Somewhere in a village in Afghanistan, underground…
Valen: Are those things in good condition now?
Masked Man: Yes, they are safe. The parts were dismembered, and the safe parts are now for sale. Some have already been sold, and the money will go to a charity.
Valen: Charity, meaning good work for people who are suffering?
Masked Man: Yes. Some suffering people, beaten by fate, will benefit from this—because of you.
Valen: Oh, you were also a part of this.
Masked Man: Look, we have to do this kind of work, as much as we possibly can. These actions define the humanity that you are going to be a part of. And I tell you, if you ever think about what to do next, just aim to make a good person happy, and witness their happiness, their tears of joy. Eventually, you will realize that nothing is more satisfying and noble than that.
Valen: I'll remember that. So, what's my next assignment?
Masked Man: For now, your mission is to immerse yourself in humanity. Go wander and observe them—their joys, their love, their affection. Strive to understand them and blend in. Offer minor assistance—nothing major, just small acts of help. I suggest finding a simple labor job, which should be easy in a rural area. The most crucial rule is: do not reveal your power unless it's absolutely necessary. Here, take these: a fake mustache and eye lenses. I'm giving you three sets. Try to keep a low profile and avoid government agencies. I will contact you when I have another task for you.
Valen: How will you find me?
Masked Man: Don't worry. I will.
[In a subterranean chamber, the terrorists were immobilized, subjected to the full force of the pain multiplier drug. Their screams were muffled echoes against the stone walls as their nails were torn out, their bodies brutalized, their fingers systematically broken. Every agonizing second was a lesson in despair. Scrawled across the blood-spattered wall was a final, chilling inscription: "Try to be a nice person in hell, at least."]
In a vast, crushing void of space, within a pocket-like chamber, the gravity was overwhelmingly severe. The torture was even for the 'demons of iron hell,' and for Agarviath, the son of Gorath, the pressure was so intense that blood oozed from his eyes, ears, and mouth. The blood from his eyes mingled with the tears of excruciating pain as he performed an intensely difficult penance, or tapasya.
A vivid memory of a previous penance lingered in his mind.
Years Earlier
After a century of tapasya, Brahma appeared.
Brahma: "Agarviath, your penance is complete. Ask me for a boon that matches the magnitude of your devotion."
Agarviath: "Hey Brahma, Grandfather of the Universe, I do not want a boon. I ask that whatever pain I endured during this tapasya be multiplied by one hundred thousand times. By doing so, the concept of a 'high sacrificial tapasya' will be proportionally reduced by my pain. Only this. With this, I can perform even more penance and come closer to you, my Lord."
Brahma, with a simple expression, granted the request:
Brahma: "It is a most peculiar boon, but as you wish. May you use it for good."
As Brahma vanished, Agarviath began to transform—his skin tearing, his veins turning black, his very appearance changing. He smiled and declared:
Agarviath: "Oh, Devas, now try to stop me."
[This boon was highly strategic. The devas hadn't foreseen the danger of the initial penance (tapasya) because the intent wasn't purely malicious, so they didn't intervene. Now, however, he only needed to perform a short period of penance—a few months—and it would yield a sacrifice equivalent to millennia.]