Scene: The Infernal Realms of Patal Lok
If Swarg was a symphony of light and melody, then Patal was its brutal, screaming antithesis. Here, there was no sun, no moon, no gentle breeze. The very air was thick with the stench of sulphur and despair, a permanent twilight illuminated by the hellish glow of rivers of molten lava that snaked through jagged, obsidian landscapes. This was Narak, the underworld, the final destination for souls weighed down by the densest of sins.
The sky was a swirling vortex of bruised purple and angry crimson, where shrieking, tormented spirits were whipped by scorching winds. The ground was not soil but a crust of cooled magma, cracked and steaming, with geysers of boiling blood and liquid fire erupting without warning. The sounds were a cacophony of eternal agony—the wails of the damned being torn apart by ravenous demons, the relentless clash of iron whips on spectral flesh, and the low, guttural roar of the subterranean furnaces that powered this city of pain.
In the deepest, most fortified citadel of this nightmare realm sat its ruler. The palace was carved from the black heart of a volcano, its spires like twisted, petrified claws reaching towards the fiery sky. The throne room was a vast cavern, its floor a single sheet of polished obsidian that reflected the tormented faces of those suffering in the realms below. The walls seemed to be made of solidified anguish, and the air itself tasted of ash and regret.
Upon a throne of fused human bones and black diamond sat Shaktisur, the Asura King of Patal. He was a being of immense, terrifying presence. His skin was the color of cooled lava, cracked with lines of simmering orange light. Two massive, curved horns swept back from his brow, and his eyes burned with the ancient, cold fire of a star going supernova. He was clad in armor forged in the deepest hell-fires, and a crown of twisted, dark metal sat upon his head. This was Advik's father.
Before him, kneeling on the searing hot floor, was an Asur scout, his body scarred and weathered from countless missions. The scout's aura was one of pure malevolence, a stark contrast to the divine energy of Swarg.
"Pranipat, Maharaj Shaktisur," the scout's voice was a gravelly rasp, echoing in the vast chamber. "I bring news from the mortal realm."
Shaktisur's voice rumbled like an earthquake, deep and full of contained fury. "Utho. Bolo. Kya suchna laye ho Prithvi se?" (Rise. Speak. What news do you bring from Earth?)
The scout stood, his head still bowed in reverence. "Maharaj, woh din aa gaya hai jiska aapne intezaar kiya tha. Aapke putra, Rajkumar Advik ka janm Prithvi par ho chuka hai." (My King, the day you have waited for has come. Your son, Prince Advik, has been born on Earth.)
A wave of palpable energy, dark and powerful, erupted from Shaktisur. The very foundations of the palace trembled. "Kahan? Kis sthan par? Kis kulan mein?" (Where? In which place? In which family?)
"Maharaj," the scout continued, "Uska janm Bharatvarsh ke ek shaktishali rajya, Vasantnagri mein hua hai. Woh wahin ka yuvaraj hai. Use Maharaj Rishvaan aur Maharani Devyani ne palna hai. Woh ek amir, takatwar rajparivar hai. Unki rajdhani Vasant Mahal hai, jo swapnon se bani hai—sone aur marble ki, baghiyon se ghiri hui, jahan har rut basanti hai." (My King, he was born in a powerful kingdom, Vasantnagri, in Bharatvarsh. He is the crown prince there. He has been adopted by King Rishvaan and Queen Devyani. They are a rich, powerful royal family. Their capital is Vasant Mahal, which is made of dreams—of gold and marble, surrounded by gardens, where every season is spring.)
Shaktisur's burning eyes narrowed. "Vasantnagri... Ek aisa sthan jahan sukh aur sundarta ka raj hai. Accha... Bahot accha. Mera beta... mera Advik... wahin hai." (Vasantnagri... A place where happiness and beauty rule. Good... Very good. My son... my Advik... is there.)
