Far above, upon the dry hills where the cursed Ashram lay cloaked in black smoke, Swami Vairagyanand gasped and staggered as a surge of unnatural silence tore through his being.
His connection to the Narka Yajna—his fire-born avatar of destruction—was gone.
His eyes rolled back, his breath shuddered.
"No…"
He dropped to his knees, trembling. He could feel it—not death, but obliteration. His creation, his child of blood and fire, had been swallowed by a power he could not name.
His cries turned to fury.
"CALL THEM!" he roared.
From the shadows of the Ashram's sanctum, his disciples emerged—one by one—cloaked not in saffron, but in charcoal-dyed robes, eyes smeared with ash and madness.
These were not holy men. These were devil-worshipers, each of them having long abandoned the gods in pursuit of the darker powers: necromancy, fleshcraft, blood-sight, and bone-binding.
They formed a circle, kneeling before their master.
One of them—a skeletal man with stitched lips and a black tongue—spoke in a raspy hiss:
"He comes. The one who walks with the water. The one who broke the flame."
Another, a woman draped in bones, smiled eerily. "The Neerchakra pulses in the air like a storm."
Swami stood slowly, now composed, but his eyes burned with murderous calm.
"Then let the gates of hell open. We shall meet the tide… with ash."
He raised his hand, and a black conch floated from the altar. He blew into it.
The sound was hollow. Far in the distance, crows dropped dead mid-flight. Shadows coiled around the trees.
And then—
At the Ashram's outer gate…
Dev appeared.
Clad in robes of river silk, soaked in blood, his eyes dull with loss. Yet, around him, the Neerchakra surged like an ocean at war.
He stood alone.
His sword unsheathed, glimmering with divine light. Behind him, the river that once protected the land followed—as if it, too, sought vengeance.
The Ashram gates creaked open slowly, revealing hundreds of disciples inside.
Every single one armed with forbidden spells, blood-painted blades, and a hunger for violence.
But Dev didn't stop walking.
He raised one hand. The Neerchakra coiled up his arm like a serpent. On the other hand was the Agnichakra.
"Vairagyanand," he shouted in thunderous voice, "I have come for your soul."
Swami Vairagyanand stood atop the temple steps, cloaked in shadows, surrounded by his eight dark disciples. Beneath him, a battalion of one hundred henchmen, all trained killers, murderers, and loyal fanatics, waited for Dev.
Swami raised his hand.
"Kill the boy."
The hundred surged forward.
But Dev didn't move.
He whispered one word: "Agnichakra."
"Jvalatva agne, rudra roopena – burn as Rudra incarnate."
His entire body ignited—with the primordial fire of Agnichakra, alive and raging.
He raised one hand, palm open toward the advancing horde.
A crimson circle spun from his wrist—a disc of flame, glowing with runes.
Then—he unleashed it.
The Agnichakra screamed through the air, slicing through flesh and bone. Where it touched, men erupted into ash.
Those who charged from the flanks were met with blazing chains of fire that wrapped around their necks and snapped tight, incinerating them.
One wave fell.
Another followed.
But Dev had no mercy left.
With each flick of his hand, flames erupted—spears, arrows, whips of fire. His movements were a dance of destruction. He leapt, spun, twisted—each move ending with a flash of light and a scream.
"You followed a monster," Dev snarled. "Now burn with his sins."
Bodies fell like autumn leaves. Screams echoed across the Ashram walls. Blood boiled in their veins before it could even be spilled.
Within minutes—all one hundred henchmen lay dead, charred, broken, or reduced to nothing but smoke.
Ash fell like snow.
Dev stood in the center of the burning field, chest heaving, surrounded by ruin.
The Agnichakra dimmed—but did not vanish.
He raised his head toward the temple steps.
Swami Vairagyanand had not flinched.
He smiled.
"I was hoping you'd survive."
Dev's eyes narrowed. "You'll regret that hope."
The four dark disciples of Swami Vairagyanand, cloaked in shadow, veiled in ancient sigils, stepped forward, their eyes full of hate, hunger, and madness.
Swami raised a hand, his voice like a rusted blade.
"Dev… these are the children of my bloodied path. My shadows before my sword."
Aghor Rakta, he was bare chest stained with crimson sigils. Dried blood caked his lips, and his breath smelled of charred bones.
"I drank the blood of virgins beneath eclipsed moons," he snarled, licking a crooked dagger. "And I breathe flame like it's my mother's milk."
Then another came, wearing a necklace of jackal skulls. He bowed mockingly to Dev.
"The Vetala hears me," he whispered. "Choose a body, and I will enter it. Beast or man—flesh is nothing but a costume. I am Tantrik Veerbhadra."
Then a girl appeared in front of him, she was beautiful. But, dozens of serpents crawled along her body, their eyes glowing with poison. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it slithered into the mind.
"I am Chandalini Dasi. I can curse anyone to death. Just with a single kiss, I can bring anyone to its last breath."
His skin was covered with ash, he didn't have any weapons. "I am Mahabali Rudra. Years of devotion to Bhairava has turned me into a painless being."
Dev facing the four devourers of light, Agnichakra spun faster, answering his rage.
Dev lifted his hand, flames licking his knuckles.
"You came to burn the world," he whispered. "But today… you burn first."
