Chapter 2: The Power Unleashed part 1

Chapter 2: The Power Unleashed part 1 

The first hint of dawn, a faint grey wash, was barely touching the windows of the Rajamahendravaram Museum when the staff arrived.

The early morning quiet was shattered by a sharp gasp.

A lone figure lay sprawled on the polished marble floor of the main exhibit hall, still as a discarded mannequin.

It was Ajay.

A cluster of museum staff, their faces etched with alarm, quickly rushed to his side.

One knelt, pressing fingers to his neck, while another frantically pulled out a phone.

A moment later, Ajay's eyelids fluttered, then snapped open, revealing wide, disoriented eyes that scanned the chaos around him.

He pushed himself up, wincing, his gaze falling upon the museum director, who stood over him, his expression a tight knot of concern and confusion.

The museum director's voice was low, but laced with a sharp edge of disbelief.

"Ajay, what in the world happened here?"

His gesture encompassed the wreckage around them: overturned display cases, shards of glass glinting like dangerous stars on the floor, and the unsettling emptiness where the Kirtimukha mask once rested.

"The museum... it's a disaster. Was it robbers? What happened last night?"

Ajay flinched, a visible shiver tracing down his spine.

His breath hitched, and his eyes darted around the damaged hall as if still expecting something monstrous to materialize.

"Sir... it wasn't... it wasn't robbers..." he stammered, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them, fixing on the museum director with a desperate intensity.

"It wasn't human, I swear! I saw it with my own eyes. It was... huge, powerful, like some kind of demon. It came for me! It tried to kill me, I think."

He looked down at his own trembling hands, then back up at the museum director, a flicker of raw terror in his gaze.

"I'm still alive... Some how. That thing did all this. Please, you have to understand, the museum... it's haunted."

The museum director held up a calming hand, though his own brow remained furrowed with skepticism.

"Okay, okay, calm down, Ajay. The Kirtimukha mask is missing. The police are on their way to investigate. You'll tell them what happened last night."

Ajay's shoulders slumped.

"Sir, I've worked here for almost two years. Why don't you trust me?"

He sounded less panicked now, more hurt.

"I trust what you're saying, Ajay. But it's their job. I know you, you're not the kind of person who would say something nonsensical."

The museum director's tone softened, a flicker of genuine empathy in his eyes.

Just then, two uniformed police officers entered the scene, their stern faces taking in the destruction.

They moved towards Ajay, their notebooks already out.

Ajay recounted his terrifying tale, his voice still trembling in places, and his gestures sweeping across the damaged hall.

One of the officers, a burly man with a thick mustache, walked over to a bank of monitors, tapping a screen.

He grunted, turning back to Ajay with a look that conveyed little.

The museum director stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Ajay's shoulder.

"Ajay, you look like you need some rest. Why don't you take a break from this job? Get some recovery time."

Ajay's head snapped up, his jaw tightening.

"Sir, are you... are you firing me? Why?"

The fear of the demon had momentarily faded, replaced by the more immediate, gut-wrenching dread of losing his livelihood.

The museum director sighed, his gaze softening even further.

"No, Ajay. Just... take some time. Come back when you've recovered. When you're ready."

It was an offer, but the finality in his voice hung heavy in the air.

Ajay swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

He couldn't argue, not really.

He merely nodded, a silent acceptance of his fate.

"Thank you, sir," he mumbled, the words tasting like ash.

He slowly bent down, gathering his few personal items – a worn thermos, a paperback novel – into a small, tattered bag.

With a heavy heart, he walked past the officers, past the wreckage, and out of the museum doors.

The morning air, though cool, offered little comfort.

He had just lost his only job, his sense of security, all in the horrifying wake of a night he could barely comprehend.

He turned and began the long, silent walk home, the weight of the Kirtimukha's absence pressing down on him.

Scene Shifts

The morning sun, now a harsh, unsympathetic glare, beat down on Ajay as he walked, each step heavy with the weight of his thoughts.

The familiar buildings of his neighborhood loomed, indifferently. He knew the routine: the hurried glances from his friends already established in their careers, some even married, building lives while his own life crumbled.

