, raised his voice, ragged yet defiant.
"What is the meaning of this? Has the lord forsaken us?"
His words cut through the black mist, brittle as old bone.
Varunaas stepped forward, grin wide, black flames flickering in his cupped palms. His gaze was hollow with contempt.
"Yes, old man. Your god cannot help you now."
He lifted his hand toward the sky, where tatters of a rain-soaked barrier shimmered weakly above.
"The black rain we called down earlier carried a curse. Water seeped into your divine eyes breaking the sacred flow that binds you to Shiva. Without that, you cannot draw power. You're nothing more than men and beasts awaiting slaughter."
Agastyan's throat tightened. His gaze swept over the fallen warriors — Nataraj monks collapsed in prayer stances, Pashupati tamers weeping beside dying companions, Rudra swords cracked against the stone.
Even the jungle beasts whined and clawed at the ground, confusion clouding eyes once bright with divine will.
A distant, echoing crack split the air.
Heads turned skyward. The barrier overhead — the last fragile shield conjured by the Nataraj seers fractured, light bleeding from the cracks. A heartbeat later, it broke apart entirely. Black rain poured anew, heavy and merciless. The sacred courtyard hissed under its taint.
Kartik watched through blurred vision as droplets struck the warriors around him. Ranthak's spirit snakes spasmed, scales dimming to lifeless grey. Even the animals, loyal companions from childhood, howled and turned wild-eyed, claws lashing at friend and foe alike.
Panic roared to life. A Rudra disciple raised his sword, trying to calm his maddened deer companion — only for the beast to gore him through the stomach. Screams rose. Ashen stone turned slick with blood.
Is this the end? Kartik thought. Have the gods truly abandoned us?
Varunaas threw back his head and laughed, the sound carrying over the chaos.
"At last, the end of this pathetic village — whose people cling to faith, never knowing
freedom. Such weakness deserves only ruin!"
Nearby, Agastyan, despite his dimmed bands, surged forward, voice hoarse with fury. His palms ignited in flickering purple flame.
"You will not break Trinetra so easily!"
Varunaas answered with a gout of black fire. Stone cracked, heat scalded the air, and shadows danced wildly across the courtyard walls.
Agastyan spun aside, boots grinding broken tile, and unleashed a roaring pillar of divine flame. It slammed into Varunaas, forcing him back a step. But Varunaas's laughter barely faltered. Black flames roiled outward,
swallowing Agastyan's attack. The old warrior stumbled, gasping — the broken divine flow left him slower, weaker.
To the side, Ranthak, half-kneeling among his fallen spirit snakes, dragged himself to his feet. He glared at Kraan, whose bone chains dragged yet another dying bear across the blood-soaked stones. Venom
shadows danced beside Kraan, Nishaara's deadly craft, whispering death into every movement.
Ranthak roared, lunging forward. The final power of spirit snake he used and the snake, fangs bared. Together, they struck. The snake latched onto an undead tiger's skull, shattering bone in a shower of black dust. Ranthak's claws met Kraan's chains, sparks showering the air. But the weight of the curse pressed on him — muscles
trembling, breath ragged.
Nishaara's eyes glinted. Venom shadows wrapped around Ranthak's arm, burning into flesh. He snarled in agony, forcing himself to keep fighting.
Don't stop, Kartik's mind screamed at them. Don't fall…
But his own body felt heavy as stone. His knees refused to rise. Blood, warm and sticky, trailed down his chin.
Above the carnage, Varunaas stepped closer to Agastyan, his voice low, mocking.
"Even your god's flame flickers now, old man."
And from behind Varunaas, the cloaked enemy warriors closed ranks — dozens of them, each a shadow cast by hate. Their laughter mingled with the hiss of black rain.
Kartik's heart ached. He turned his head painfully, eyes searching the ruined courtyard. Bodies littered the stone — brothers and sisters of training, teachers who had once corrected his stance, the little girl who'd laughed shyly when she fed his empty stomach.
All fallen…
A faint voice, raw with pain, broke his spiral of guilt.
"Big bro… please help…"
Kartik's gaze snapped toward her. The little girl lay not far, hair matted with rain and blood. Each breath made her tiny chest shake. Memories flashed: her offering him water after dawn training, feeding the wounded deer by the forest edge, the shy pride when he praised her courage.
His vision blurred.
She's still alive… but for how long?
A cold voice cut through his thoughts. Maayak stepped forward, shadows twisting at his heels, eyes narrowed in cruel delight.
"So she still speaks?"
With a flick of his wrist, Maayak strode toward the child, hatred coiling around him.
No! Kartik's mind screamed. His legs felt dead, but he forced himself up, bones grinding in protest. His sword trembled in his hand.
Maayak's laughter danced like a serpent. "Still trying?"
Kartik swung desperately. Steel clashed against illusion. Maayak blurred, shadows rippling.
A punch sank into Kartik's gut, breath exploding from his lungs. Another blow to his ribs; pain bloomed sharp as lightning. Maayak grabbed Kartik's hair, dragging his face up.
"Try stopping me if you can."
A brutal punch sent Kartik sprawling. Stone bit into his back. His vision swam with blood and rain.
He crawled, breath ragged, toward the little girl. She looked at him, eyes wide, tears mixing with black rain.
"Big bro… please…stop"
Maayak's boot came down on Kartik's hand. Bones ground painfully. Kartik screamed, trying to pull free.
Maayak dragged the girl away. Kartik reached, fingertips brushing her sleeve — but Maayak yanked her from his grasp.
"Let her go…" Kartik rasped.
Maayak knelt beside the girl. His gloved hand slapped her cheek — once, twice, slowly, deliberately.
"Look well, divine warrior," Maayak spat. "This is the power of your god? You can't even protect a child. And yet you dare dream of saving the world?"
Kartik's tears mixed with the rain. He clenched his broken hand, nails cutting into flesh. His gaze rose...
To be continued...