Hospital Room –
"Ahhh... what the hell—! Leave her, you monster!"
Rihan's voice cracked as he lunged forward, grabbing Karan's arm and pulling with everything he had.
But Karan's grip refused to yield; his fingers were locked around the Crimson Blade's wrist like steel.
Thud! The chair toppled behind them.
The Crimson Blade—her usually calm face now flushed a deep red—snapped her arm free and glared at Rihan.
"Enough, Rihan."
Her tone wavered—not out of anger, but something strange… unfamiliar.
Her heartbeat thundered inside her chest.
Why… why is my heart beating so fast? she thought, pressing a trembling hand against her uniform. This isn't like me.
She looked back at Karan, whose eyes were wild, unfocused—like he was trapped in another world.
Taking a slow step forward, she cupped his face between her palms, her voice gentler now.
"And you—don't you feel any shame? Do you just throw yourself at any girl you see?"
The words hit him like a slap of reality.
Karan froze. His pupils shrank as confusion flooded his expression.
He blinked once. Twice. The color drained from his face.
His fingers, trembling, released her wrists.
He looked down at his hands—the same hands that had clutched her so tightly moments ago—and they now shook as if cursed.
"I... I didn't mean..." he whispered, his breath uneven.
Crimson Blade exhaled shakily and stepped back, rubbing her wrist.
"Mom… where's my mom?" Karan muttered, voice hollow. "Where am I?"
Rihan's anger crumbled instantly. He hesitated, watching the tremors running through Karan's body.
"Karan… hey, man. Calm down," he said softly, kneeling beside him.
But Karan only covered his ears, sliding down the wall.
"Stop it... stop the noise..." he whispered, rocking slightly. His face twisted as flashes of fire and screams burned through his mind.
The heart monitor beeped rapidly—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Crimson Blade turned, panic flickering across her features. "I'll call the doctor!"
She rushed toward the door, her boots clicking sharply against the sterile floor.
Clack—clack—clack.
Rihan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Ugh... what a guy, man."
But behind his words, worry lingered.
Before either could say more—
Karan's eyes rolled back.
Thud!
His body slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Rihan froze in place, shock silencing them both as the faint hum of machines filled the room.
The smell of antiseptic filled the air as nurses rushed in, their white coats flashing like ghosts in the dim light."
That would close the scene with cinematic polish.
As Karan's body lay still under the cold hospital light…
somewhere deep within his fractured mind, another world began to stir.
A place built not of memory, but of pain—
where his nightmares still breathed.
______
Somewhere Far Away...
The world shifted.
Whoosh—!
Ash and embers swirled through the air, carried by a foul wind. The stench of blood and decay clung to the earth.
A vast wasteland stretched beneath a black sky.
And in its heart stood a towering palace of obsidian stone—its walls slick with veins of red light that pulsed like a living thing.
chants began.
"DESTROY THEM! DESTROY EVERY LAST HUMAN!"
The roar of thousands shook the barren ground.
Even the trees seemed to bow beneath the force of their hatred.
Lightning split the sky. Crack—BOOM!
And from the heart of that burning wasteland…
a single fortress pulsed like a heartbeat.
Inside its walls, shadows moved—and destiny whispered a new command.
_______
Nixora's Chamber
The air was heavy. Stale. Metallic.
A faint yellow lantern swung overhead, its flickering light crawling across a bloodstained floor. But the blood wasn't red—it glowed a sickly green, oozing between the cracks of the stone.
Two demons lay half-dead, twitching in pain. A third knelt, trembling violently, his claws scraping against the floor.
Before him stood Vertix—tall, broad, his skin shimmering faintly like scales under the dim light.
From the shadows, a voice rumbled.
"Why…"
Step.
"Why did you kill the children?"
The speaker emerged—his form still half-shrouded in darkness.
It was Nixora, their master. A figure so tall and still that even the air dared not move around him.
The kneeling demon whimpered, "P-Please, Nixora... forgive me. I only wanted to—"
Nixora's hand shot out.
Grip.
He lifted the demon by the throat as easily as picking up paper.
"I told you," he hissed, his glowing eyes narrowing. "Our war is not with children. It is with their kind—the humans who corrupt this world."
The demon gasped, legs flailing helplessly.
Vertix stepped forward slightly, his jaw clenched.
"Master, perhaps—"
"Kill them," Nixora interrupted coldly.
Vertix's expression hardened. He raised his hand, placing one clawed finger on each forehead.
Zzt... BOOM!
Three flashes of green light burst through the chamber—
And in the next instant, the demons' bodies exploded, splattering across the floor.
The room fell silent again.
Nixora turned, wiping a droplet of blood from his cheek.
"We are destined to rule this world," he murmured, "but slaughtering the weak will not make us gods."
Vertix stared at him, jaw tight. He didn't understand this mercy. To him, weakness—whether human or demon—was meant to be erased.
Still, he bowed. "As you command, my lord."
Nixora walked to the balcony.
The massive hall below erupted as soon as his shadow appeared.
"NIXORA! NIXORA THE GREAT!"
He raised his hands to the roaring crowd.
His deep voice rolled through the air like thunder.
"This world has brought you nothing but pain... but the time for revenge is not yet. Wait—just a little longer."
He spread his arms wide, his crimson aura expanding outward like fire.
"When the heroes fall… every human will kneel before us!"
His laughter shook the night.
"Everything will happen... as I command!"
The horde howled, their cheers rising like an unholy hymn.
"Nixora! Nixora the Great! Our god!"
The skies above cracked with red lightning.
As Nixora's laughter rolled through the dark skies, thunder answered in return.
That same thunder echoed across worlds—
crashing over distant rooftops…
and into the quiet home of a man who had long stopped believing in heroes.
_______
At Veer Pratap's Home
The world quieted again.
Somewhere in the suburbs, far from hospitals and palaces, a faint ceiling fan whirred lazily.
Whrr—whrr—whrr.
Veer stood before a tall mirror. The reflection staring back was cold, tired—a shadow of the man he once was.
He unbuttoned his shirt slowly.
Click. Click. Click.
Across his chest, angry burn scars spread like roots—raw, dark, and deep. The skin shimmered faintly in the dim light.
He exhaled.
"...What an unfortunate child," he whispered to himself, voice heavy with regret.
His fingers lingered over one particular scar—thin, circular, and old.
It pulsed faintly beneath his touch, like something buried inside still lived.
Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance.
Rrrmm—BOOM!
He looked toward the window.
The city lights flickered as if trembling under the weight of something unseen.