The alarm screamed.
Motion sensors. Perimeter breach.
Armed hostiles.
Bharat was already moving. Grabbed the Codex. Shoved it into Ayesha's hands.
"Back door. Now."
"What about you?"
"I'll buy time."
"That's suicide."
"It's tactical."
Ayesha didn't move.
Just stared at him.
That look.
The one that said I've seen men die making heroic last stands and you're not going to be one of them.
"We go together," she said.
"Ayesha—"
"Together. Or I stay."
Bharat's countdown flickered.
28 days, 18 hours.
Still ticking.
Still a death sentence he couldn't afford to speed up.
"Fine. But stay behind me."
"I'm the one with combat training."
"And I'm the one with divine authority."
Pause.
"Barely."
Outside.
Footsteps.
Multiple sets.
Heavy boots. Military precision.
Bharat glanced at the window. Six figures. Black tactical gear. Rifles raised. Moving in formation—professional, practiced, the kind of team that didn't miss.
Not temple security.
Mercenaries.
Rajan had hired private contractors.
Mira's voice from the bedroom:
"Bharat!"
"Stay down!"
"They're surrounding the building!"
"I know!"
The front door exploded.
Not kicked in.
Breaching charge.
Smoke poured through. Flash-bang followed—blinding white, sound like the world splitting open.
Bharat's vision whited out.
Ears ringing.
But his hand was already moving.
Traced the sigil in the air—Guardian's Shield, Tier 2. The one Peacock had unlocked. The one that cost him tremors, nosebleeds, the feeling of his bones vibrating like tuning forks.
The shield manifested.
Translucent. Shimmering.
Hovering three feet in front of him like frozen lightning.
Bullets hit.
Seven. Nine. Twelve.
Each one stopped mid-air—suspended in the shield like flies in amber, spinning slowly, their momentum eaten by divine authority.
The shield held.
Barely.
Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. Hairline fractures spreading like frost on glass.
"Ayesha! Get Mira and go!"
"Not without—"
"GO!"
She went.
Because she was smart enough to know when to argue and when to obey.
Bharat heard her boots pounding toward the bedroom. Heard Mira's protest. Heard the window shatter—emergency exit, fire escape, the plan they'd rehearsed but never thought they'd use.
Good.
Now he just had to survive long enough for them to escape.
The mercenaries stopped firing.
Regrouped.
Professional.
Their leader stepped forward—face masked, rifle lowered but ready. Hand signals. Tactical assessment.
They'd seen the shield.
Knew it wasn't normal.
Knew they were dealing with something outside their pay grade.
But they didn't retreat.
Rajan must've paid them very well.
Then the second wave came.
Not bullets.
Grenades.
Bharat saw them arc through the smoke—two of them, tumbling end over end, pins already pulled.
Fragmentation.
Timed fuses.
Three seconds.
His hand moved. Another sigil. Shield extension—pushing the boundary outward, trying to cover the blast radius.
The shield flickered.
Cracks widened.
Two seconds.
The grenades detonated.
Sound like the end of the world.
The shield absorbed the blast—light and heat and shrapnel slamming into divine authority, physics meeting metaphysics in a collision that made Bharat's teeth rattle.
The shield held.
Cracked.
But held.
Then it shattered.
Top right corner.
Just a piece.
A fist-sized chunk of the shield fractured off, dissolved into light that tasted like copper and regret.
Shrapnel got through.
Three pieces.
One grazed Bharat's shoulder—hot line of pain, blood immediately soaking through his shirt.
The second embedded in the wall behind him.
The third kept going.
Toward the hallway.
Where Ayesha was.
"Ayesha!"
No answer.
"AYESHA!"
She appeared in the doorway.
Breathing hard.
Left arm clutched to her chest.
Blood seeping between her fingers.
Not a graze.
A hit.
Bharat's vision tunneled.
Red at the edges.
Rage so pure it felt like ice.
"You're hit."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
"I said I'm fine."
She straightened. Pulled her hand away. The wound was on her forearm—deep, ugly, shrapnel lodged in muscle.
And her blood was dripping.
Onto her wrist.
Where the god's mark still glowed faintly.
The mark flared.
Bright.
Blinding.
Ayesha gasped. Stumbled. Bharat caught her.
"What's happening?"
"I don't—"
"Ayesha!"
Her eyes were wide. Unfocused. Like she was seeing something he couldn't.
"It's… talking to me."
"What is?"
"The god."
The mark pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then went dark.
Ayesha sagged against him. Breathing shallow. Skin pale.
"What did it say?"
"It said…"
Pause.
"It said thank you."
"For what?"
"For bleeding."
Bharat stared.
"What?"
"The contract clause. Blood offering. I just… activated it."
"How?"
"My blood touched the mark while I was injured defending someone."
