I had never relied too much on my powers. They existed within me—hidden, restless, burning like an untamed flame—but I rarely allowed them to surface. Every night, I trained alone under the stars, shaping my strength little by little. It wasn't for show, nor for pride. It was preparation. A quiet promise to myself that when the day came, I would be ready.
But Shivam was different. He had no need to train like me. His mind itself was a weapon—sharper than any blade, more powerful than any spell. His mental strength was so extraordinary that at times it drove me to the edge of madness.
When he played his endless tricks and mind games, my patience would wear thin. I would clench my fists, breathe deeply, and remind myself not to strike him in frustration. Many times, I warned him:
"Stop it, Shivam. Don't behave like this. Enough of your madness."
But he would only laugh. His smile stretched wide, his eyes danced with mischief, and he ignored every word I spoke. He was stubborn, unpredictable, and childlike in ways that often irritated me.
And yet—I could never hate him.
Shivam was my true friend, the only one I trusted with my life. Beneath his chaos, I knew his heart was pure. Though his mind could bend the will of others, he never used it for cruelty. He never enslaved the weak, never sought profit through manipulation. Shivam was poor in wealth but rich in kindness. That was why, despite all his immaturity, I respected him deeply.
Years passed. We grew older, but Shivam remained the same—a boy trapped in a man's body. His foolishness often tested my patience, but his loyalty never wavered. Life continued like this: simple, difficult, yet bearable.
Until the world itself changed.
---
The Plague of Death
It began as whispers in the wind—a strange disease spreading silently from village to village, city to city. At first, no one cared. People dismissed it as another seasonal fever. But soon, its true horror was revealed.
There was no cure. No medicine. Within three years, half of humanity had perished.
I still remember the day it struck Shivam's neighborhood.
"Brother, what is happening?!" I shouted, my voice breaking.
In only three hours, the entire street was silent. Families that had been laughing together that morning lay lifeless by evening. Mothers, fathers, children—gone, as if erased by invisible hands.
"So many… how can this be possible?" I whispered, falling to my knees.
The world drowned in despair. But soon, an even crueler truth emerged.
Doctors—the ones we trusted to heal—had become devils in disguise. Many of them used the crisis not to save lives but to earn fortunes. Innocent patients were killed; their bodies harvested and sold piece by piece in the black market. Hearts, lungs, kidneys—everything had a price. For these monsters, money was God, and human life was nothing.
When Shivam and I discovered this, something inside us shattered.
---
A Decision
We could not remain silent. We had powers—different, yet real. And if we did not act, who would?
"Shivam," I said one night, my voice steady despite the fire burning in my chest, "we can't just watch. If we do nothing, their greed will consume the world."
For once, Shivam's mischief faded. His expression hardened. "Then we fight. Not for ourselves—for them. For the ones who cannot fight back."
And so, we began.
We carried food, water, and what little medicine we could find into dying villages. We entered towns where even hope had collapsed, trying to bring light.
But everywhere we went, horror followed. Bodies littered the roads, stacked one upon another, turning entire streets into graveyards.
When I first stepped into such a place, my legs gave way. "Look at this, Shivam," I whispered, choking on my words. "So many dead… and most of them didn't even die from the disease. Their organs—stolen."
Rage consumed us. Eighty percent of the deaths were not natural. They were orchestrated murders, executed by doctors who had sold their souls.
We could no longer hold back.
---
The Wrath
Using our powers and even our own blood, we worked day and night. At last, we created a formula—a gas capable of fighting the plague. We released it across towns, and slowly, miraculously, people began to recover. Relief spread across the land like rain over barren soil.
But as for the so-called doctors who had thrived on greed—we gave them no mercy.
Whoever we found guilty, we hunted. They begged, they cried, they crawled on their knees. But we showed them the same mercy they had given their victims—none. Their deaths were not swift. They were lessons. Public reminders that greed had consequences.
"This is justice," Shivam would say as another corrupt doctor fell.
"Justice for the voiceless," I answered.
Soon, more than a hundred of them were gone. But our justice had a price. Governments declared us criminals. Police forces across nations began hunting us.
To the world, we were killers. But to the innocent, we were guardians.
---
The Retreat
Realizing the growing danger, we vanished. Together, we journeyed into mountains and forests, leaving behind the ruins of civilization.
For ten long years, we lived in isolation. Days were spent in meditation; nights under the open sky. We practiced yoga, trained our bodies, disciplined our minds. Our powers grew sharper, yet we guarded them from darkness. Over and over, we reminded ourselves: this strength is not for greed—it is for protection.
The plague faded with time. Humanity rose again—scarred, but alive. When we finally returned, the world had changed. Cities were rebuilt, children laughed once more, and the stench of death had lifted.
We blended into the crowd, living quietly as ordinary men. At last, it seemed peace had come.
---
The Dream
But peace is fragile. It never lasts forever.
One night, I dreamt of a girl. She called to me, her voice trembling, her eyes filled with terror. "Help me… please," she cried.
I awoke drenched in sweat, shaken. I tried to dismiss it as nothing more than a nightmare. But the next night, the same dream returned. And the night after that.
On the third night, Shivam came to me, his face pale.
"I saw her too," he whispered.
My heart skipped a beat. "The same girl?"
"Yes. She was calling us both."
Silence thickened the air between us. This was no ordinary dream—it was a summons.
"Someone truly needs us," Shivam said, his tone firm.
I nodded. "Then tomorrow, we leave."
And so, once again, we packed our few belongings and set out into the unknown. A journey awaited us—one that would carve our destiny into the bones of the world.