Chapter - 1

The man with vengeance swung his sword, and the chaos followed.

Blood dripped down from his sickle as the empire’s soldiers cowered. Gone were the days when his ears had felt the symphony of love.

Thousands of heads shall fall for one of ours.

Those were the words that echoed in his ears as the sharp edge of his sickle itched to meet the necks of his enemies. Those enemies had underestimated him at first. They thought they could get away with it, but the illusion of his fragility drifted away at the moment of his retaliation. He killed them from the shadows, becoming one with them, creating a silent terror that threatened to envelop his prey like mist.

“Protect the Mahanirakshaka,”

The Rakshakas, wielding long divyalohini swords, found themselves in a difficult situation. Trapped by the narrow confines of the mansion’s hallway, they realized they cannot overpower him.

One of them attacked suddenly to catch him off guard, but the intruder skillfully moved out of range and delivered a strike to the back of his neck.

As the attacker fell, his blue turban slipped from his head, revealing his bald, light brown scalp.

Another one wanted to end the vengeance with a single strike to the head, but the intruder swiftly dodged out of the way and countered it with a sharp cut to his enemy’s belly, slicing it open, causing his entrails to spill onto the ground.

Those who suffer to push the wheel of progress must answer violence with violence.

The intruder picked up a blue divyalohini sword and advanced. Anger boiled within him like a seething cauldron as his sword pierced his enemy’s chest, and the sickle cut the hand of his comrade.

The one who was stabbed by the sword turned into an ice statue while the other wailed for his lost hand, reaching for it to reattach it to his arm.

The intruder dropped the sword and picked up a red divyalohini sword and sliced the sobbing man on the back, setting his body ablaze. The man’s screams of anguish echoed through the hallway like a siren of doom and his killer strode to the room at the end of the hallway and set the door ablaze.

Despite the flames scorching his skin, he took cover next to the door to avoid getting hit by the firing. Those bullets didn’t meet their target and struck the walls and splintered them. Those bullets were made of divyalohini and inscribed with runes that react only to living things. That means those bullets would have mutilated the intruder’s body upon impact, causing a gory bath with shards of ice and thorny vines.

It took time for the gunmen to reload, and the intruder used this opportunity to strike. With catlike grace, he cut each of them down, painting the ornate room with entrails and ruby red.

The Mahanirakshaka of Raksha Vibhaga occupied a seat at his desk, accompanied by his daughter, who stood by his side, feeling great distress, a sharp contrast to her father seething with smug indigence.

The man that burned for me could never do it. It has to be a misunderstanding.

The belief that it was a misunderstanding shattered by the sight of the bloodstained sickle in her lover’s hand. A sickening feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Indra... why... why are you... holding that weapon?” she asked, uncertainly. Her once honey-hued visage drained of color.

“Why do you think, Deepali?” Indra asked. His voice was devoid of any feeling or emotion.

He used to sound so sweet, so gentle, like an autumn breeze. Why did it come to this?

“Spare her! You want me! I was the one responsible for the massacre,” her father intervened.

“What about my family, Veerendra? What about those children? Did you give them a chance? Did you?” Indra said, his voice laced with rage.

“You didn’t! For you, the lives of the sullied are worthless.” Indra shook his head, laughing, and then his eyes suddenly bore a wicked light.

He strode towards his lover �" the jewel of his enemy �" and pointed his sickle at her throat. Veerendra rose abruptly and fell on his knees, hands clasped together, begging for his daughter’s life.

“Not her!”

“Now you can feel it!”

“Why are you doing this? I... loved... you. You... cannot do this. Please, Indra,” Deepali stuttered.

“You viewed me as a forbidden object. I was merely your passing amusement, disposable once something else caught your eye.”

“It’s not true. I didn’t. I wanted a life with you. Please, I... I can’t... I can’t believe this. I... I... I’m... I wanted... you,”

This isn’t him. I never did that. I wanted a life with him.

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head in disbelief.

“N-no, you’re wrong. I... I never saw you that way. I loved you... for who you are.” Indra dismissed her with a wry chuckle, and then a state of silence settled in.