He leaned forward, his massive form casting a terrifying shadow. "Tum use dekh paye? Woh kaisa hai?" (Could you see him? How is he?)
"Haan, Maharaj. Woh bilkul aapki pratikriti hai. Uski aankhein mein wohi atal nishtha aur tej hai. Parantu... uski yaadein... sab mitti ho chuki hain. Use apna asli parivar, apna asli srot, apna asli ghar... Patal ya aap... kisi ka bhi gyan nahi hai. Woh swayam ko insaan samajhta hai." (Yes, My King. He is your exact image. His eyes have the same determination and fire. But... his memories... have all turned to dust. He has no knowledge of his real family, his real origin, his real home... Patal or you. He thinks himself a human.)
A low growl escaped Shaktisur's throat. "Yeh Swarg ki chaal hai. Unhonne use hamein se chheen liya, use narak ke putra hone ka gyan chheen liya, aur use ek manushya ke roop mein janma diya. Lekin woh mera khoon hai. Woh ek Asur ka beta hai. Yahi satya use phir se yaad dilana hoga." (This is Swarg's trick. They have snatched him from us, stolen from him the knowledge of being the son of hell, and made him take birth as a human. But he is my blood. He is the son of an Asur. This is the truth we must make him remember.)
The king rose from his throne, his presence filling the entire cavern. "Suno, aur sunkar yaad rakhna. Tumhara ek hi lakshya hai. Vasantnagri jaakar mere putra ki suraksha karo. Use kisi bhi prakar ke divya prahar ya Swarg ke hathiyaron se bachana. Parantu, uski raksha kewal karna hi tumhara kaam nahi hai." (Listen, and listen well. You have only one target. Go to Vasantnagri and protect my son. Save him from any kind of divine attack or weapons of Swarg. But, only protecting him is not your only duty.)
He pointed a clawed finger towards the scout, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Tumhe use prerit karna hoga... Patal ki or. Use apne asli srot ki yaad dilaani hogi. Use batana hoga ki uski aatma yahan ki hai, un chandani lokon ki nahi. Use apni asli takat, apna asli roop yaad dilana hoga. Woh ek rakshas hai, ek devta nahi. Samjhe?" (You must inspire him... towards Patal. You must make him remember his true origin. You must tell him that his soul belongs here, not in those silvery realms. You must make him remember his true power, his true form. He is a demon, not a god. Understood?)
The scout bowed so low his forehead touched the scorching floor. "Jo aagya, Maharaj! Main use apne khoon ka sach yaad dilaunga. Main use apne asli ghar wapas aane ke liye prerit karunga." (As you command, My King! I will make him remember the truth of his blood. I will inspire him to return to his real home.)
"Jao," Shaktisur commanded, his voice final. "Mere putra ko lauto kar lao. Swarg ne jo kuch bhi liya hai, use wapas le aao. Yahi mera aadesh hai." (Go. Bring my son back. Whatever Swarg has taken, take it back. This is my command.)
As the scout vanished in a swirl of dark smoke and embers, Shaktisur turned to look at a massive, obsidian mural behind his throne. It depicted a magnificent Asur prince—Advik, as he was five thousand years ago, in his full demonic glory, his eyes burning with the same fire as his father's.
"Ghir aao, beta," Shaktisur whispered to the empty hall, his voice a mixture of menace and a father's longing. "Apne ghar... apne asli srot ki or. Wapas aa jao. Yahi tumhara sach hai. Yahi tumhara kartavya hai." (Come closer, son. Towards your home... your true origin. Come back. This is your truth. This is your duty.)
The flames of Patal roared higher, as if in agreement, ready to reclaim the prince who was rightfully theirs.
---
Chapter End :
In the fiery depths of hell, a king plotted to reclaim his stolen son. On the peaceful earth, a prince lived in ignorant bliss. And between them, a loyal scout began his mission—not just to protect, but to corrupt, to turn a human prince back into the demon heir of Patal.