"Why? Why is this happening to me? Am I really so worthless?" His mind churned, a bitter current. "No job. Not a damn thing to my name. My friends, even some of the idiots I went to school with, they're settling down. They have their lives together, and what do I have? Nothing. And now... now I've lost the only thing I had."

A fresh wave of heat, not from the sun, but from within, washed over him.

"Why the hell should I even live this damn life? To be the punchline of every conversation? The pity case for the apartment gossips, my friends, my own relatives? They already see me as useless. They'll laugh. They'll compare me to those 'fools' who somehow got it right."

His jaw tightened. "I'll be the main topic for their damn tea-time chatter. 'He's a burden on his family,' they'll whisper. 'Good for nothing.'"

He stopped dead in front of his apartment building, the anger and despair momentarily replaced by a cold, sharp resolve.

He stared at the entrance, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell was I just thinking? The self-pity, the defeat — they felt like a betrayal. I have to live. I have to live to show them all. To show them exactly what I am. And I will. Sooner or later."

With a new, determined set to his shoulders, Ajay pushed through the main doors, the air-conditioned chill inside a welcome contrast to the burning heat outside.

He walked with purpose to the elevator, the dull gleam of its metal doors reflecting his hardened expression.

Stepping inside, he pressed the button for the second floor. The doors slid shut, enclosing him in a silent box, a moment of reprieve before facing the world that awaited him.

Scene Shifts

The worn door of Ajay's apartment gave a soft thump as he knocked.

A moment later, it swung inward, revealing his mother, her face lined with a welcoming smile that instantly softened at the sight of his tired eyes.

"Ajay, my son! Come in, come in." She ushered him inside, her hand gently brushing his arm. "How was last night at the museum?"

Ajay's jaw tightened imperceptibly. He met his mother's gaze, then quickly looked away, his mind racing.

"No. I can't tell them. Not about the demon, not about the mask. Why drag them into this? Why make them worry about something they can't understand, can't fix? They have enough on their minds."

"Fine, Amma," he mumbled, his voice flat—a stark contrast to his usual cheerful tone.

His mother, observant as ever, tilted her head. "You look... off. Is everything alright?"

Ajay hesitated, then the words tumbled out, laced with a bitter resignation. "I lost the job."

The brief silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken disappointment.

Then, his father's voice, sharp and booming, cut through it from the living room. "Fantastic! Well done!"

Ajay's father strode into the hallway, his face a mask of furious exasperation.

"Sir," he scoffed, a derisive sound. "You just lost your great job! You know what, Ajay? Doing the job of a night guard is already a shame to our family, and you lost that damn job too? Do you know what others will say about you? 'This fool isn't even capable of being a goddamn night guard!' What good are you? Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes," Ajay replied, the single word barely audible, his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall.

His father gestured impatiently towards the window, already walking towards it. "Come here!"

Ajay slowly moved to stand beside him.

His father flung the window open, letting in the sounds of the street below. "What do you see from the window?"

Ajay looked down. Outside, a familiar donkey, laden with sacks, plodded along the dusty street, guided by its owner.

"Yes, I see a donkey outside. What about it?"

"That's the donkey of the man in our area," his father stated, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, I know," Ajay confirmed, a knot forming in his stomach.

"His donkey is better than you!" his father declared, his voice rising. "Because it helps that man carry things on its back. And you? Do you even know about the responsibility of running a family? How to manage it?"

He thumped his own chest. "Only the one who is carrying the burden knows it! And that is me! And what about you, huh?"

Ajay's hands clenched at his sides. "Don't say that! I'm not useless! I'm educated!"

His father let out a harsh laugh. "Yes, an educated fool who doesn't know how to get a job! What's the use of being educated when you can't even get a job?"

"Enough!" Ajay's mother stepped between them, her voice firm, cutting through the escalating tension.

Ajay's father turned from the window, his anger simmering. "Maybe we should go back to our village and start a business, rather than waiting here. I've waited and given him many chances, but he's failed in all of them."

He looked at Ajay once more, his eyes holding a mix of frustration and resignation.

"If you don't know how to get a job, then try to manage our business in the village!"

With that final, cutting remark, he turned and retreated into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Ajay's mother placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her touch was gentle, a stark contrast to his father's words.