I don’t want to hurt her. It was not her fault.

Indra gritted his teeth, his trembling hands betraying his inner turmoil. Tears welled up in his eyes as doubt crept into his mind.

Slowly, Deepali turned, her fingers delicately traced the contours of his face. “You’ve suffered enough. You don’t need to sully yourself with violence. My father would turn himself in. You need to spare him, for my sake,”

You should sully yourself to their level for the sake of revolution.

Indra laughed at the nativity of a young Kshatriya woman. He pushed her away, and she fell to the ground with a yelp.

Say you will sacrifice everything for our brothers and sisters! Say it!

“I will,” the words slipped from his lips, their chilliness palpable. Veerendra bolted for the gun, but before his hand could reach it, the sickle flew from Indra’s hand and lodged in his head. There was stillness, followed by a primal piercing scream escaping from Deepali’s lips, tearing through the air with anguish.

The sound reverberated, echoing the depths of her shattered heart as she grappled with the devastating truth before her. The man she loved had murdered her father, and his face, once so pleasant, was bloodstained�"a face of an asura.

Her body shook with violent sobs, instinctively backing into a corner. She masked her face with her hands, trying to hide from the world itself.

“Help me, someone, please help me,” she mumbled through her sobs.

Now you did it! You said the words, and you did the deed!

“Mother, please help me.” She rocked back and forth, muttering the same phrase repeatedly.

You are one of us now. A revolutionary. Throw away the mask and wear ours.

Indra left her alone and turned away from the Haveli. He walked through the rain-soaked streets, his face bearing the stillness of a mannequin. The silence continued for minutes until it passed with a sudden burst of laughter, and that laughter persisted even as tears streamed down his face.

Through his tears and laughter, he said the words, “I killed him,” followed by, “It is over.”

How can your vengeance end with the deaths of us?

A symphony of voices echoed in his mind.

Embrace it. You made the promise.

They reminded him.

You are an asura. Accept it!

He controlled his emotions, still as a river, frozen in winter.

“This isn’t enough. I want it all to crumble, the entire Triloka Empire,” he said, his anger palpable.

“I am an asura.”

You are now the embodiment of death, a beacon of our holy war.




Six Years Later

An oppressive feeling hung in the air of Shantinivas Inn, a weight shared by all who dwelled there. It was the burden of bridled anger that loomed heavily over every man occupying the tables.

The presence of sound was but a feeble mask for what lay beneath the surface. You could sense it in the subtle hints on their faces�"faces that bore hidden pain, frustration, resentment, and discontent towards the source of their misery. Yet, honest words remained unspoken, for honesty would inflict more harm upon the sullied than any good.

Instead, they complained about the pawns who danced to the tune of their masters, and all those suppressed emotions morphed into a dark shadow that dared not venture beyond the inn.

Amidst the deceitful symphony, an unnoticed presence carried an ominous silence. It could have been shattered by various triggers�"an insult from a sharp tongue wielding the right words, the utterance of the name of the one who had taken his lover’s life, or the piercing gaze of a guard demanding fear within the eyes of the lesser, whose eyes remained disconcertingly calm, exceeding what was normal.

Beneath the veneer of silence, he harbored a feeling far greater and far more dangerous than anything shared within the inn. It was a flame that defied soothing, fueled by a tragedy heavier than a mountain, yearning for a fate darker than the abyss. It was a death knell, the destroyer of all that lived beyond a prison known only to him.

Patiently, the man sat, waiting for the wise men to usher him into a dreamless slumber.

*****

It was the third day of imprisonment, and the traitor of the Triloka Empire waited for his chronicler. Sat in a dimly lit corner was he, strongly constrained, with his hands and legs shackled by divyaloha chains adorned with arcanist engravings that prevented him from using his mana.

His prison cell stood deep underground, away from the brushstrokes of ever-burning gold. The unbearable heat made him long for a shapeless kiss that could wipe away his perspiration, which sparkled like pearls under the waning light of a lone lamp.

