Across the world, in Pune's Koregaon Park, Amar sat in his shadowed apartment, his golden eyes glowing as Darkness, his primordial, spoke in his mind. Amar, you are stressed. Why? Amar leaned back, shadows coiling around him, his face sad, etched with a heavy burden. The weight of his role as the God of Darkness—punishing the corrupt, protecting the weak—bore down harder with each life taken. Aryan Kapoor's death in Satpura two months ago haunted him, not as regret but as a question: was he cleansing evil or becoming it? Darkness's voice, warm and familiar, like a friend rather than a master, flowed through him. Speak, Amar. What troubles you?
Amar's voice was low, raw. "I killed Kapoor, destroyed his cube, freed his enslaved. He was corrupt, a tyrant using his power to bind thousands. But taking a life… it's not nothing to me. I know other proxies exist, out there, serving their primordials, but I don't know who they are or how they carry this weight. Am I turning into the monster I hunt?"
Darkness's presence pulsed, a gentle shadow wrapping around him, its tone soft but resolute. Killing, erasing—these are mere states to me, shifts in the cosmos. I sense other primordials, Amar—entities like me, commanding their proxies to kneel, to obey without question. But I don't know who they serve, nor what they plot now. We're apart from them, you and I. You're my proxy because you feel, you question, you defy me as a friend, not a servant. Your human heart, your goodness—it's why I chose you.
Amar's lips curved, a faint smile breaking through. "A primordial with a friend, not a servant. Those other proxies—they'd never imagine that."
Darkness chuckled, a deep, resonant hum. They wouldn't. Their primordials demand loyalty, grant power only to those who bow. We're different—you talk to me, argue, even reject my advice, and I persuade, not command. But, Amar, to protect the weak, to end corruption like Kapoor's, you must steel your heart. You don't become evil by stopping it; you preserve what's good.
Amar stood, shadows swirling tighter, his resolve hardening. "Kapoor's gone, but others like him are out there. I don't know who they are, their proxies, or their plans, but I'll find them. I'll judge them—corrupt or not—and act as the God of Darkness, my way."
Darkness's voice warmed, approving. That's why you're mine, Amar. Seek them, judge them, stay true. Amar nodded, his golden eyes fierce, his conflict easing but not gone. His bond with Darkness—a friendship where he could defy without fear—was unlike any other proxy's servitude to their primordial. The Council, blind to this, saw only a rogue, not the unbound force he was.
In the Persian Gulf, Khalid Al-Mansour's obsidian stronghold thrummed with energy. Arjun Kapoor stood in a training chamber, its steel walls scarred from his experiments with Sound. His black tunic clung to a frame taut with vengeance, his sharp jaw set, haunted eyes burning. He spoke—"Crack"—and the air rippled, a steel panel fracturing with a sharp snap. Khalid, proxy of Lightning, watched from a rune-etched platform, his white ghutra framing eyes that sparked with cautious approval. Noor Al-Bakri stood nearby, her dark hijab framing a poised face, silent but watchful.
Khalid's voice crackled like thunder. "Your control strengthens, Arjun. Sound bends minds, shatters barriers. Your father ruled eight nations with it—India, Bangladesh, Nepal, beyond. Master it here, and the God of Darkness will fall."
Arjun's gaze was cold, suspicion lingering. "I'm Sound's servant, not yours. The God of Darkness killed my father. I'll wield this power to crush him. But you and your Council—you're too quick to arm me. "
Khalid's aura flared, his tone steady. "The God of Darkness is a rogue, his shadows tearing at our order. Your father's domain is chaos now. My lightning tech, Lin Wei's drones, Tanaka's fleets—they're yours. Train, grow stronger, and your vengeance will restore balance."
Arjun's voice hummed, testing Sound's power. "Balance, or your control? He'll pay, no matter what my father was." The chamber vibrated, the air thick with his resolve, unaware that across India, a proxy unbound by servitude prepared to judge the corrupt, his identity and power a mystery to all.