"Amitesh," Raktbeej said calmly, "you had a question?"
Amitesh hesitated for a moment, then
asked, "Why do you want me to eat your own kind?"
For the first time, something cold flickered in Raktbeej's presence.
"There is no need," Raktbeej replied, his voice hardening, "for a human like you to know the answer."
He turned away, the surrounding space trembling as if rejecting Amitesh itself.
"This is my domain now," Raktbeej added. "Leave."
The world shattered like glass.
Amitesh gasped as he was pulled back into reality.
Warmth replaced the void.
He blinked and found Priyanka standing in front of him, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Her eyes were filled with worry—real, human worry.
"Amitesh," she said softly, "are you okay?"
He tried to focus as her voice grounded him.
"I sent Riya to call you for dinner, but she said you weren't responding," Priyanka continued. "So I came to check on you."
She searched his face, fear barely hidden behind concern.
"Are you really okay?"
Amitesh took a slow breath, steadying himself.
"Yes," he said at last. "I'm fine."
Amitesh smiled faintly, the kind of smile people use to end questions.
Amitesh:- yes, I am.
Priyanka didn't move her hands from his shoulders. They were warm. Real. Too real compared to the echoing void he had just been in.
Priyanka:- you were staring at the wall… total blinking.
She lowered her voice.
Priyanka:- it scared me.
Amitesh looked past her, at the corner of the room. For a split second, the shadows there felt thicker—almost alive.
Amitesh:- sorry… I was just thinking.
She searched his face, as if trying to find cracks. Whatever she saw didn't satisfy her.
Priyanka:- dinner's getting cold. Come on.
As she turned, Amitesh's chest tightened.
Inside him, something stirred.
Not a voice.
Not words.
A sensation—like hunger that wasn't his.
His throat went dry.
For a moment, the memory surfaced again:
"This is my domain now."
Amitesh clenched his fist.
Amitesh (thinking):- …so that's how it is.
He followed Priyanka out of the room.
Behind him, the shadows slowly returned to normal—
as if nothing had ever been there.
But deep inside, Raktbeej smiled.
They walked side by side in comfortable silence. Priyanka spoke without turning to look at him.
"Amitesh… did you really spend an entire year all alone?"
"And you still look completely fine."
"Yes," Amitesh replied. "What did you expect—me lying in a grave?"
Priyanka let out a small laugh, shaking her head.
"No, not that," she said. "I was just thinking you might've developed chronic loneliness."
She glanced at him briefly before looking ahead again.
"Humans are social creatures. When they spend too much time alone, it can cause certain conditions."
Amitesh raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? Then what do you think, Dr. Priyanka?" he teased.
"Am I suffering from it?"
She shook her head slowly.
"No. I don't think you have anything like that," she said with quiet confidence.
"You enjoy working, and you don't seem exhausted by life."
Her words lingered in the air—simple, but reassuring.
Amitesh glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
"So," he asked, "what did you make?"
Priyanka didn't answer right away.
"It's a surprise," she said instead. "You'll see."
They walked a few more steps. The corridor moonlights passed over her face in slow intervals, shadow and light taking turns. Amitesh noticed how relaxed she looked—and how carefully she was avoiding his eyes.
After a pause, she spoke again.
"You know," Priyanka said softly, "people who've been alone for too long usually carry it in their posture. In the way they walk. In the way they breathe."
Amitesh stayed silent.
"They either become restless," she continued, "or completely numb."
She finally looked at him.
"But you're neither."
He let out a faint chuckle. "That sounds like a compliment."
"It is," she said. "And it isn't."
He stopped walking.
Priyanka halted too, surprised.
"I was alone," Amitesh said quietly. "But I wasn't lonely every day."
She listened. Didn't interrupt.
"There were days I didn't speak to anyone," he went on. "Days I forgot what my own voice sounded like."
His fingers clenched slightly.
"But there was always something to do. Something to fix. Something that needed me."
Priyanka's expression softened.
"So you survived by staying useful," she said.
Amitesh nodded. "If I stopped… I think it would've caught up to me."
She took a step closer, her voice lower now.
"That's why I don't think you're broken," she said. "But I do think you got used to carrying things alone."
For a moment, the world felt very quiet.
Then Priyanka smiled—small, genuine.
"That's why I cooked today," she said.
"Not as a doctor. Not out of concern."
She started walking again, gesturing for him to follow.
"Just… so you don't have to eat alone tonight."
Amitesh followed her.
And for reasons he didn't fully understand, his chest felt a little lighter.
***
The next morning.