Pause.
"Defending you."
The Codex in her other hand flared.
Pages flipping on their own.
Stopping on Ayesha's entry.
New text appeared. Burning itself into the page like a brand.
AYESHA KAUR — BLOOD OATH INITIATED
Contract status: VOID → ACTIVE (modified)
New terms: Guardian's Debt
By spilling blood in defense of a marked soul, the bride has invoked ancient rite. The god acknowledges service. Payment deferred but not forgotten.
"No."
Bharat's voice.
Flat.
Final.
"No. We voided this. Rajan's authority was revoked."
"And I just re-activated it."
"By accident."
"Doesn't matter."
Ayesha looked at him. Really looked. Her eyes were clear now. Focused.
"The god doesn't care about technicalities, Bharat. It cares about contracts."
"Then we break it again."
"How?"
"I don't know. But we will."
Footsteps.
The mercenaries regrouping.
Preparing for another assault.
Bharat glanced at the shield. Still active. But the crack in the corner was spreading—slow, inexorable, like watching ice melt.
System notification appeared.
Red text. Urgent.
WARNING: Guardian's Shield (Tier 2) integrity compromised
Structural failure: 23%
Each additional fracture will cost lifespan
Current cost: 6 hours per 10% damage
Shield shatters completely at 100% damage
Estimated cost: 2 days, 8 hours of remaining lifespan
Bharat's countdown:
28 days, 18 hours.
Minus 6 hours for the current crack.
28 days, 12 hours.
Still ticking.
Still dying.
Ayesha saw his face.
"What?"
"The shield. It's costing me time."
"How much?"
"Six hours for the damage so far."
"And if it breaks completely?"
"Two and a half days."
Pause.
"I can't afford that."
The mercenaries moved.
Coordinated.
Three from the front. Two flanking the sides.
The leader stayed back.
Watching.
Assessing.
Waiting for the shield to fail.
Then a voice.
Not from the mercenaries.
From behind them.
From the street.
"Stand down."
Everyone froze.
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
Rajan.
He stepped through the smoke.
No longer in priestly robes.
Disheveled. Unshaven.
Suit wrinkled. Tie gone.
Eyes red-rimmed and wild.
Carrying a pistol.
The mercenaries parted.
Let him through.
Like he was still in charge.
Like they were still taking orders.
Or like they knew what happened when desperate men had guns.
Rajan stopped ten feet from the door.
Raised the pistol.
Not at Bharat.
At Ayesha.
"You."
His voice was hoarse. Broken. The voice of a man who'd lost everything and decided to take everyone else down with him.
"You did this."
"No," Ayesha said calmly. "You did this."
"I gave you everything!"
"You gave me a death sentence."
"I GAVE YOU PURPOSE!"
He fired.
Point-blank.
No warning.
Just rage and a trigger pull.
Ayesha moved.
Not away.
Forward.
Into the line of fire.
Between Bharat and the bullet.
Like she'd been waiting for this.
Like she'd known it was coming.
Like she'd already decided.
The bullet hit the shield.
The one still protecting Bharat.
The one with the crack in the corner.
The impact was different this time. Not absorbed. Not deflected.
The bullet punched through.
Right through the weakened section.
Through the crack.
Into Ayesha.
She gasped.
Stumbled.
Bharat caught her.
Again.
The wound was in her side. Just below the ribs. Not immediately fatal. But bad.
Very bad.
Blood spreading fast. Hot. Sticky.
"Ayesha—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not—"
"I'm FINE."
She pushed away from him. Stood on her own. Hand pressed to the wound.
Blood dripping.
Onto the god's mark again.
Which flared.
Brighter this time.
Rajan stared.
"What—"
"You just made a mistake," Ayesha said.
Her voice was steady. No pain. No fear. Just cold, calculated certainty.
"What mistake?"
"You activated the Guardian's Debt clause."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the god now owes me protection."
Pause.
"From you."
The mark on her wrist exploded.
Light. Pure and blinding.
Like a star going nova in miniature.
The mercenaries staggered back. Rajan dropped the gun. Bharat shielded his eyes.
When the light faded—
Ayesha was standing.
Wound still bleeding.
But glowing.
Her entire body limned in faint golden light.
Like she was radioactive.
Like she was divine.
System notification:
GUARDIAN'S DEBT ACTIVATED
Protection protocol engaged
Duration: Until debt is satisfied
Side effects: Host body will experience divine resonance
WARNING: Prolonged exposure may cause permanent changes
Rajan backed away.
"This isn't—"
"Over?" Ayesha finished. "No. It's not."
She stepped forward. The mercenaries raised their weapons.
The light pulsed.
Guns jammed.
Safeties locked.
Triggers frozen.
Divine authority overriding human technology.
Ayesha looked at Rajan.
