The mine was a furnace of chaos. Explosions rang out in every direction, sending up clouds of dust and debris. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning metal, the tang of blood, and the acrid stench of desperation.
But nothing compared to the sharp, malevolent presence that swept across Samaypur Mine—a presence that struck like a hammer but with surgical precision, leaving a trail of broken bodies, fractured morale, and shattered spirits.
Lavin Vyer was not merely a man of war. He was a force of nature, an embodiment of Dominion control, calm and terrifyingly cold. His presence cut through the battlefield like a scythe, and with each step he took, his enemies felt the tightening grip of despair.
His very being exuded an aura of violet-black, the dying remnants of a star's gravity, pulling everything around him into its orbit. Noctirum pulsed within him like an unholy heartbeat, guiding his every move, every thought.
In the distance, Commander Vidhart barked orders, his gravelly voice cutting through the storm of chaos. But even he, a seasoned tactician, couldn't deny the growing sense of futility that gripped his soldiers. The rebels were faltering, their morale breaking under the weight of Lavin's attacks. It wasn't just the sheer force of his power—it was the psychological torment that gripped their minds. Lavin had turned the battlefield into a maze of shadows and lies.
Lavin's eyes glowed with a cold, unrelenting blue-violet light. He raised his hand, and in an instant, jagged crystalline constructs of Noctirum materialized in the air around him. They flickered and shifted like ethereal blades, cutting through the rebel lines with unerring precision. Each construct was a masterstroke of calculated destruction—blades, shields, tendrils, and spires all flickering in the air like obsidian shards in a storm.
The constructs were not just weapons—they were psychological weapons. They struck at the heart of the rebels, reminding them that even the most basic of movements could lead to death. Every time one of the crystalline blades pierced a soldier's body, it sent a ripple of fear through the ranks. Lavin wasn't just fighting with strength; he was dismantling his enemies' resolve, piece by piece.
A young rebel lieutenant, desperate to prove himself, rushed forward with a spear in hand, his breath ragged with fear and determination. He thrust the spear toward Lavin's chest, but the tip of the weapon barely scratched Lavin's shimmering barrier before it crumbled into dust, disintegrating upon contact. The lieutenant was thrown back by an invisible force, crashing hard against the ground, his body limp and unconscious before he could even scream.
Lavin didn't even glance at the fallen soldier. His gaze was cold, calculating, always focused on the bigger picture. He was the puppet master pulling the strings of this battlefield, orchestrating every move with ruthless precision.
"Pathetic," Lavin muttered under his breath, his voice smooth and controlled. "You rebels were nothing more than fleeting sparks. This is the end."
With a wave of his hand, the ground beneath him shifted. The gravity itself bent and twisted, throwing several of Vidhart's men into the air, their bodies floating helplessly, their screams echoing in the empty space. Lavin's Gravity Sever was a rare but devastating move—one that disoriented his enemies, made them weightless and vulnerable. The pressure it created was enough to break bones or send soldiers crashing to the ground with an almost unbearable force.
"W-What is this?!" one of Vidhart's soldiers cried out, his voice panicked, his hands scrambling to find purchase in the air as he floated helplessly.
"Helplessness," Lavin replied softly, his voice cold. "Your weapons, your strength—none of it matters. Not anymore."
Commander Vidhart gritted his teeth, his hand reaching for a small detonator at his waist. He pressed it once, twice, but nothing happened. The trap had been disabled long ago. Lavin had anticipated his every move, had already rendered every defense useless before they even had a chance to be activated.
"You're already dead," Lavin said to soldiers before thrashing them with his own hands, his voice chilling. "You just don't know it yet."
Lavin's footsteps were quiet, measured, as he moved closer to Vidhart. The battlefield was a graveyard now, littered with the remnants of shattered hopes and dying soldiers. In the midst of the silence, Lavin's voice rang out, cool and biting.
"You're yesterday's hope," Lavin purred, his gaze locking onto Vidhart. The words were a slow, deliberate caress, a taunt crafted with surgical precision. "I'm tomorrow's purge."
Vidhart's grip tightened on his weapon, his knuckles turning white. His eyes, however, were filled not with fear, but with resolve. Lavin's presence was suffocating—his energy like an oppressive weight, pressing against the very air itself—but Vidhart had seen worse. He had stood in the face of death countless times. He wasn't about to be undone by fear now.
"You talk too much," Vidhart spat, his voice steady, despite the pounding of his heart. "Let's see if your actions match your words."
Lavin's lips curled into a smile, almost affectionate, as if Vidhart's defiance amused him. "Defiance is cute. But ultimately, pointless."
The words hung in the air like poison. Lavin's form flickered, the light around him shifting, almost imperceptible but unmistakably dangerous. His violet eyes burned with malicious intent, his body crackling with the energy of Noctirum.
Suddenly, without warning, the air around them grew colder. Shadows deepened, stretching unnaturally long. Vidhart felt his vision blur, the outlines of the world around him beginning to twist and distort.
No… not this.