Amitesh slept like a man who had sold every money he owned and finally bought freedom.
The blanket was wrapped around him like a cocoon. No thoughts. No worries. Just sleep.
"Oi, sleepy head," Zoey's voice cut
through the room. "Wake up. It's already morning."
Amitesh turned away, curling deeper into the bedsheet.
"It's the apocalypse," he muttered. "Let me sleep."
Zoey stared at him.
"What kind of stupid reason is that?"
"The most valid one you're going to get from me right now."
She sighed, then her tone sharpened.
"Wake up already. They're coming today."
Amitesh didn't move.
"We talked on the walkie-talkie," Zoey continued. "They'll be here in three hours."
The words finally registered.
Amitesh's eyes snapped open.
"…What?"
He shot upright in floor.
"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?!"
Zoey crossed her arms, completely unfazed.
"I just did."
Amitesh stared at her, disbelief slowly turning into panic.
"…You're dead to me," he said.
Zoey smirked.
"Get dressed. You can panic after breakfast."
The apocalypse, it seemed, was officially cancelled.
***
As the morning sun climbed higher into the sky, the rumble of engines shattered the calm.
A convoy of trucks rolled in and stopped before Amitesh's current residence.
Their vehicles were reinforced with iron plates and cruel spikes, built not for roads—but for war. The men who stepped out had sharp, narrow eyes, the kind that missed nothing, as if even air struggled to pass through their gaze.
They moved together, boots hitting the ground in perfect rhythm.
A march.
Gauri stood waiting for them at the entrance, spine straight, expression unreadable.
An old man stepped forward.
His beard was thick and grizzled, his chest solid like carved stone. Age had not weakened him—it had compressed him into something denser.
"You really took your time coming here, Captain Singh," Gauri said, yawning openly.
Singh snorted.
"Don't talk like traveling is easy these days. Thanks to your idea, we almost made it here safely."
His eyes scanned the building.
"So," he continued, "where are the supplies?"
Zoey leaned against the wall.
"Every room. Help yourselves."
Singh turned.
"Boys. Move."
At the command, the soldiers spread out immediately, boots echoing through the halls.
Singh paused, then glanced back at Gauri.
"So where's the boy you were talking about?"
He frowned. "What was his name again… Amitesh?"
Gauri replied casually, a little too casually.
"He went to steal your cars."
Singh chuckled.
"Hah. Then he'll regret it."
Gauri's eyes widened—just a little.
"—!"
***
Outside the building.
Amitesh stood near one of the trucks, one eye covered in bandages.
It wasn't injured.
He just wanted to see their reaction when they realized he could still see perfectly.
"Hehe," he muttered. "Let's see what we've got here."
He reached for the door.
A kick slammed into his face.
His body flew backward, skidding across the ground.
"Tch… you really are something, you know."
A sharp voice cut through the air.
A man stepped into view—built like a hill, armored head to toe, a massive sword strapped across his back. A cigarette hung from his mouth, smoke curling lazily as if he wasn't even trying.
Before Amitesh could react, a hand grabbed the back of his collar and dragged him inside like baggage.
Inside—
"Papa!"
Gauri rushed forward, throwing her arms around the man.
The man froze for half a second… then gently patted her head.
"I'm glad you're safe," he said quietly.
"My daughter."
Amitesh, still on the floor, stared.
"…Papa?"
Zoey's gaze lingered on the bandages covering Amitesh's eye.
Then—slowly—she and Gauri both turned toward Priyanka.
Priyanka exhaled, rubbing her temple.
"I didn't have a choice," she said quietly.
"He insisted."
Gauri blinked… then sighed.
"Oh. Right," she said. "Yeah… this is your first time meeting him."
Mahaveer's eyes returned to Amitesh.
They scanned him again—deeper this time. Not just flesh and posture, but something underneath.
"Hm," he hummed. "You're strong."
A pause.
"But not stronger than my daughter."
He stepped forward and extended his hand.
"I'm Mahaveer," he said. "Thank you for saving Gauri. As a father—"
His voice dropped, dense and heavy.
"—I'll give you anything you want in return."
Amitesh stared at the hand for half a second.
Then he shook it.
"Well," he said casually, "I want a sword."
Silence.
It hit hard.
Zoey's mouth parted.
The soldiers stiffened—hands drifting closer to their weapons.
"…What?" someone whispered.
Gauri's breath caught.
"Wait—"
Mahaveer's grip tightened around Amitesh's hand.
"A sword," he repeated slowly.
"Not shelter. Not resources. Not protection."
His eyes darkened.
"You ask a father for a weapon."
