When Om woke, the first thing he noticed was the weight.
Bandages.
Wrapped from head to toe, leaving only his face exposed. His limbs refused to obey him, as if each muscle had been replaced with stone and pain.
He tried—once, twice—and finally managed to tilt his head left.
A digital clock blinked in the dim infirmary light.
01:35 AM
04:05:2105
A dry chuckle escaped his lips, followed by a shallow sigh.
"Three days…" he muttered.
"So, the match with Mr. Raj's already history."
A faint, rhythmic sound reached him—slow, even breathing, with the occasional soft snore.
With effort, he turned his head to the right.
Raj was sprawled on the infirmary sofa, head tilted back, arms crossed, sleeping like a man who'd never heard of tension.
Om's lips curved slightly.
"That's Raj for you… sleeps through earthquakes and armageddon alike."
He still didn't know what Raj was about to do for him.
Then—an icy jolt.
His hand twitched, searching instinctively.
The earring was gone.
"Zero! Zero, respond!"
[I'm here, Master.]
Om exhaled sharply, his heart slowing.
"Damn… I thought I'd lost you."
[Since merging with you during the enhancement, my previous shell—your earring—serves no purpose.]
[I'm part of you now. Permanently.]
Om let his head fall back.
"You could've started with that instead of nearly killing me from panic."
[Noted for future conversations.]
He chuckled, then sobered.
"How long until I'm back on my feet?"
[Under normal conditions, less than a day. But the Sanskrit inscriptions on your body are resisting my autonomous healing protocol.]
[Now that you're conscious, with your help and your natural recovery rate, you'll be battle-ready in two days—maximum.]
Om blinked.
"Hold on… autonomous healing? Since when do you have that?"
[Since your last forest battle. I calculated the necessity. While you were in treatment, I constructed the function.]
[However, its efficiency is currently hindered by those inscriptions.]
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Good initiative, Zero. Keep going."
[Acknowledged.]
Somewhere deep inside, the Sanskrit markings pulsed faintly—gold light flickering before fading into stillness.
A yawn caught him off guard.
"I'm done for today… wake me if the world's ending."
[Understood. Sleep well, Master.]
Darkness claimed him once again.
.
.
.
.
The room fell silent once more after Om slipped into unconsciousness, his breathing soft and steady.
In the corner, Raj stirred.
One eye opened, then the other. For a moment, he sat still, listening—to the room, to the distant hum of the facility, to something only he could hear.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Time."
Slowly, he rose from the sofa, stretching his shoulders. But as he did, the air seemed to shift—growing heavier, colder. A shadow pooled at his feet, spreading outward like ink spilled across the floor.
The darkness clung to him, curling around his frame before seeping upward in twisting tendrils.
From the void at his back, two towering skeletal figures emerged—blackened bone, jagged armor fused to their forms, their empty eye sockets burning with a pale, unholy light. Their very presence warped the air, as if reality itself was reluctant to acknowledge them.
Raj's voice, low and commanding, cut through the stillness.
"You will guard him."
The skeletons inclined their heads in unison.
"If any threat dares come for Om… erase it. And make sure no one—no one—learns you exist."
The skeletal warriors let out a soundless acknowledgment, their figures flickering briefly before sinking into the shadows beneath Om's bed. The darkness swallowed them whole.
Raj glanced at Om one last time, his smirk fading into something unreadable.
"Don't make this harder than it already is, Om."
Then, without a sound, his form unraveled—his body dissolving into a swirling black mist that rose and seeped through the infirmary ceiling like smoke caught in a cold wind.
.
.
.
.
A day later.
Somewhere in the Himalaya Nation – An Abandoned Railway Tunnel
The mist poured from a crack in the wall, curling and reforming until Raj stood once more—boots crunching on gravel, eyes scanning the pitch-black corridor.
The air reeked of rot and rust. Water dripped somewhere in the distance.
From the far end of the tunnel, glints of red began to appear. Dozens of them. Eyes—hungry, unblinking, feral. The minions of the League of Evil.
A low, bone-deep growl rolled through the darkness as their twisted forms emerged—mutated warriors with jagged teeth and weapons fused to their flesh.
Raj's hand lowered to his side, brushing against a coil of black leather. It twitched at his touch, like a living thing straining for release.
"Hungry, aren't you?"
The whip hissed in response—no sound of rope, but the rasp of something breathing.
One of the creatures screeched and lunged. The whip snapped forward with a deafening crack.
It wasn't speed that killed the thing—it was the way the whip's black light punched through its skull without leaving a mark.
The creature's body dropped instantly, eyes dull and lifeless.
Its soul—torn free—was swallowed whole by the whip, whose surface pulsed briefly like something savoring a meal.
The others hesitated.
Raj smiled coldly.
"Good. You understand fear."
He moved.
The whip lashed through the tunnel in arcs of black fire, each strike passing through armor, flesh, and bone as if they were mist. Every time it connected, another soul was ripped screaming from its body, devoured before it could even cry out.
The tunnel became a blur of shadows and death.
And then—Raj's other hand moved. The corpses twitched, shuddered… then rose.
One by one, the fallen minions staggered upright, their flesh greyed, their eyes replaced by cold blue light.
"Serve me," Raj commanded, his voice carrying the weight of an ancient grave.
The newly-made soldiers roared in unison and tore into the remaining enemies, fighting without hesitation, without mercy, without life.
The whip struck again and again, consuming the weak, feeding on terror. The stronger enemies—those whose souls resisted—were broken down by Raj's relentless assault until they too fell, their will shattered, their bodies joining his skeletal ranks.
The stench of burning soul-flesh curled in the air, coating his tongue with a metallic bitterness.
Within minutes, the tunnel fell silent.
Raj stood at its center, his whip coiled loosely at his side, still faintly trembling in satisfaction. Around him, dozens of undead warriors—some bone, some freshly fallen—stood awaiting his command.
He looked toward the tunnel's far exit.
"These are not what I'm looking for."
"But at least one nest is down. Many more to burn."
The shadows at his feet swelled and rose, swallowing him and his new army whole. By the time the last drop of water hit the ground, they were gone.