"Don't take those words to heart, Ajay. Your father is just angry. Don't be sad, my son. You will become successful. I trust you."

Ajay managed a weak, almost unconvincing smile. "Yes, yes, I'm not sad."

His gaze drifted to the closed door of his father's room.

"But dad is right in one part... what's the use of being educated when I can't get a job?"

"Go and get fresh," his mother said, her voice soft but firm, leading him away from the lingering tension. "Breakfast is ready."

Ajay forced a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, then turned and headed towards the bathroom, the weight of the morning pressing down on him.

Ajay stepped into the small bathroom, the cool tiles a minor relief.

He unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it over his head. As he tossed it into the hamper, his gaze fell to his chest.

There, resting against his skin, was a chain. From it dangled a small, intricately carved face—the Kirtimukha.

"Where did this come from?" he muttered, his brow furrowing.

He remembered nothing of putting it on. His fingers fumbled with the clasp, unhooking it.

He held the cool metal in his palm for a moment, then, with a frustrated sigh, he walked to the open window.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the chain sailing out, watching it disappear into the alley below.

He finished washing up, the mundane act a brief distraction from the morning's troubles.

Drying himself with a towel, he stepped back into his room, feeling a sliver of calm return.

His eyes instinctively drifted towards the window, the one through which he'd just discarded the chain.

But his breath hitched. His eyes widened, fixing on his own reflection in the dressing table mirror.

There it was again. The Kirtimukha face, back around his neck, gleaming faintly.

Ajay's hand shot to his throat, his fingers tracing the contours of the small, metallic face.

His mind reeled. "How is this possible? I just threw it away a few minutes ago."

"Ajay! Breakfast!" his mother's voice called from the main hall.

"Coming, Mom!" he called back, his voice a little strained.

He quickly pulled on a fresh shirt, the collar concealing the impossible chain.

He joined his parents at the small dining table.

He picked up a dosa, chewing slowly, but his mind was miles away, replaying the terrifying events of the museum, the shadowy figure, and now, this inexplicable chain.

The metallic weight against his skin was a constant, unsettling reminder.

"What are you thinking about, Ajay?" his mother asked, her hand reaching across the table to gently squeeze his arm.

Ajay blinked, snapping back to the present. He forced a casual shrug. "Oh, nothing. Just... thinking about how to find a new job, that's all."

"It's okay, just take some rest, Ajay. Don't think too much about it. Get some rest."

A genuine, albeit small, smile touched Ajay's lips. "You're right, Mom. Thanks."

He continued eating, but the Kirtimukha chain remained, a silent, mysterious presence beneath his shirt.

Scene Shift

Hours bled into evening, the mundane passing of time offering no solace.

By 8:00 p.m., dinner was eaten; the quiet hum of the television filled the living room where his parents sat.

Ajay, seeking the solitude of his room, walked in and glanced at the chain still resting on his neck. He barely registered it, exhaustion outweighing curiosity.

He simply fell onto his bed, sinking into a restless sleep.

Suddenly, Ajay's eyes snapped open. The room was shrouded in an oppressive darkness.

His mouth felt like sandpaper. A glance at his phone revealed the time: 11:00 p.m.

He swung his legs off the bed, a parched groan escaping him.

"Mom? Dad?" he called out, his voice a dry rasp in the gloom.

No answer—they must be asleep.

He shuffled out of his room, navigating the familiar layout by memory, heading for the kitchen.

Then, a low, guttural growl. The same sound from the museum.

He froze, every muscle tensing.

He spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs, to see them – two pinpricks of glowing red light hovering in the darkness.

"You!" Ajay's voice cracked, a mixture of terror and disbelief. "You again! What are you doing here?! Who are you?!"

The red eyes elongated, hurtling towards him.

Reacting on instinct, Ajay slapped the light switch.

The overhead bulb flickered, then burst to life, flooding the hall with harsh white light.

The eyes vanished.

He stumbled into the kitchen, fumbling for a bottle of water, gulping it down; the cool liquid was a welcome shock.

His mind raced.

He had to get back to his room.