"Yes," Amitesh replied.
The air changed.
Mahaveer released him.
"Interesting," he said. "Most boys your age ask for favors."
His gaze sharpened.
"Only soldiers ask for blades."
—CLANG.
Steel slid halfway free behind Mahaveer's shoulder.
Not an attack.
A test.
In one synchronized step, the soldiers moved—surrounding Amitesh in a perfect arc.
Zoey swore.
"Gauri—"
"Stop."
Gauri's voice cut clean through the room.
Everyone froze.
She stepped forward—placing herself in front of Amitesh.
"You don't get to judge him like that," she said, her voice tight but steady.
"Not after what he did."
Mahaveer turned to her.
"Gauri."
"He didn't save me because of orders," she continued.
"He didn't save me for rewards. He didn't even know who I was."
Her fists clenched.
"When the breach happened… when everyone pulled back—"
Her voice trembled.
"—he stayed."
Mahaveer's eyes narrowed.
"He carried me out," Gauri said.
"Bleeding. Hunted."
She swallowed.
"And when I told him to leave me behind—"
She glanced at Amitesh.
"He said, 'If I do that, I won't be able to sleep anymore.'"
The room went silent.
Mahaveer slowly turned back to Amitesh.
"…Is that true?"
Amitesh shrugged.
"Sounds like something I'd say."
For half a second—
Mahaveer smiled.
Then it vanished.
"Lower your weapons."
The soldiers obeyed instantly.
Mahaveer stepped close, his voice dropping low—meant only for Amitesh.
"But understand this, boy," he said.
"If you want a sword—"
His presence crashed down like a mountain.
"—you'll prove you won't turn it against my daughter."
The blade slid fully free.
Steel sang.
Mahaveer turned, pointing it toward the open training ground outside.
"Step out," he ordered.
"Let's see what kind of man asks a father for a weapon."
"Papa—!" Gauri started.
Mahaveer didn't turn.
Amitesh walked forward, a faint smile touching his lips.
"…Guess the apocalypse finally showed up."
The doors slammed open.
And the test began.
They moved outside, stopping in the open ground before the building.
The morning sun hung overhead, bright and merciless. Dust stirred beneath heavy boots as soldiers formed a loose circle—far enough to watch, close enough to intervene.
Mahaveer stepped forward.
"Let's see how much strength you really have," he said calmly.
"And whether you're even worthy of lifting a sword."
He removed the massive blade from his back and planted it upright in the ground beside him.
Not as a weapon.
As a warning.
Mahaveer cracked his neck once, then looked at Amitesh.
"So," he asked, "how many meridians have you opened?"
"Twelve."
A few soldiers inhaled sharply.
Mahaveer nodded slowly.
"…Unfortunate for you," he said.
"I have twenty."
The pressure changed.
Not power.
Not aura.
Just presence.
Mahaveer stepped forward.
The ground didn't shake—but Amitesh's instincts screamed.
The first punch came without warning.
No technique. No flourish.
Just weight.
Amitesh raised his arms—
BAM
His feet slid back half a meter.
Zoey's eyes widened.
"He didn't even activate anything…"
Mahaveer followed immediately—elbow, knee, shoulder.
Each strike was simple.
Each strike felt like being hit by a moving wall.
Amitesh ducked, twisted, barely slipping past a grab that could've crushed his collarbone.
"You're fast," Mahaveer said.
"But speed without structure breaks."
He stepped in close and drove his palm into Amitesh's chest.
THUD
Amitesh flew backward, rolling across the dirt.
He coughed—stood again.
No glow.
No techniques.
Just grit.
Mahaveer tilted his head.
"You're not using your meridians."
"I know," Amitesh replied, wiping blood from his lip.
"You said this was a test."
For the first time—
Mahaveer smiled.
Then—
A sudden movement.
One of the soldiers behind them shifted position.
Too sharp.
Too fast.
Zoey noticed first.
"—Wait."
The man lunged.
Not at Amitesh.
At Gauri.
A blade flashed.
"GAURI—!"
Amitesh moved before thought.
He tackled her sideways as the blade
sliced air where her neck had been.
The ground cracked beneath them.
Mahaveer turned—
"What are you doing?!" he roared.
The soldier's face twisted.
"For the Great Tommorow!" he shouted.
Three more soldiers moved.
Traitors.
Weapons drawn.
The circle collapsed inward.
Mahaveer stepped forward—
Then froze.
A cold laugh echoed.
Inside Amitesh's head.
Raktbeej.
"So… this is the man who wants to test you?"
"How amusing."
Amitesh's breath hitched.
Not now.
