December 27, 2025 — 1:30 PM
He had decided to celebrate his birthday alone.
As he stepped outside, his eyes drifted toward the old temple at the end of the street. The structure stood silent, half-swallowed by time and rust.
"Well… I should pray," he muttered.
"It's been a long time since I visited a temple. Might as well go now. I also want to see what God is doing in this apocalypse world." 😝
Pulling on his jacket, he made his way toward the temple.
When he reached the entrance, he struggled to open the door.
"My, my… looks like rust arrived here long before me to block my path," he said with a dry chuckle.
"If this were a normal day, the doors would already be open, people coming and going, bells ringing… ahh, I miss those days a little."
Gathering all his strength, he pushed hard.
The door creaked open with a sharp groan, the force sending him a few steps backward before he managed to regain his balance.
He entered quietly, walking on his toes as if afraid to disturb the silence, and sat down in front of the Shivling.
Folding his hands, he spoke softly.
"Well… hello, Mahadev. Or should I say thank you—for keeping me alive in this apocalypse and for a few other things too."
"So, tomorrow is my birthday. There's no one left to celebrate it with me…"
"Please, please, please send someone alive, normal, and a good person—someone I can eat with and have a little fun."
A calm, man on the snow mountain.
[Mahadev:]
Kid, you're asking for a lot—and you still expect me to fulfill your wishes after disappearing for an entire year.
But… since you've been surviving the apocalypse, I'll let it slide.
He smiled, stood up, and dusted himself off.
"I'll come back tomorrow. It's my birthday, after all. I'll bring water and milk for the Abhishek."
With that promise, he left the temple and returned home.
He glanced at the watch on his wrist.
1:55 PM.
Suddenly—
Bang! Bang!
Gunshots echoed from nearby.
His heart skipped a beat.
He rushed to the window.
Outside, a group stood trapped in a rough circle. In the center were two children—a boy and a girl, no older than ten or eleven.
Surrounding them were five girls trying desperately to protect the kids.
One of them was heavily armed, guns blazing.
Two others—teenagers, perhaps—were hurling fireballs at the mushroom-headed creatures closing in on them.
A middle-aged woman, likely the children's mother, fought with frantic determination.
But the most eye-catching among them was a girl who looked… familiar.
Too familiar.
She was slicing mushroom heads into pieces with terrifying precision, shouting—
"Wind Blade!"
They were clearly outnumbered.
Yet they kept fighting.
Then the girl turned toward his window and yelled—
"Hey, idiot! Are you planning to just watch us get eaten by these zombies, or are you going to help?!"
"Yes! Coming—sorry!" he shouted back.
He jumped out of the window and sprinted toward them.
I have to save them, he thought.
I want people to celebrate my birthday with.
[Author:]
Well, the boy is about to save people.
Not sure whether he's a hero… or just selfish.