Lavin was playing his game now. His Hallucination Field surrounded Vidhart, warping reality with every passing second. The sound of distant screams filled the air, then voices—some familiar, some alien—echoing and bouncing off the walls. A child's laugh.A woman crying.The unmistakable sound of loved ones—lost.
Vidhart fought to keep his ground, refusing to let the illusions overwhelm him. His family's faces blurred before his eyes—Naina, Aanchal, all the rebels he had vowed to protect.
But they were wrong. They weren't real.
A flicker of doubt slipped into his mind. For a moment, his heart twisted, a twinge of desperation sinking in.
"Do you remember them?" Lavin's voice was sweet, almost soothing, as it resonated through Vidhart's mind. "Your family... your friends… they're all dead. And you… you couldn't save them. You failed them."
Vidhart shook his head violently, forcing the illusion away. The faces of his comrades—the faces of the living—flashed in his mind. They need me. I can't let this monster win.
With a growl, Vidhart slammed his fist against the stone beneath him, activating a series of pressure-triggered traps hidden in the debris. The ground shook as sharp, jagged spikes burst from the earth, forcing Lavin to step back. The trap was a last-ditch effort—a delay, not a defeat.
But Lavin didn't flinch. His smile grew.
"You resist so stubbornly," Lavin purred, almost fondly. He effortlessly twisted the air around him, bending the spikes as if they were nothing more than paper. They crumbled to dust before his gaze.
The violet hue of his aura grew more intense, and his form shifted again, becoming a dark wraith—his very presence warping the fabric of reality. Vidhart felt a cold sweat bead along his neck. He wasn't just fighting Lavin's strength; he was battling the very essence of his power.
"I'm no longer bound by these petty constraints," Lavin murmured, his eyes gleaming with cold malice. "The world bends to my will. You can fight, Vidhart, but you can't win."
But Vidhart didn't back down. His mind raced for a plan, for something to turn the tide. He knew that Lavin was too powerful, too overwhelming, but there had to be a way—there always was.
As Lavin advanced, Vidhart's eyes flicked toward the narrow corridor ahead. It was a risky maneuver, but it was his only chance. Without warning, he darted forward, weaving through the broken ruins, his boots pounding against the rubble. He had to keep moving—had to keep Lavin off balance.
Lavin's voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried in the air like an explosion. "Run. But it won't save you."
With a flick of his wrist, Lavin summoned a wall of Noctirum constructs—blades of jagged crystal that hummed with energy—shattering the ground beneath him as they shot toward Vidhart. Each strike was like a whisper of death, cutting through the air with surgical precision.
Vidhart, eyes steely with determination, dived into the corridor just as the constructs struck the ground, narrowly missing him. The walls around him trembled, the very structure of the building groaning as it bent under the force of Lavin's power.
But as Lavin advanced, Vidhart knew he was buying time—not winning, just delaying the inevitable. He had to make it count.
Elsewhere, in the Mine of Raisena hills, the tension was palpable.
Shivam paced restlessly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts, emotions swirling within him as the hum of the Noctirum crates echoed around him like a heartbeat.
Agastya had been checking and re-checking the miners and the ore collected. But Shivam couldn't focus on the task at hand. His body itched with a need to act, his mind racing with the thought of Vidhart—he and others were still out there, facing that monster. He couldn't sit idly by. Not when so much was at stake.
The Noctirum inside him reacted—vibrating, stirring, as if it could sense his inner turmoil. Shivam clenched his fists. The energy within him flared, leaking out in blue-gold tendrils that snaked into the air, sparking with volatile intensity.
Naina approached; her presence gentle but insistent. "Shivam… you're not staying, are you?" Her voice was quiet, but her concern was obvious. She knew him too well—knew when something was wrong.
Shivam's gaze flickered toward her for only a moment; his jaw clenched tight. He didn't want to admit it. But the truth was undeniable.
"I can't stay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not when Everyone and Commander is still out there."
Naina stepped closer, her expression softening, but before she could respond, a comms officer burst into the Deep mine, breathless and pale, his eyes wide with fear.
"Sir," the officer gasped, "We've just received another burst transmission. Most of the Soldiers are dead... only a handful are holding the eastern flank. Commander Vidhart alone is barely holding on his own against that monster."
Silence fell. A heavy, suffocating silence that felt like a death sentence in itself.
Adhivita tried to speak, her words caught in her throat, but Shivam didn't wait. He turned and walked toward the exit; his pace deliberates. His mind was set.
Aanchal's voice rang out behind him. "Shivam, wait!" she called, but Shivam didn't slow. His boots struck the ground with purpose. "You can't take on Lavin alone! You know that."
Shivam's response was quiet, but firm. "I'm not planning to fight. I'm planning to end it." The weight of his words hit them like a hammer, but before anyone could say anything else, Shivam's body began to lift off the ground. The Noctirum inside him flared, its energy leaking out in bright tendrils, crackling through the air. His boots barely touched the ground as he ascended, and with a final, quiet word, he was gone.
"I'll get them to safety," Shivam said under his breath, his voice a promise to no one but himself.
The sky above him exploded in a thunderous shockwave as he tore through the air, racing toward Samaypur. The storm inside him had been unleashed, and nothing would stop him now.