The southern catacombs whispered.
Each breath Obavva took echoed back to her a thousandfold — as if the bones of the dead were gossiping, remembering. She moved silently, torchlight flickering across walls carved with forgotten names and ancestral symbols. Beside her, the four loyal warriors pressed on: Veda, Kaashi, Reva, and Lankesh — each chosen for loyalty, silence, and ferocity.
But even their steps felt too loud in a place meant for eternal sleep.
They reached the fork. Two tunnels diverged — one lined with statues, the other swallowed in darkness.
"Statues look safer," Lankesh whispered.
"Which is why we'll take the dark," Obavva said.
She had learned by now — comfort was deception. And deception was the Veilmakers' weapon.
The darkness grew thicker, oil-like. Their torches began to sputter, not from lack of fuel, but from something unnatural — a presence that did not want them to see. The flame recoiled from it.
But Obavva pressed on.
At the end of the tunnel, a circular chamber waited — its walls covered in metallic veins pulsing dimly. The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow. At the center stood a pedestal. On it: a blade.
Not a sword.
A relic.
It had no hilt — only a seamless fusion of obsidian and fireglass, shaped into a jagged edge that shimmered with violet iridescence.
"Shaktiraaksh," Obavva whispered, breath catching.
Veda stepped closer. "It looks… alive."
Reva reached for it.
"Don't," Obavva snapped. But it was too late.
Reva's fingers grazed the blade — and in that instant, the chamber screamed.
The walls came to life.
The metallic veins twisted, forming grotesque faces, open mouths, and clawed limbs. The shadows above dropped — not rocks, but creatures. Humanoid in shape, but eyeless, mouths stitched shut, skin tattooed with glyphs.
"Veil Sentinels!" Kaashi shouted.
The fight erupted.
Lankesh swung his axe, cutting down the first creature with a grunt. But for every one they killed, two more fell from the ceiling. Their blood was like black mercury — thick and hissing when it hit the floor.
Reva had drawn her blade, defending herself, guilt plain on her face. "I didn't mean to—"
"You touched what was waiting!" Obavva shouted, pulling her pestle free.
With a primal scream, she charged into the fray. Her pestle crushed the jaw of a Sentinel mid-leap. Another creature latched onto Veda's back — Obavva twisted and flung her dagger with perfect precision, piercing the creature's skull.
"We have to end this!" Kaashi yelled. "Take the blade!"
Obavva ran for the pedestal. The shadows screamed louder, a sound not of pain but protest. Her hand hovered over Shaktiraaksh. A strange hum began to pulse through her chest — like the blade was calling to her blood.
She gripped the weapon.
A shockwave burst through the chamber.
The shadows retreated instantly, the creatures turning to dust mid-motion. The screams died, replaced by a low hum — approval.
The blade had accepted her.
As the dust settled, Reva fell to her knees, panting.
"I… I shouldn't have—"
"You made a mistake," Obavva said, looking at her with stern but kind eyes. "You'll fix it by surviving. We all will."
The others nodded.
But something was wrong.
Lankesh wasn't speaking. He stood still… too still.
Then Obavva noticed it — a mark on the back of his neck. A glyph. Faint. But unmistakable.
"Lankesh," she said slowly. "Where did you get that scar?"
He turned — slowly. And smiled.
The smile was not his.
"Finally," he whispered. "You touch the blade… and seal your fate."
Then he threw a vial of black liquid at their feet — it shattered.
Smoke exploded.
Poison.
Obavva acted fast.
She grabbed Kaashi and Veda, dragging them out. Reva stumbled after, coughing violently. Behind them, Lankesh's laughter echoed — warped and inhuman.
They burst from the tunnel into the outer crypts, gasping.
Obavva's eyes burned. Not from the smoke.
From betrayal.
"Lankesh was a Veilmaker," Veda said, stunned.
"No," Obavva replied. "He was turned. Recently. Someone close fed him to them."
They all looked at each other — doubt spreading like rot.
Obavva held up the blade. Shaktiraaksh shimmered in her hand, already hungry.
"Then we unmask them. All of them."
Back at the Queen's chamber, Obavva relayed everything. Mallamma listened in silence, expression hardening with every word.
"I trusted Lankesh with my war strategies," she muttered. "If he's one of them…"
"He knew where to send us. He planned the trap," Obavva said. "Which means someone here gave him those instructions."
"The traitor is in the inner circle," Mallamma concluded grimly.
They locked eyes.
It was time for war.
But not against the Mysore army. Not yet.
First — they had to destroy the army within.
End of Chapter Eight