The face of brahmin sage was framed by a long white beard and moustache. His eyebrow hair reached all the way down to his beard, and his face bore countless wrinkles. On his forehead, a white ribbon was tied, dyed crimson at the centre.
His body was rotting with festering wounds, oozing pus and blood. It was a miracle that he was still alive in such a state.
"Who are you, old man?" Rudra demanded, turning his focus to the sage. "How did you suppress our powers!?"
"It does not matter who I am," the sage said, his voice cracked with age.
He slowly rose to his feet with the help of a stick and declared, "You will not destroy anything further."
"Why am I meeting so many arrogant people today!?" Rudra barked, rushing toward the sage.
The old sage, who had kept his eyes closed until now, slowly opened them and stared at Rudra.
