The barrier opened.
Both Vishnu and Bhagya stood frozen, eyes wide as the fabric of space unraveled before them like threads peeling from a sacred tapestry.
What lay beyond was not what they had imagined.
A strange world unfolded—a sky that, at first glance, appeared ordinary. Blue. Endless. Calm.
But as their vision adjusted, they saw the truth lurking beneath the illusion.
"Father... the clouds," Bhagya whispered.
They weren't clouds.
Floating high above were chunks of industrial waste—twisted metal, shattered glass domes, and fragments of scorched machinery. Rusted engines and flickering neon signs hovered as if suspended by invisible threads.
And among them... figures.
Hooded. Drifting silently.
Sorcerers—but not divine, like in ancient tales. These were darker, twisted beings—cloaked in broken-tech armor, glowing with corrupted runes burned into their spines.
Vishnu clenched his fists.
"This isn't sky," he said grimly.
"It's a graveyard... pretending to be one."
The air was dry—too dry.
Bhagya wiped the sweat trickling down his temple, squinting at the scorched horizon beyond the last shimmer of the Shambhala barrier. The snow-covered glaciers that once kissed their valley were gone.
In their place: jagged stone ridges, blackened and cracked beneath a sun that felt... wrong.
"It's hot," Bhagya murmured. "How can it be this hot above the clouds? Wasn't everything covered in ice?"
Vishnu, still recovering from the ordeal at the barrier, narrowed his eyes at the vast emptiness ahead.
"The ice didn't melt," he said. "It vanished.
This isn't natural heat... it's like something stole the cold."
Bhagya crouched, brushing his hand across the dirt. It was soft—almost powder-like. Ash.
There were no trees. No birds. No wind. Just sun... and silence.
"It feels like the world was burned... and buried," he whispered.
Vishnu's chakra pulsed gently, scanning. The silence was too perfect—like the stillness before a storm.
Then came a breeze. Unnatural. Sharp.
It carried no scent.
But it carried... footsteps.
From behind a blackened ridge, a figure emerged—cloaked in something that shimmered like liquid shadow. His face was masked by a cracked respirator, wires twitching from it like broken nerves. One eye glowed an ominous red.
"Target confirmed," the figure said flatly.
Without warning, he drew a blade—not of steel, but of lightning.
A jagged sword crackling with unstable current, arcs of energy hissing through the air. As it moved, the light around it seemed to dim—reality itself recoiling.
Vishnu pushed Bhagya behind him, chakra flaring like a shield.
"Run when I say!"
But the man was already mid-strike.
The electric blade sliced past Vishnu's chest, narrowly missing—but even a near-miss was dangerous.
The edge didn't need to cut.
It just needed to touch the air near flesh.
A thin trail of blood seeped from Vishnu's side—not from a visible wound, but from within, as if his bloodstream was being pulled out by invisible hooks.
Bhagya gasped.
The blood hovered mid-air, coiling like crimson thread, drawn into the blade as though it were feeding.
"That's not a weapon," Vishnu growled, staggering. "It's a leech."
The attacker tilted his head, analyzing.
"Threat level: Moderate.
Elimination—authorized."
He lunged again—faster.
Vishnu grabbed a handful of ash, a desperate move to blind or escape.
Bhagya's hands trembled. His mind raced.
"What is happening to Father?"
"What should I do?"
"At this rate... he'll die."
I have to clone.
He declared a sacred chant taught by Balveer:
"The night will end, the morning will bloom.
Give Mother Gaya the power of doom."
A voice echoed, cold and deep:
"Muladhara Chakra — Root Chakra: Activated."
"Huh?" Bhagya blinked. "Why can't I clone?"
A divine voice answered from above:
"A person can clone infinitely if their soul holds enough spiritual power.
But such a feat is impossible—except for higher spiritual beings."
He wasn't ready.
A partial clone shimmered briefly—then vanished.
But instinct roared louder than fear.
He snatched a small rock and hurled it at the attacker's face.
It bounced off harmlessly.
The masked man turned. Slowly.
He had no intention of sparing the child.
Vishnu saw it—there was no time.
"Bhagya—RUN NOW!"
He stepped forward.
The ground cracked beneath his feet. Wind howled as a storm of blue aura surged across his body, burning like divine fire. His eyes glowed—not with rage, but with ancestral resolve.
"If you want my blood..."
"...then choke on it."
The masked man raised his blade—but it was too late.
Vishnu lunged, landing a direct palm strike to his chest, sending him crashing into a boulder with a thunderous crack.
The attacker staggered. But something shifted.
Above, the sky pulsed.
"Hyaah... YAAAHHHH!!"
Vishnu screamed as chakra overflowed—too vast to contain.
The sky whispered:
"Muladhara Chakra — Root Chakra: Awakened."
The earth rumbled. Mountains leaned in.
A voice spoke—not aloud, but through the soul:
"Root of survival.
Seat of memory.
Touch the Earth and be remembered."
Vishnu's mind was flooded with understanding:
—Muladhara Chakra—
Element: Earth
Location: Base of the spine
Abilities: Memory transfer. Strength boost. Spiritual awakening.
At peak: Influence over the weak-willed.
His body shimmered with spiritual force. Even the attacker froze.
"Hmm," the man muttered. "So... who are you? Why are you in the border zone? This is military territory. Are you... a spy?"
Vishnu, panting, stepped forward. His hands rose, open in peace.
"We're not spies.
We're just people... from the other side.
We didn't come to fight.
We came because we had nowhere else to go."
Bhagya peeked from behind a rock, hope flickering in his eyes.
And then—
A flash.
A soundless slice.
The world blinked.
Vishnu's head dropped.
His body stayed standing.
Then—collapsed.
The masked man's sword flickered with fresh red.
Bhagya let out a scream that didn't sound like a child's—
—it sounded like a world breaking.
To be continued…..