The doors to his prison creaked and groaned as the two guards, swathed in dark, flexible armors and bull masks, opened them. Along with them came a young woman, draped in a cotton saree with minimal patterns and motifs that added elegance without being gaudy.

She strode with a gait that possessed a predatory grace, and, oddly, the elegance of a lady.

“You wanted me, here I am,” the woman spoke, and the rebel lifted his head, giving a smile that was both frail and smug.

“I half expected to be killed on sight by the wise men,” He declared, dragging his index finger horizontally across his throat.

“Good morning, Indra, leader of the traitorous Asuras. My name is Arishia, the first sword of the empire, the shadow of the emperor, the silver of divinity that watches over the three realms.”

She brought her palms together and gently pressed them. She did not bow her head, refusing to show reverence to her lesser. That brought a smile to the rebel’s face. Nothing amused him more than ucchavarnas and their complicated way to greet someone based on the importance of their caste.

“So it is morning. I can’t really tell in this prison.”

Two servants brought a chair, and the first sword settled on it. Her amber eyes stood out on a face painted in hues of sun-kissed earth. She peered at him with eyes that stood out like a candle in silence, and the rebel stared back with an amused grin.

A few moments later, four servants walked in with a table, cotton papers, bamboo pens, and a carbon-based ink bottle. They eased the table between the traitor and their master �" skillfully arranged the stationery on the table before hurrying out.

The first sword moved her finger in the air. Inky blue mana leaked from invisible pores on her index.

She traced a curve and uttered, “Stha,” the curve stayed as her finger traced another curve and, after completing it, repeated the same word.

She did the same thing for curves and dots until it formed a glyph that resembled an owl. “Ekikuru,” she uttered imperatively, and the glyph blazed to life.

It morphed into tendrils of light to merge with the contours of Arishia’s eyes. There was no shift in the hue of her eyes, but the rebel noticed the effects.

“Ah, the owl glyph. A very useful glyph for clandestine endeavors. I recall using it once to meet an ancient and peculiar individual. However, in this situation, couldn’t you have asked the servants for a candle instead of expending a significant amount of mana?” the rebel asked with a wilful sigh, and then his eyebrows raised in a playful, exaggerated manner, followed by a sly grin.

“You want to discern lies from truth? You sneaky child. Good for you! Good for you!” He nodded approvingly.

“I am not a child, and this is no time for prattling. So let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Tell me why you surrendered so suddenly? Why did you disappear for two years? How did you become one of us and taint the sacred halls of Vishvavidyalaya? And how did you become Indra the man- “

Her lips pressed tightly together as if trying to hold back from uttering that word.

“Mantravid,” he completed it for her and smiled rather proudly.

“I know you abhor it, but face the truth. I am one of the greatest mantravid in centuries. My tale spread wide across the continent, and several have witnessed what I can do.”

“You are a deceiver, nothing more.”

The rebel chuckled. “You still didn’t ask me the most important question. You should ask why I picked you.”

“Very well,” she said. “Enlighten me then. Why did you pick me? What is it about me that compelled you to surrender and share your secrets?”

The rebel’s smug grin widened. He leaned forward, relishing the opportunity to reveal his motives.

“You play a huge part in this than you realize, and you will learn about it at the very end of my story. I promise you that with proper context, your involvement would make perfect sense.”

Arisha’s mind raced, her thoughts entangled with questions and possibilities about her involvement. But she did not have the patience to let his veiled words bother her.

“Enough,” she said, her voice firm. “I need transparency, not ambiguous hints and half-truths. If my involvement holds such significance, then lay it all bare before me. I refuse to be kept in the dark as you prattle about your so-called adventures.”

“Not really a patient person, are you?” the rebel sighed. “You have much to learn, child, and my story might help you with that.”

“What can a sullied like you teach me?” she scoffed.

“Do not dismiss us sullied, child. You can learn much from a sullied than those preening leeches,” the rebel said. “I broke through your system, didn’t I? You will get your truth, but you must be patient. Five days is all I need. You will get everything, and I get to do what I want.”

