The barrier opened.
Both Vishnu and Bhagya stood frozen, eyes wide as the fabric of space unraveled before them like threads peeling from a sacred tapestry.
What lay beyond was not what they had imagined.
A strange world unfolded—a sky that, at first glance, seemed almost ordinary.
But it wasn't blue.
It burned.
An ominous orange hue stretched endlessly overhead, like a dying sun bleeding across the heavens. The clouds weren't clouds at all—they twisted and writhed like smoke from an unseen fire, their edges glowing faintly as though lit from within by embers. A distant rumble echoed through the air, neither thunder nor wind, but something heavier, like the growl of the world itself.
Bhagya's breath caught.
"Father... the clouds," he whispered, his voice trembling
They weren't clouds.
Floating high above were chunks of industrial waste—twisted metal, shattered glass domes, and fragments of scorched machinery. Rusted engines and flickering neon signs hovered as if suspended by invisible threads.
And among them... figures.
Hooded. Drifting silently.
Sorcerers—but not divine, like in ancient tales. These were darker, twisted beings—cloaked in broken-tech armor, glowing with corrupted runes burned into their spines.
Vishnu clenched his fists.
"This isn't sky," he said grimly.
"It's a graveyard... pretending to be one."
The air was dry—too dry.
Bhagya wiped the sweat trickling down his temple, squinting at the scorched horizon beyond the last shimmer of the Shambhala barrier. The snow-covered glaciers that once kissed their valley were gone.
In their place: jagged stone ridges, blackened and cracked beneath a sun that felt... wrong.
"It's hot," Bhagya murmured. "How can it be this hot above the clouds? Wasn't everything covered in ice?"
Vishnu, still recovering from the ordeal at the barrier, narrowed his eyes at the vast emptiness ahead.
"The ice didn't melt," he said. "It vanished.
This isn't natural heat... it's like something stole the cold."
Bhagya crouched, brushing his hand across the dirt. It was soft—almost powder-like. Ash.
There were no trees. No birds. No wind. Just sun... and silence.
"It feels like the world was burned... and buried," he whispered.
Vishnu pulsed gently, scanning. The silence was too perfect—like the stillness before a storm.
Then came a breeze. Unnatural. Sharp.
It carried no scent.
But it carried... footsteps.
From behind a blackened ridge, a figure emerged—cloaked in something that shimmered like liquid shadow. His face was masked by a cracked respirator, wires twitching from it like broken nerves. One eye glowed an ominous red.
"Target confirmed," the figure said flatly.
Without warning, the man's hand lifted—and light gathered in his palm.
Not ordinary light, but raw energy, twisting and snarling like a living thing. It condensed, forming a jagged blade of lightning, each crackle casting violent shadows on his face. The air hissed, as if reality itself flinched at the weapon's existence.
Vishnu's breath slowed. His mind sharpened, every thought aligning like pieces on a chessboard. He studied the man's stance, his eyes tracking the rhythm of his movements, the way the lightning swelled—as though reading the intent behind the strike.
"Bhagya," he said, his voice calm but firm, "stay behind me. Run when I say."
But the man was already mid-strike.
The electric blade sliced past Vishnu's chest, narrowly missing—but even a near-miss was dangerous.
The edge didn't need to cut.
It just needed to touch the air near flesh.
A thin trail of blood seeped from Vishnu's side—not from a visible wound, but from within, as if his bloodstream was being pulled out by invisible hooks.
Bhagya gasped.
The blood hovered mid-air, coiling like crimson thread, drawn into the blade as though it were feeding.
"That's not a weapon," Vishnu growled, staggering. "It's a leech."
The attacker tilted his head, analyzing.
"Threat level: Moderate.
Elimination—authorized."
He lunged again—faster.
Vishnu grabbed a handful of ash, a desperate move to blind or escape.
Bhagya's hands trembled. His mind raced.
"What is happening to Father?"
"What should I do?"
"At this rate... he'll die."
I have to clone.
He declared a sacred chant taught by Balveer:
"The night will end, the morning will bloom.
Give Mother Gaya the power of doom."
A strange energy pulsed in the air, heavy and unyielding.
"Huh?" Bhagya blinked, his hands trembling as he tried the technique again. Nothing happened. No shimmering copies appeared.
"Why... why can't I clone?!" His voice cracked with frustration and fear, as though the very air was swallowing his power.
Then it struck him—Balveer's words from days ago:
"A person can clone infinitely if their soul holds enough spiritual power.
But such a feat is impossible—except for higher spiritual beings."
He wasn't ready.
A partial clone shimmered briefly—then vanished.
But instinct roared louder than fear.
He snatched a small rock and hurled it at the attacker's face.
It bounced off harmlessly.
The masked man turned. Slowly.
He had no intention of sparing the child.
The man strode toward them, each step slow but heavy, the lightning blade crackling in his hand. His eyes were cold, fixed on Bhagya like a predator closing in on its prey.
Vishnu saw it—there was no time.
"Bhagya—RUN NOW!"
He stepped forward.
The ground cracked beneath his feet. Wind howled as a storm of blue aura surged across his body, burning like divine fire. His eyes glowed—not with rage, but with ancestral resolve.
"If you want my blood..."
"...then choke on it."
The masked man raised his blade—but it was too late.
Vishnu lunged, landing a direct palm strike to his chest, sending him crashing into a boulder with a thunderous crack.
The attacker staggered. But something shifted.
Above, the sky pulsed.
"Hyaah... YAAAHHHH!!"
Vishnu screamed as chakra overflowed—too vast to contain.
The sky whispered:
"Muladhara Chakra — Root Chakra: Awakened."
The earth rumbled. Mountains leaned in.
A voice spoke—not aloud, but through the soul:
"Root of survival.
Seat of memory.
Touch the Earth and be remembered."
Vishnu's mind was flooded with understanding:
—Muladhara Chakra—
Element: Earth
Location: Base of the spine
Abilities: Memory transfer. Strength boost. Spiritual awakening.
At peak: Influence over the weak-willed.
His body shimmered with a strange spiritual force, radiating a presence that made even the attacker hesitate mid-step.
The man's grip on the lightning blade loosened slightly, his eyes narrowing with sudden caution.
"Hmm," he muttered, voice low and probing. "So... who are you? Why are you at the border zone? This is military territory. Don't tell me... you're a spy?"
Vishnu, panting, stepped forward. His hands rose, open in peace.
"We're not spies.
We're just people... from the other side.
We didn't come to fight.
We came because we had nowhere else to go."
Bhagya peeked from behind a rock, hope flickering in his eyes.
And then—
The world turned upside down
A flash.
A soundless slice.
The world blinked.
Vishnu's head dropped.
His body stayed standing.
Then—collapsed.
The masked man's sword flickered with fresh red.
Bhagya let out a scream that didn't sound like a child's—
—it sounded like a world breaking.
To be continued.....