The revelations Sampati had given were extraordinary, leaving Om's mind spiraling.
Karma does not affect me…?
No matter how hard he tried, Om could not grasp the meaning. Why was karma ignoring him? Why had the God of Eagles declared that only he could strike him down without consequence?
And then came another revelation.
Sampati's voice carried the weight of centuries:
"Not even the Almighty Narayan can define karma perfectly. But you… somehow, you bend its rules. This is not the first time such a thing has happened. Rarely, karma makes mistakes—it misses its hold on certain beings. But you, Om… you are not a mistake. Karma itself refuses to touch you. That should be impossible."
His golden eyes glowed, their light burning into Om's soul.
"I do not know what you are. But if there is one person in this world who can kill me without consequence… it is you."
Om's heart thudded in his chest. The conversation was driving toward one inevitable end—his hand raised against a god.
Before he could speak, a shrill chime rang out.
Sampati lifted his wrist. His ancient watch glowed with a name that made Om's heart skip.
The eagle god sighed and accepted the call.
A familiar voice echoed, sharp and commanding.
"Sampati… what are you doing with Om?"
Om's eyes widened. Mark.
The eagle god's lips curved faintly. "You know perfectly well why I brought him here."
On the other end, Mark sighed, a sound filled with fatigue and warning.
"He is coming for you, Sampati. You know he will not kill you… but he will make you suffer."
Sampati chuckled softly. "Ah. An old friend, then."
Mark's tone grew grim.
"I'll handle this—but you owe me one."
For the first time, genuine warmth lit Sampati's golden eyes.
"I owe you, Markandeya."
The words had barely left his lips when the mountain trembled.
A deafening sound cracked through the air, like a thousand gates shattering at once. The barrier that guarded the peak rippled violently, fractures spiderwebbing across its glowing surface.
Om and Sampati turned together.
"You're late, Markandeya," Sampati muttered, his voice steady. He rose from his throne, power flaring around him like a storm. "It seems I will have to hold this line myself."
Mark's voice growled through the still-active connection.
"I've already begun. Hold the fort until I arrive."
The line went dead.
Suddenly, Om felt the very air split apart. Wind twisted unnaturally, the atmosphere vibrating with the weight of divine energy. He lifted his gaze—and froze.
High above the mountain, the sky split open into a giant star-shaped sigil, glowing brighter with every passing heartbeat. From it, a stream of power poured down like liquid fire, channeling into the land below.
The sight stole Om's breath.
Sampati's face hardened. "That man is serious. I must go."
With a single beat of invisible wings, he shot upward toward the source of the explosions shaking the mountaintop.
Om remained below, the sound of battle echoing from the clouds. He couldn't see clearly, only hear the cacophony—booming impacts, roars of divine fury, the clash of powers beyond mortals.
Not willing to remain idle, Om sprinted deeper into the mountain halls. Corridor after corridor blurred past until he reached a massive passage filled with the thunder of talons.
A troop of eagles stormed past him, their claws clad in shimmering metal, rushing toward the battlefield.
Om followed.
At last, he emerged onto a cliffside overlooking the carnage.
His eyes widened in horror.
Above the mountain, the sky was chaos—an aerial war unlike anything he had ever imagined.
Hundreds of eagles, clad in shining armor and armed with metallic claws, battled flocks of monstrous birds. The enemy was larger, brutish, their wings blotting out the sky. Though the eagles struck with divine ferocity, their numbers were being pushed back.
Blood rained from above, feathers drifting like snow as corpses plummeted from the sky. It was a battle where neither side showed mercy—a war to kill or be killed.
Closer to the mountain peak, a shimmering barrier sealed the core of the battlefield. Eagles fought desperately to hold the enemy back, their talons tearing into flesh, their cries echoing like war drums. Every blow, every sacrifice, was to protect the barrier from collapsing.
Om clenched his fists, the sight burning into his mind.
Then came a roar that shook the heavens.
"You dare touch my students!"
The voice was like a thunderclap, followed by a colossal explosion that shook the very mountain. Smoke rose high, obscuring the peak.
Two figures emerged from the blast.
One was Sampati, golden power coursing around his form.
The other was an old man—his beard flowing like a river, his eyes burning with righteous fury. His hands glowed with ancient golden runes, each symbol a fragment of divine script, channeling energy directly from the star above.
Om's breath hitched. A rishi…?
The battle between god and sage ignited the sky.
They clashed again and again, summoning spears from thin air, throwing them with precision. Sampati's strikes shook mountains, his spears piercing clouds. Yet the old man evaded perfectly, his counters equally devastating.
One spear hurled by the sage tore through an entire mountain ridge, ripping a hole in the protective barrier before it sealed itself again.
The two descended, landing hard enough to shatter stone. The sage lunged, his fist glowing green, and smashed it against Sampati's face. The god staggered, spitting blood, but caught the sage's arm before the second blow could fall.
The old man snarled, his voice echoing with power.
"While we fight in Gurukul, I am invincible, Sampati. Did you forget? What did you do with the children? You killed my students!"
As he spoke, another rune flared across his body. Energy surged into his wounds, healing them instantly. The star above pulsed, pouring strength into him like a river.
Sampati roared and hurled him across the peak, slamming him into a mountainside. The earth split apart, smoke billowing.
From the air, Sampati's voice thundered:
"You are invincible here, Vyasa. But I will return again and again! As for the students I captured—take them. But those who died, perished by their own greed."
The battle raged on, gods and sages striking blows that shook heaven and earth. Om, watching from below, realized the truth—he had stepped into a conflict far greater than himself.
And now, he was caught between two powers that could decide the fate of Gurukul itself.