“And what is it you want?” She asked, leaning forward.

“Redemption. I want to redeem myself and face the consequences of my actions.”

“I find it hard to believe that a man like you could ever feel guilt.”

The rebel chuckled wryly. “I see you’ve painted a monster out of me,” he began. “And perhaps, in some ways, I have become one. But, Lady Shatrughna, aren’t you curious about the path that led me down this perilous road? This could be a cautionary tale, a glimpse into the depths of the human mind and the consequences of terrible actions. Listening to this may help you prevent something like me from happening again.”

“Is that so? Then tell me your story, and I will judge you with a fair mind. Enlighten me about what shaped your journey, the choices that propelled you towards the path of defiance and rebellion.”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “It would be appropriate to begin with my earliest memories, right when I was seve-“

“No,” the First Sword interrupted. “Start from that incident, when you became an Asura.”

"If you want the truth, write my whole story. That's why I chose you. Otherwise, bring in your wise men and their dogs. They won't get a thing out of me. They know it, and that's why they gave in to my demands."

“Have it your way. I will act as the biographer, and you, the pious, misunderstood noble revolutionary.”

“You’re getting the hang of this,” he said, smiling proudly.

Arishia dipped the pen in the ink, ready to pen his tale on cotton paper. Her eyes lingered on him as he contemplated for quite long.

“Begin,” she said, impatiently. “Tell me the truth as it is, for I can see through your lies, and I am not very patient with liars.”

“My most vivid memories began when I was just a teen,” he began.

“My family, just five of us, struggled to make ends meet, but we found happiness in our simple lives. Life was better, and I was a better person too.”

“Were you pious back then?” Arishia asked.

“Oh, we were pious. My father was more pious than my mother, but she understood our place in the world and bowed her head like all the others. The only thing she ever complained about was the negative aspects of our society that did not allow her to divorce the worthless husband that offered nothing but misery.” Indra smiled weakly.

“I love the cunning manner you people embedded these regressive beliefs within us. You hindered our progress to prevent us from growing.”

“Maybe it is you people who could not evolve, and as civilized people, we had tolerated your beastly nature, for we are merciful,”

“Go to a temple in the sullied districts, child. You will understand what I am talking about.”

The rebel shook his head and let out a weary sigh. “Engaging in a verbal clash with you is akin to beholding a stubborn buffalo amidst a tempest’s wild uproar.”

“Now, let me continue. I had two younger sisters, born to a sullied prostitute who abandoned them on our doorstep, much to my mother’s dismay. The women of vesyavarna would have welcomed them and trained them to serve their superiors, but those born as sullied were not allowed in their brothels. So the sullied men turned to sullied prostitutes �" desperate women who sell their bodies to survive.”

“You ever sold your body? There are rumours that you did.” she asked, her lips curling into mock amusement.

“I did what I had to do to survive. They are not what I would call fond memories,” he said, then let out a bitter chuckle.

"Only a few memories bring me real joy. My life has been a constant struggle, sometimes due to my own mistakes, but mostly because the world keeps throwing challenges my way. I wish I could go back to the peaceful days of my childhood. When my father taught me his creed, and my mother sang soothing lullabies to help me sleep. Though I didn't like my father, my mother was an angel who went hungry just to make sure I do not starve."

“Very tragic, please continue.” The rebel ignored her jibe.’

“It was not a good life, but at least it was peaceful, and we were whole.”

“What happened to your family?”

“What happens to those who defy their masters?” he asked and then answered his own question. “Execution.”

"That was one of the darkest times in my life, but before I share it with you, you need to understand the essence of who I am. Before I aspired to become a mage and before I became an Asura and led the bloodiest rebellion, I dreamt of being a singer." He continued, smiling wryly. "A foolish ambition for someone like me. As the sullied individuals are not allowed such pursuits. Nevertheless, I had a voice, and even though I couldn't make a living from it, I wanted to follow my passion. So, let's start from there, from the incident that made me realize my first dream."