"You wanted a bride for the god."
"I—"
"You wanted someone pure. Worthy. Divine."
"Yes."
"Congratulations."
She spread her arms. Blood still dripping. Light still glowing.
"You made one."
Rajan turned.
Ran.
The mercenaries followed.
Professional to the end.
They'd been paid to breach.
Not to fight gods.
Ayesha collapsed.
The light winked out.
Just a woman again.
Bleeding.
Dying.
Human.
Bharat caught her before she hit the ground.
"Ayesha!"
"I'm… fine…"
"Stop saying that!"
"Make me."
He pressed his hand to the wound.
Blood soaking through.
Too much blood.
Too fast.
"Mira! Get the med kit!"
"Already here!"
She appeared with the kit. Hands shaking but functional. Started pulling supplies.
Gauze. Pressure bandages. Antiseptic.
Field medicine.
The kind you learn when people you care about keep getting shot.
Bharat's hands were steady.
Training kicking in.
Pressure on the wound. Stop the bleeding. Assess damage.
The bullet had gone through.
Clean exit.
But it had nicked something.
Artery? Organ?
He couldn't tell.
"We need a hospital."
"No hospitals," Ayesha said.
"You're bleeding out."
"I've bled before."
"Not like this."
Mira applied the pressure bandage.
Tight. Professional.
"She's right. We need a hospital."
"No."
Ayesha grabbed Bharat's wrist. Weak grip. But insistent.
"Hospitals mean records. Records mean they can find us."
"Better found than dead."
"Not better."
Pause.
"Trust me."
Bharat looked at Mira.
She nodded.
Understanding.
They'd do this themselves.
Or Ayesha would die trying.
Two hours later.
Wound cleaned. Stitched. Bandaged.
Ayesha unconscious but stable.
Breathing shallow. Pulse weak.
But alive.
Mira sat beside her. Monitoring. The way she'd been monitored when she was dying.
Paying it forward.
Bharat stood at the window.
Watching the street.
Empty now.
Rajan gone.
Mercenaries gone.
But they'd be back.
Men like Rajan didn't give up.
They just regrouped.
His phone buzzed.
Peacock.
[PEACOCK]: Heard you had visitors.
[BHARAT]: How did you—
[PEACOCK]: I have cameras everywhere. Told you.
[BHARAT]: They're gone.
[PEACOCK]: For now.
[PEACOCK]: But Bharat?
[BHARAT]: What?
[PEACOCK]: That shield trick was impressive.
[PEACOCK]: Also stupid.
[BHARAT]: Why?
[PEACOCK]: Because now they know you can defend yourself.
[PEACOCK]: Which means next time they'll bring something bigger.
Bharat looked at his countdown.
28 days, 12 hours.
Minus the 6 hours from the shield crack.
The timer flickered.
Recalculated.
28 days, 6 hours.
System notification:
Shield integrity: 77%
Next fracture will cost: 8 hours
Complete failure will cost: 2 days, 8 hours
Current remaining lifespan: 28 days, 6 hours
WARNING: Continued use of damaged shield not recommended
Recommendation: Repair or replace
Repair cost: 1 day lifespan
Replace cost: 3 days lifespan + Tier 3 Authority unlock
Bharat closed his eyes.
"I can't afford this."
"Can't afford what?"
Mira's voice. Quiet. She'd been watching.
"The shield. It's eating my time."
"How much?"
"Six hours for the crack. Another day to repair it."
"And if you don't?"
"Next time it breaks, I lose another eight hours. Then more. Until it shatters completely and costs me two and a half days."
Pause.
"I'm running out of time faster than I'm running out of options."
Mira stood.
Walked over.
Put a hand on his shoulder.
"Then we find the Unmade City. Tonight."
"Ayesha can't travel."
"Then we carry her."
"That's insane."
"So is everything else we've done."
Bharat looked at her.
Really looked.
She'd been dying two days ago.
Now she was standing. Functional. Determined.
"You're getting stronger."
"Because you saved me."
"Temporarily."
"Then we make it permanent."
"How?"
"The Unmade City. You said it has answers."
"It has dangers."
"So does staying here."
She was right.
Staying meant waiting for Rajan.
Waiting for the next attack.
Waiting for the shield to fail.
Waiting to die.
Moving meant risking everything.
But at least it was a choice.
Bharat's phone buzzed again.
Peacock.
[PEACOCK]: Update.
[BHARAT]: What?
[PEACOCK]: I found the entrance to the Unmade City.
[BHARAT]: Where?
[PEACOCK]: Sending coordinates.
[PEACOCK]: But Bharat?
[BHARAT]: What?
[PEACOCK]: The entrance guardian is there.
[PEACOCK]: And it's already killed two people this week.
[PEACOCK]: Just thought you should know.