The solar eclipse had reached totality.
Above Mumbai, the sun was a perfect, black disc surrounded by a ghostly white corona. The sky was pitch black, and the city below was silent, frozen under the weight of the dark-matter smog.
Beneath the Gateway, the cavern wall began to crack. The gravitational field of the Core was expanding, pulling the moisture from the air and freezing it into strange, floating shards of ice.
"The alignment is complete," Devendra Malhotra said, his voice echoing in the chamber. He floated in the center of the dark vortex, his arms outstretched, the cables on his back pulsing with raw energy.
Vikram stood at the edge of the platform, the wind pulling at his clothes. The air was so cold it burned his throat.
"You cannot stop it, Vikram," Devendra said. "The Rahu-Ketu cloud is aligned. The energy of the cosmos is flowing through my veins. I am the shadow, and I am the light."
"You are nothing but a thief, Devendra," Vikram spat, his Prana rising. "You stole from my father, and you stole from this city. But it ends here."
He took a boxing stance, the purple sparks of Chaya and the blue sparks of Prana dancing on his fists.