As he retreated, he flicked on every light he passed, banishing shadows from the living room, the hallway, leaving a trail of illumination in his wake.

Back in his room, he hit his own light switch, bathing the space in a comforting glow.

He collapsed onto his bed.

"What was that?" he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "It's still following me. What will happen now? Will it kill me?"

A sudden thud from the window made him jump.

The glass rattled violently, as if something invisible was pressing against it.

Ajay scrambled up, rushed to the window, slammed it shut, and drew the curtains tight, as if a thin layer of fabric could offer protection.

Then, utter silence.

The house plunged into darkness.

The power had cut out.

And there they were again.

Two glowing red eyes, appearing in the pitch black of his room, closer this time.

Ajay stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat, his mind scrambling for an explanation, for a way out.

The entity lunged.

A formless mass of darkness with those burning eyes.

Ajay cried out, staggering backward as it collided with him, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

When Ajay opened his eyes, the cold shock of water enveloped him.

He was submerged, drowning.

He thrashed, fighting his way to the surface, gasping for air.

But it wasn't water.

It was a vast, swirling river of blood, thick and viscous, stretching to a horizon beneath a sky painted in shades of violent crimson.

Even the moon, hanging impossibly large, was a grotesque, blood-red orb.

From behind him, from the depths of the scarlet river, the entity emerged.

It was a monstrous, shadowy form, its red eyes blazing.

It reached out, a clawed hand seizing Ajay, lifting him effortlessly from the river.

"Chosen one. DHARMIC warrior!"

Ajay's scream tore through the night.

The world went blank.

Scene Shift

Ajay's eyes fluttered open.

He blinked, the soft morning light filtering through his window.

He was on his bed, the familiar ceiling above him.

He pushed himself up, taking a long, shaky breath, and looked around his room.

It was morning.

"The nightmare... it must have been a dream."

A heavy sigh of relief escaped him.

He got up and began his routine, washing his face, brushing his teeth, the mundane actions a comforting anchor.

Soon, he was at the dining table, eating breakfast with his parents.

As they ate, the local news played on the television.

The screen showed chaos in the city of Rajamahendravaram: shattered storefronts, and crashed cars.

"It might just be robbers," Ajay murmured, trying to sound casual, "who might have stolen money from ATMs or a bank."

After breakfast, Ajay prepared to leave.

"Where are you going now?" his mother asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Nothing, Mom. Just to find a new job or something," he replied, already heading for the door.

His father, however, interjected, his voice firm.

"You know what? You can't get a job. Just listen to me. Let's go back to our village and start some business."

Ajay paused, his hand on the doorknob.

"Let me try, Dad. Maybe I might get a job."

With that, he stepped out, walked to the elevator, and descended to the ground floor.

The apartment building's main doors swished open, and he stepped out, ready to face the day.

"Hi, sir! Good morning!" a voice called out.

It was the apartment's night guard, sitting at his small desk.

Ajay turned, a polite smile on his face.

"Good morning."

"How was the duty last night?" the guard asked, his expression friendly.

Ajay froze.

His blood ran cold.

"What duty?"

The guard chuckled lightly.

"Your duty at the museum, of course."

Ajay's mind reeled.

"What are you saying? I didn't go anywhere last night; I lost my... Anyway! How can you be so sure about it?"

"Because I saw you with my own eyes, sir," the guard insisted, his smile fading into a look of mild confusion.

"And everything is recorded in the CCTV camera."

Total shock rooted Ajay to the spot.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

"Show me the footage," he demanded, his voice barely a whisper.

The guard, sensing Ajay's distress, led him into a small security room.

On the monitor, the grainy black and white footage flickered to life.

At precisely 11:30 p.m., Ajay watched himself step into the elevator from his floor.

But it wasn't just him.

The figure on screen had eyes that glowed crimson, shining with an eerie, unnatural light.

He saw himself, with those terrifying eyes, exit the elevator.

Then, a quick cut to the apartment entrance camera, showing the same figure walking out of the building at around 11:36 p.m.

Ajay stared, stunned.

The world around him blurred, sounds faded, his own breath caught in his throat.

He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.

It defied everything he knew, everything he had convinced himself was just a dream.

He felt light-headed, as if he might black out.

