Somewhere in The Facility.
The room was almost completely dark—only the faint flicker of a wall-sized screen lit the silhouette of a man.
On the other side of the transmission, an adult male voice broke the silence. It belonged to the same man who had fought Vasu in the forest.
Man on screen: "You told me the boy had the artifact."
The silhouette's tone was sharp, almost defensive.
Silhouette: "And he did. I saw it myself. How else would a boy with a broken inheritance display that kind of power?"
The man on the screen leaned forward, voice low and deliberate.
Man on screen: "The earring isn't functioning. Not at all. If it's fake, then it's useless. If it's real… something—or someone—has locked it."
The silhouette hesitated.
Silhouette: "So you're saying…?"
Man on screen: "I'm saying the boy is the key. If the artifact won't work for us, it's because it wasn't meant to—yet. Sparing him was the right choice. Killing him now would be a waste. His inheritance is broken, but something inside him… is resisting. Find out what it is."
The silhouette's voice hardened.
Silhouette: "I'll find out. But keep your end of the deal."
A pause. Then the silhouette added, his voice lowering.
Silhouette: "Also… be careful of the one named Raj. I've seen his strength—it's on par with an Ati Maharathi."
The man on the screen chuckled darkly.
Man on screen: "Raj and Ronnie will be dealt with soon enough. A nation like Himalaya belongs under the heel of others. Why let God's inheritors rise here?"
The line crackled. Silence. Transmission ended.
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Om lay unconscious in the infirmary, his body still locked in the battle's aftershocks. His breathing was steady, but his skin was pale, the faint smell of medicinal herbs hanging in the air.
Raj stood nearby, arms folded, the light above casting sharp shadows across his face. Narad leaned against the wall, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—sharp and measuring—were fixed on Raj.
Raj's voice was calm, but it carried an edge like drawn steel.
"Mr. Narad… because Mr. Shiv trusted you, I trust you. But I need to know—what happened to Om? Who is responsible?"
Narad exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with restrained frustration.
"I am… partly responsible. Against that kind of enemy, we had no choice but to concede."
His gaze lingered on Om for a moment before returning to Raj.
"Since the days of Mr. Shiv—and even his predecessor—this nation has survived not by strength, but by intellect. That's the only reason we still stand."
Raj's brow furrowed.
Narad continued.
"The world pretends to be with us… but the truth? They don't want us to rise."
The words stirred something deep inside Raj—a quiet, controlled fury.
"Then with my strength, the Himalaya can rise. Let's show them."
Narad's gaze sharpened, the tone in his voice dropping into something darker.
"If Om's information leaked, then the League of Evil might already know about you. That's why I'm sending you on a mission. No one else will know—not even our allies."
Raj asked.
"What mission?"
Narad explained.
"With your strength, and the army we witnessed… you can challenge a nation. I want you to hunt down the master and his minions—the ones who attacked Om."
Raj's jaw tightened.
"You're saying they're still in Himalaya?"
Narad nodded grimly.
"Until now, the world believed the W.I.A and the League of Evil were sworn enemies. But this attack proves otherwise. At the very least, Arnold is working with the League. And with their resources, they've already planted themselves in our nation."
Raj's fists clenched. The air around him shimmered faintly as a dark crimson aura began to seep out—slow, steady, but laced with killing intent.
"To keep us weak. To keep us beneath their boots."
"And they'll come for you and Ronnie next."
Raj lowered his head slightly, shadows hiding his eyes, but the air seemed heavier, as if the room itself understood the oath forming in his mind.
"If they want war… I'll bring it to their doorstep."
Narad smiled with a sigh,"Yes. But you go alone."
The aura around Raj flared for a heartbeat, then condensed back into him, his control absolute. When he looked up, his eyes were cold, sharp, and utterly sure.
"Alone, I'm enough. When I'm done… they'll forget what it means to stand against Himalaya."
For a long moment, neither man spoke. Only Om's faint breathing filled the silence. Somewhere deep in the facility, a clock ticked, counting down to a war no one else yet knew had begun.
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Meanwhile, in Om's Consciousness…
A vast nothingness stretched in every direction—no light, no darkness, no sense of up or down. Om floated weightless, yet something unseen anchored him.
Before him loomed a statue of a colossal bull, its stone hide cracked and fractured as if it had endured countless storms. Behind it stood a throne-like structure, equally weathered, its surface etched with ancient runes. From both, thin fissures bled pure white light, the glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
Then—
A voice spoke. Calm. Soothing to the soul. Yet heavy, as if the weight of an entire mountain pressed upon each word.
"Kid… in the countless cycles of creation and destruction, you are only the third to hear the call of one of the three abodes of the Supremes."
A pause. The light from the cracks brightened.
"You truly are… a cursed child."
Om's heart pounded. He drifted in that void, the space around him suddenly filled with floating Sanskrit characters—the very same ones he had seen during his inheritance. They shimmered faintly, orbiting him like celestial guardians.
The bull statue's cracks widened. The white light spilled out in blinding tendrils, illuminating a towering silhouette he could not fully perceive.
"Who… who are you?" Om's voice trembled, half in awe, half in fear.
The entity laughed—deep, resonant, and strangely warm.
"Hahaha… me?"
A strange stillness followed, as if the void itself held its breath.
"My identity matters little… not after the curse. The real question, child, is—what are you?"
"What is that artificial consciousness hiding inside you?"
" And why is your mind drenched in the language of the Gods… the very laws that bind the universe?"
Before Om could speak—before he could even form the questions clawing at his mind—the cracks on the bull and throne split wide.
The world around him erupted into blinding radiance.
And then—
He woke.