Chapter 1:


Folly of the Wisemen

Blood dripped down his sickle as the empire’s soldiers cowered. Gone were the days when his ears felt the symphony of love.

Thousands heads shall fall for one of ours

Those were the words that echoed in his ears as the sharp edge of his sickle etched to meet his enemies’ necks. They underestimated him at first - thought they could get away with it — but the illusion of his fragility drifted away at the moment of his retaliation. He killed them from the shadows, became one with them, creating a silent terror that threatened to envelop them like mist.

“Protect the superintendent,”

The policemen, wielding long divyalohini swords, found themselves in a difficult situation. They had been in the narrow hallway of the mansion, which made it impossible to overpower him. The first attacker began the dance by attempting a midsection cut, but the intruder skillfully moved out of range and delivered a cut to the back of his neck. As he fell, his blue turban slipped from his head, revealing his bald, light brown scalp. 

The second attacker aimed a cut at his head — but the intruder swiftly dodged and countered with a sharp cut to his belly, slicing it open, causing his entrails to spill onto the ground.

Those who suffer to push the wheel of progress must answer violence with violence.

The intruder picked the soldier’s blue divyalohini sword and advanced - the remaining policemen desperately charged. Anger boiled within the intruder like a seething cauldron — his sword deftly moved by his hand, met the chest of his opponent, and the sickle met the hand of the last policeman. 

The one that was stabbed by the sword had turned into an ice statue, while the other lost his hand to the sickle. The crippled man crawled on the floor, desperately reaching for his severed hand, attempting to reattach it to his arm. It didn’t work.

The intruder dropped the blue sword to pick up the crippled man’s red divyalohini sword. He sliced him across his back, setting his body ablaze, his screams of anguish echoed through the hallway. The intruder strode towards the room at the end of the hallway and swung the red divyalohini sword crosswise across the door, causing it to ignite in flames.

Despite the flames scorching his skin, he quickly took cover next to the door, paying no mind to the searing pain. Shots were fired and the bullets hit the walls. The ruins etched on those bullets made to only react to living things. Those divyalohini bullets would have mutilated the intruder’s body upon the impact, if he failed to dodge.

It took time for them to reload, with catlike grace, the intruder cut each of them down, painting the ornate room with entrails and ruby red. 

The superintendent of police occupied a seat at his desk, accompanied by his daughter, who stood by his side feeling great distress.

The man that burned for me could never do it. It has to be misunderstanding. 

The belief that it was a misunderstanding shattered by the sight of the bloodstained sickle in her lover’s hand. A sickening feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Indra... why... why are you... holding that weapon?" She asked, uncertainly. Her once honey-hued visage drained of color, turning pale.

“Why do you think, deepali?” Indra asked. His voice was devoid of any feeling or emotion.

He used to sound so sweet, so gentle, like an autumn breeze. Why did it come to this?

“Spare her! You want me! I was the one responsible for the massacre,” her father intervened.

“What about my family, Veerendra? What about those children? Did you give them a chance? Did you?” Indra exclaimed, his voice seethed with rage. 

"You don't do you? You could never understand! For you lives of sullied are worthless." 

Indra shook his head, laughing, and then his eyes suddenly bore a wicked light. He strode towards his lover — the jewel of his enemy — and pointed his sword at her throat. Veerendra rose abruptly and fell on his knees, hands clasped together, begging for his daughter’s life.

"Now you can!"

"Not her!" Vereendra cried out.

"Why are you doing this? You..... cannot do this. Please Indra" deepali said 

“You viewed me as a forbidden object, craving a taste. I was merely your passing amusement, disposable once something else caught your eye,”

"It's not true. I didn't do it. I wanted a life with. Please, I... I can't... I can't believe this. I... I... I'm. I wanted... you.” Deepali said.

Tears streamed down Deepali’s face as she shook her head in disbelief.

This isn’t him. I never did that. I wanted a life with him. 

"N-no, you're wrong. I... I never saw you like that. I loved you... for who you are."

Indra dismissed her with a wry chuckle, and then there was a state of stillness.

I don’t want to hurt her. It was not her fault.

Indra gritted his teeth, his trembling hands betraying his inner turmoil. Tears welled up in his eyes as doubt began to creep into his mind. Gently, Deepali turned, her fingers delicately traced the contours of Indra’s face

“You suffered enough. You don’t need to sully yourself with violence. My father would turn himself in. You need to spare him, for my sake.” She begged, eyes full of desperation.

You should sully yourself to their level for the sake of revolution.

Indra laughed at the nativity of the young highborn. He pushed her away and deepali fell to the ground with a yelp.

Say you will sacrifice everything for the sake of our brothers and sisters! Say it!

“I will,” the words slipped from Indra’s lips, their chilliness palpable.

Veerendra bolted for the gun, but before his hand could reach it, the sickle flew from indra’s hand and lodged in his head.

There was stillness. Followed by something primal. A piercing scream escaped from deepali’s lips, tearing through the air with anguish. The sound reverberated, echoing the depths of her shattered heart as she grappled with the devastating truth before her. The man she loved murdered her father and his face, once so pleasant, was bloodstained, a face of an asura.

Her body shook with violent sobs, her body instinctively backed into a corner. Deepali masked her face with her hands, trying to hide from the world around her.

“Help me, someone please help me,” she mumbled through her sobs.

Now you did it! You said the words, and you did the deed!

“Mother, please help me.” She rocked back and forth, muttering the same phrase repeatedly. 

You are one of us now. A revolutionary. Throw away the mask and wear ours.

Indra Indra, consumed by a tumultuous mix of emotions left her all alone and turned away from the estate. He walked in the rain-soaked streets, his face bearing a stillness no different from a mannequin. The stillness passed with his sudden burst of laughter and it persisted, even as tears streamed down his face. 

Through his tears and laughter, he said the words, “I killed him.” Followed by. “It is over.”

How can your vengeance end with the deaths of us?

A symphony of the voices echoed in his mind.

Embrace it. You made the promise.

They reminded him.

You are an asura. Accept it!

He controlled his emotions, still as a river, frozen in cruel winter.

Coldness crept into his face. “This isn’t enough. I want it all to crumble, the entire triloka empire.”

"I am an asura," He mumbled under his breath

You are now the embodiment of death, beacon of our holy war.