"Is everything okay, sir?" the guard's voice finally cut through the fog, bringing him crashing back to reality.

"Y-yes," Ajay stammered, tearing his gaze from the screen.

"I... I have to go."

He turned abruptly, stumbled back towards the elevator, his mind racing.

He pressed the button for his floor repeatedly, desperate to get back to the perceived safety of his room, to process the horrifying truth that his nightmare was real.

The doors opened, and he practically dove inside, rising as fast as the machine would carry him.

Scene Shift

Ajay now sat on his bed.

He could feel his parents' eyes on him from the main hall, a heavy, questioning gaze.

A moment later, a soft rustle of fabric, and his mother stood in the doorway, her brow creased with concern.

"What's wrong, Ajay?" Her voice was a low murmur, a gentle interrogation. "Why did you come back right away? Did something happen? You don't look... right."

Her eyes scanned his face, searching for answers he couldn't give.

He mumbled, his gaze fixed on the floor, the words a practiced shield. "It's nothing, Mom. Just tired, so I came back."

His mother's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded slowly, her concern still etched in the lines around her eyes.

She disappeared towards the kitchen.

The faint clinking of glass echoed, and she returned moments later, holding a cool, condensation-beaded glass of water.

"Here. Drink this."

She waited, her gaze steady, until he took a sip, then, with a soft sigh, she turned and left him.

Ajay raised the glass to his lips, the cool water doing little to quench the burning anxiety within.

He walked to his room's entrance, the weight of the moment pressing down, and gently shut the door, plunging the space into a more private silence.

He sank onto his bed, the mattress groaning under his sudden descent.

The CCTV footage from the guard's room flashed behind his eyelids: his own face, those horrifying, unnatural red eyes.

He clawed at logical explanations.

Maybe... maybe it's just sleepwalking?

The thought, thin and fragile, offered a moment's comfort.

But then, the cold, hard facts shattered it.

His eyes, in the footage, had glowed.

A deep, internal chill.

Sleepwalking doesn't make your eyes shine like that.

A cold dread, sharp and penetrating, seeped into his bones.

His hand, trembling slightly, reached for his laptop.

The screen flickered to life, its glow illuminating his anxious face.

He typed, fingers fumbling: "glowing red eyes sleepwalking," "unexplained blackouts."

Results flashed, a blur of text, until one word, stark and terrifying, snagged his attention: "possession."

He froze, fingers hovering over the trackpad.

The word felt like a physical blow, a heavy stone dropped into his gut.

Possession?

The implications crashed over him, a horrifying wave.

He felt stunned, paralyzed by a chilling realization.

He didn't understand what to do, his mind a frantic, desperate scramble.

He scrolled wildly, searching for anything, any answer.

Then, a name, almost leaping from the screen: Ms. Geeta, supernatural investigator and spirit medium.

Her address, her phone number, all there, in his own city.

Do I really have to do this?

His gaze was fixed on the glowing text, a silent battle raging within him.

The thought of admitting this, of seeking out someone who dealt with the supernatural, was daunting.

Yes, I have to. I have no other option.

My condition could get worse. I can't risk my life, or my parents' lives.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a silent, desperate prayer escaping him.

Oh Lord Govinda, guide me.

Minutes stretched, filled only with the hum of his laptop and the frantic pounding in his ears.

Finally, a grim resolve hardened his features.

He would go to Ms. Geeta's place.

He pushed himself off the bed, a newfound, desperate energy propelling him.

He opened his door and walked into the main hall.

His parents were still there, their eyes fixed on the television, oblivious.

"Mom, Dad," he began, trying to keep his voice steady, to weave a believable lie. "I'm going to a friend's house. I might stay there for the night."

His parents exchanged a quick, silent glance, a flicker of questioning in their eyes.

"Why so suddenly?" his mother asked, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Then, with a resigned sigh, "Okay, but be careful."

Ajay managed a strained, fleeting smile, a silent promise he wasn't sure he could keep.

He turned, walked towards the elevator, each step a decisive commitment to the terrifying unknown.

He pressed the button, leaving behind the only place he felt truly safe, venturing into a world he never knew existed.

            End of Chapter 2, Part 1