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

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

Thousands of heads will 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.

They had underestimated him at first. 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 them like mist.

“Protect the Mahanirakshaka,”

The Rakshakas, wielding long Divyalohini swords, found themselves in a difficult position. Trapped by the narrow confines of the Haveli’s hallway, they realized they cannot overpower him. So they launched a surprise attack, catching him off guard, but the intruder moved out of range and delivered a strike to the back of one of his enemy’s neck.

As the attacker fell, his blue turban slipped from his head, revealing his bald, light-brown scalp. Another enemy aimed to end the vengeance with a single strike. But the intruder ducked and sliced his stomach open, causing the intestines 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. He used that sword to pierce his enemy’s chest, and the sickle to cut the hand of his comrade. One who got 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 blue sword and picked up a red one 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 end of the hallway and set the door on fire. Despite the flames scorching his skin, he took cover next to the door to avoid the line of firing.

The firing went on, and as the intruder planned, none of those bullets met their target. Instead, they struck the walls and splintered them, showering the floor with broken stone.

Those bullets, crafted from divyalohini and inscribed with runes, reacted only to the living things. Which means they would have mutilated the intruder’s body upon impact, causing a gory bath with shards of ice or thorny vines.

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

The Mahanirakshaka of Rakshaka Vibhaga occupied a seat at his desk, and his daughter stood by his side, feeling great distress.

The man who 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.

“Indra… why… why are you… holding that weapon?” she asked, uncertain as a sickening feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Why do you think, Deepali?” Indra asked in a voice 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,” Virendra begged.

“What about my family, Veerendra? What about those children? Did you give them a chance? Did you?” Indra's, his voice laced with rage. “You didn’t! For you, the lives of the sullied are worthless.”

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

“Not her!”

Indra shook his head, laughing. His eyes bore a wicked light. “Why not? Why shouldn’t I?”

"No! No!!"

“You have to see this. You need to watch her die and feel the pain as I did.”

“Why are you doing this, Indra? I... loved... you. You... cannot do this. Please, Indra,” Deepali begged. “I was merely your passing amusement, disposable once something else catch 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. Why is this happening? Why?

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head in disbelief. “N-no, you’re wrong. I... I loved you. I loved you... for who you are.”

Indra dismissed her with a wry chuckle that ended with the beginning of silence.

I don’t want to hurt her. It was not her fault. But I have to do it....I have to

Deepali turned and traced the contours of his face with her delicate fingers. "You've suffered enough. You don't need to fight any more. If I ask, my father would turn himself in. You do not need to sully yourself with violence. You just need to spare his life, for my sake."

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

Indra chuckled at the nativity of his lover. He pushed her aside, causing her to fall on the ground with an 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 veerendra's head.

There was stillness, followed by a primal, piercing scream 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. Indra the man she loved had murdered her father, and his face, once so pleasant, was bloodstained— like a face of an asura. Seeing that sight, 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.

The stillness continued for minutes until it passed with a sudden burst of laughter. Which 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. I am now an asura,"

You are an asura now become 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 harboured a feeling far greater and far more dangerous than anything shared within the inn. It was a flame that defied soothing, fuelled 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 etched with arcanist engravings that prevented mantravids from using their mana.

His prison cell stood deep underground, away from the brushstrokes of ever-burning gold. The unbearable heat in his cell made him long for a shapeless kiss that could wipe away his perspiration that 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 armours 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. Her Ambar eyes stood on a face of sun-kissed earth.

She strode into the prison cell 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 said, dragging his index finger 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 who 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 elaborate way of greeting someone, befitting the importance of their caste.

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

Two servants brought a chair, and Arishia settled on it. She stared 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 them and skillfully arranged the stationery and hurried out.

Arshia her finger in the air. Inky blue mana leaked from invisible pores on her index finger. She traced a curve and uttered, “Stha,” the curve stayed as her finger traced another curve and, after completing it, repeated the 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. While the hue of her eyes remained unchanged, the rebel noticed the effects.

“Ah, the owl glyph. It’s very useful for clandestine endeavors. I recall using it once to meet an ancient and peculiar individual and had a fascinating conversation.” He paused for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in a contemplative expression.

“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 Vishwavidyalaya? And how did you become 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 already seen what I am capable of.”

“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 larger part in this than you realize, and you will learn about it at the very end of my story. And please, do not pout like a child. I promise you that with proper context, your involvement would make perfect sense.”

Arisha 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 great 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 in the capital. I broke through your system, didn’t I? You will get your truth, but you must be patient. Five days is all I need and after that you will get everything, and I get to do what I want.”

“And what is it you want?” She asked.

“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? In my opinion, 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 and the choices that pushed you towards the path of defiance and rebellion.”

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

“No,” Arshia 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 chronicle his tale on paper. Her eyes lingered on him as he contemplated.

“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 a teen,” he began. “My family, just five of us, struggled to make ends meet.”

He chuckled bitterly. “Ironically, life was better, and I was a better person.”

“Were you pious back then?”

“No,”

“What about your family?”

“Oh, they were pious. My father was more pious than my mother, but she understood our place in the world. The only thing she ever complained about was not being able to divorce her worthless husband who offered her nothing but misery.”

Indra took a pause and smiled weakly. “I love the cunning manner you people embedded these regressive beliefs within us. A clever way to hinder our progress and prevent us from growing.”

“It is you people who could not evolve, and we, as civilized individuals, tolerated your beastly nature.”

“Go listen to the priests preaching 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 like beholding a stubborn buffalo in a tempest’s wild uproar.”

The first sword frowned at that, and rebel cleared his throat to continue.

"Allow me to continue. I had two younger sisters, born to a sullied prostitute who abandoned them on our doorstep, much to my mother's dismay. If they were born to the women of Vesyavarna, they would have taken them in and trained them to lose their virtue to their superiors every night. However, sullied men don't lie with those women, for they are denied entry. As a result, the sullied men turned to sullied prostitutes — desperate women who sold their bodies to survive."

“You ever sold your body? There are rumors that you did,” she said, 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 laughed mirthlessly.

"There are only a few moments in my life I would call fond. My life has been nothing more than a perpetual tragedy, sometimes due to my own mistakes, and most of the time the world throwing challenges my way.”

He halted, assuming a pensive face. “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 did not starve."

“Very tragic, please continue.”

“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 led the bloodiest rebellion as an Asura, I dreamt of being a singer,"

He went on, his wry smile persisted. "It was a foolish ambition for someone of my standing. Individuals with a tainted blood like mine were never allowed such pursuits; having a voice carried little weight. Nevertheless, I had one, and even though I couldn't make a living from it, I was determined to follow my passion. So, let's start from there. Let us begin with the incident that made me realize my first dream."