"Oh, relax," Raktbeej purred.
"But if you don't act—she dies."
The traitor raised his blade again.
Time slowed.
Mahaveer was too far.
Gauri was frozen.
Zoey was mid-draw.
Raktbeej whispered—
"Borrow it."
Amitesh's foot slammed into the ground.
For a fraction of a second—
His shadow moved wrong.
He disarmed the traitor with a single strike—bare hand snapping the wrist, elbow crashing into the throat.
Not lethal.
Precise.
Another attacker rushed—
Amitesh caught him by the collar and threw him into the third.
Bodies hit the dirt hard.
Silence fell.
Mahaveer stared.
Not at the fallen men.
At Amitesh.
"…That movement," he said slowly.
"That wasn't training."
Amitesh clenched his fists, fighting the echo in his mind.
Raktbeej laughed softly.
"Careful," he whispered.
"You're starting to look like my disciple."
Mahaveer walked up to Amitesh and stopped inches away.
His voice was low.
"You just used something," he said.
"Something you didn't show me."
Amitesh met his gaze.
"And you didn't stop the blade in time,"
he replied quietly.
The air went sharp.
Mahaveer looked at Gauri—unharmed.
Then at the traitors.
Then back at Amitesh.
Slowly… he reached down and pulled his sword from the ground.
He held it out.
Flat.
Balanced.
"Pick it up," Mahaveer said.
This time—
It wasn't a test.
He lifted the sword slowly.
Not because it was heavy—
but because it demanded respect.
The blade caught the light as it rose, long and clean, its edge dull only in appearance. Near the tip, the metal curved subtly inward, a brutal design meant not just to cut—but to tear control away from the wielder if mishandled.
The handle was black.
Not polished.
Not decorative.
Wrapped tightly in dark cloth, layer upon layer, worn where countless palms had clenched it before. The fabric was rough, meant to bite into the skin and keep the grip steady even when hands trembled, even when they were slick with sweat or blood.
This was not a weapon made to look heroic.
It was made to end fights.
Mahaveer watched quietly, then spoke.
"Length—five point two feet."
The soldiers didn't move. Even Zoey held her breath.
"Weight—fifteen kilograms."
A pause.
"You'll need years to truly understand how to use it."
Mahaveer stepped forward and took the sword from Amitesh's hands with ease, as if the weight meant nothing to him.
He turned the blade slightly, letting the sun slide along its edge.
"With a normal sword," he said calmly, "a mistake costs you a finger."
He looked back at Amitesh.
"With this—"
His voice dropped.
"—a mistake costs you an arm."
He met Amitesh's eyes.
"And sometimes… your life."
The sword hummed softly as Mahaveer lowered it.
Not threatening.
Warning.
Somewhere deep inside, Raktbeej laughed.
Soft.
Satisfied.
Because for the first time—
Amitesh wasn't just holding a weapon.
He was standing at the edge of
something that would never let him walk away unchanged.
"What do we do with these three?"
The traitors were on their knees now, wrists bound, heads lowered. Dust clung to their clothes. None of them spoke.
Mahaveer stood behind them.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he turned to Amitesh.
"Would you like to kill them?"
The words landed without emotion. Not a test of cruelty—
a test of direction.
Mahaveer raised his hand slightly.
One signal.
And it would be done.
Amitesh didn't look at the men.
He didn't look at the soldiers either.
He looked at the ground.
Then he shook his head.
"No," he said.
The answer was immediate. Firm.
"My rules," Amitesh continued quietly.
"I don't hurt humans."
A murmur rippled through the soldiers.
Mahaveer studied him. Not disappointed. Not impressed.
Curious.
"You're saying that," Mahaveer said, "even after one of them tried to kill my daughter."
"Yes."
Amitesh finally looked up.
"If I cross that line," he said, "it won't stop here."
Silence stretched.
Then—
Mahaveer laughed. A short, breathless sound.
"Hah."
He lowered his hand.
"Good," he said. "That answer alone tells me more than any fight."
His expression hardened as he turned to the soldiers.
"Take them away. Tribunal judgment."
The traitors were dragged off, shouting now—fear finally breaking through.
When they were gone, Mahaveer faced Amitesh again.
"Remember this," he said.
"A sword doesn't decide who you are."
He glanced at the blade resting nearby.
"Your restraint does."
Behind Amitesh's eyes—
Raktbeej was silent.
And for once…
that silence was uneasy.
The world around Amitesh faded.
Not completely—
just enough.
The voices, the soldiers, Mahaveer's presence—all of it dulled, as if wrapped in thick cloth.
Then—
Raktbeej laughed.
A slow, amused sound that echoed inside Amitesh's skull.
"So," Raktbeej said, "this is the line you refuse to cross?"
Amitesh didn't respond aloud.
I said no, he thought.
"Humans tried to kill you," Raktbeej continued calmly.
"They tried to kill the girl you care about."
A pause.
"And you chose mercy."
Amitesh clenched his jaw.
"They're still humans."
Raktbeej scoffed.
"Such a fragile word," he murmured.
"Human."
The pressure in Amitesh's chest tightened—not pain, but weight.
"Do you know what they'll do if they escape?" Raktbeej asked.
"They'll report. They'll plan. They'll return."
Amitesh's breath slowed.
"Then I'll deal with it then."
Raktbeej laughed again—sharper this time.
"That answer," he said, "is exactly why you'll suffer."
Amitesh's thoughts flared.
I'm not you.
"Oh, I know," Raktbeej replied softly.
"If you were, they'd already be dead."
Silence followed.
Then Raktbeej's voice lowered—almost thoughtful.
"But listen to me, Amitesh. I'm not asking you to enjoy killing."
The words curled like smoke.
"I'm asking you to understand necessity."
Amitesh shook his head slightly.
"No. The moment I decide who deserves to live—"
"You already did," Raktbeej interrupted.
The words struck harder than any blow.
"You chose them over the future harm they'll cause," Raktbeej said.
"That is a decision too."
Amitesh's fists tightened.
"I won't become a monster just because the world is broken."
For a long moment—
Raktbeej was silent.
Then, unexpectedly, he sighed.
"…That stubbornness," he said quietly.
"That's why you're interesting."
The pressure eased—but not gone.
"Very well," Raktbeej continued.
"Keep your rules."
His tone darkened.
"But remember this, Amitesh."
"When the day comes," he whispered,
"when your mercy costs you someone you cannot replace—"
A pause.
"—don't look at me and ask why."
The connection snapped.
Sound rushed back.
The world returned.
Amitesh opened his eyes—heart steady, expression unchanged.
But somewhere deep inside—
A rule had been tested.
And Raktbeej was already waiting for the next crack.
***
Later that evening.
The camp had settled. Soldiers were busy securing the perimeter, voices low, movements practiced.
Mahaveer stood alone near the edge of the grounds, watching the horizon.
Amitesh approached.
Mahaveer didn't turn.
"Do you think mercy will work in this world now?" Mahaveer asked.
The question wasn't mocking.
It was tired.
Amitesh stopped beside him.
"I don't know," he said.
Mahaveer finally looked at him.
"You hesitate," Mahaveer said. "That hesitation can get people killed."
Amitesh shook his head slowly.
"No," he replied. "I hesitate because I think."
Mahaveer frowned slightly.
"This world doesn't reward thought," he said. "It rewards decisiveness."
Amitesh's eyes were calm. Too calm.
"Then this world is foolish," he said.
Mahaveer stiffened.
Amitesh continued, his voice steady, stripped of emotion.
"If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong. I can accept that."
"But I won't change myself just to fit a broken world."
Mahaveer watched him carefully now.
"If the world is cruel," Amitesh went on,
"that's not my responsibility."
His gaze hardened—not angry, but sharp.
"And if the world demands I become cruel to survive—"
A pause.
"—then I'll oppose the world."
Mahaveer's breath slowed.
"You speak like someone who hasn't lost enough yet," he said quietly.
Amitesh didn't deny it.
"Maybe," he said.
"But I've seen what happens when people justify their actions with 'necessity.'"
He turned slightly toward Mahaveer.
"At first, they say, just this once.
Then they say, it was unavoidable.
And eventually, they stop asking whether it was right at all."
Mahaveer said nothing.
Amitesh finished calmly—
"I don't want power that forces me to abandon my own rules."
"I don't want strength that rewrites my values."
"And I don't want survival if the cost is becoming something I despise."
Silence stretched between them.
The wind moved through the camp.
Mahaveer finally spoke, his voice lower than before.
"You're dangerous," he said.
"Not because you're weak—"
He met Amitesh's eyes.
"—but because you're willing to stand alone."
Amitesh didn't respond.
Mahaveer turned away, leaving him with a final warning.
"Just remember this," he said.
"The world doesn't break idealists quickly."
A pause.
"It breaks them thoroughly."
Amitesh stood there long after Mahaveer left.
Inside his mind, Raktbeej was silent.
Not mocking.
Not laughing.
Watching.
Because this kind of resolve—
Was far more terrifying than cruelty.