Aghor Rakta stepped forward first, "You should have stayed below, water-born boy." He sneered, licking the blood from his lips. "This place shall be your pyre."
Without warning, he opened his mouth wide and exhaled.
A torrent of fire, thick and crimson like molten blood, surged toward Dev in a spiral of heat and hate—incinerating the ground as it passed.
The air itself screamed.
But Dev did not flinch.
His fingers moved in a graceful arc, drawing the energy of the Neerchakra from his chest.
"Jalamūrti jāyate — Rise, O spirit of water…"
A massive serpent, its scales shimmering like translucent sapphire, erupted from behind him—a water dragon, with flowing whiskers, five clawed legs.
The dragon coiled above him, let out a roar like crashing tides.
And devoured the flame mid-air.
The fire hissed out, swallowed by the purifying torrent.
Aghor Rakta's eyes widened. "What—?"
Dev's voice rang out, clear as a bell and sharp as judgment.
"Fire may consume flesh—but it cannot consume truth."
He stepped forward, and the water dragon struck like a divine lance.
It crashed into Aghor Rakta, wrapping around him—crushing his ribs, dousing his flame, flooding his lungs. The blood within him boiled, then stilled. His scream was drowned before it could fully rise.
The disciples watched in stunned silence as Aghor Rakta's body crumbled, lifeless and drenched, into the mud.
Only steam remained.
The water dragon coiled protectively around Dev, its gaze turned toward the others.
Dev looked up, his eyes meeting theirs.
"You followed a coward who hides behind others' pain," he said coldly. "You'll fall just as easily."
The other three disciples tightened their stances—shock and fury contorting their faces.
But still Tantrik Veerbhadra came forward.
He grinned, chanting in a tongue older than soil.
"I do not need strength, Dev. I only need a vessel."
A red sigil flared beneath him.
In a blur of motion, Veerbhadra's body collapsed, and a pack of rats exploded from his robes, swarming across the ground.
Dev didn't wait for him to come here, he used Sarvachakra.
"Form is not truth, and truth is not form... Abandon illusion—embrace the infinite."
His body transformed into a sleek white cat, darting through the rats. He leapt and started fighting with one rat that glowed darkest, it has Veerbhadra's essence.
But Veerbhadra hissed, and his spirit leapt from the rat.
A ripple of black magic surged.
And he became a feral cat, monstrous in size and speed, crashing down with claws bared.
Dev landed, already shifting—his cat formed into a black dog.
They clashed again.
But Dev easily overpowered him, biting deep into Veerbhadra's shoulder, pinning him briefly.
Veerbhadra screamed in pain.
"You will not outmatch me in the world of forms!"
With a terrible shriek, he shed his cat form—and became a giant cobra, fangs dripping with venom.
He lunged at Dev, faster than lightning.
But before he could catch Dev. Dev transformed into a big eagle.
Then Dev flew up, and then with a full speed he returned back on the ground. His talons dug into Veerbhadra's head—piercing through his skull.
The serpent writhed in agony as Dev soared upward, carrying it high—then dropped him from the skies.
Veerbhadra's body crashed to the ground—lifeless, broken, and still.
As Dev returned to his human form—wounded, panting, marked with black scorch lines from battle—he turned slowly toward the remaining two disciples.
"Two are down," he said, voice calm as thunder. "Who wants to die next?"
Chandalini Dasi stood frozen.
Her beautiful eyes trembled as she stepped back, snakes hissing anxiously along her arms and neck. She held out a hand in fear.
"I have no quarrel with you," she whispered, voice shaking like dried leaves.
"I didn't summon the Yajna. Don't kill me."
Her beautiful skin glistened with a cold sweat. She retreated, hiding behind a stone pillar.
And then—
BOOM.
The earth cracked beneath Dev's feet.
From behind the smoke and shattered temple columns, a figure emerged.
It was Mahabali Rudra.
His chest is bare, carved like a mountain. His skin—ashen and unyielding like granite.
There was no anger in his eyes. No emotion.
Just a cold purpose.
"The others failed," Dev said flatly. "You will too."
He gritted his teeth. His arm still ached from the last battle. Veins glowed faintly with the Agnichakra's power.
He rushed forward with Agnichakra burning in his fists.
He swung—a flaming arc across the sky—
and hit Rudra square in the chest.
But the fire only danced. The stone did not burn.
Rudra didn't even flinch.
He raised his fist—
WHAM!
Dev flew back, ribs cracking against a crumbled wall.
Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Rudra advanced, slow and methodical.
Dev rolled, coughed, and fired another flame strike—
It sizzled against Rudra's face. But again nothing happened to him.
Dev tried to rise.
He formed a water shield with Neerchakra—
but Rudra shattered it with one punch.
Another strike came—
SNAP.
Dev screamed as his left arm broke at the elbow, bent at an unnatural angle.
He fell, gasping, the pain searing through his bones like liquid metal.
Dev's vision blurred.
Rudra stood over him, unbothered.
"You fought well. But you bleed like the rest."
The stone giant raised both hands—ready to crush Dev's skull.
But then—Dev whispered.
"Trinetra…"
His spirit eyes opened, and through it. Dev saw everything.
Not just body—but soul.
He saw through the stone—the fractured core beneath Rudra's sternum. The one spot where Bhairava's blessing had not reached.
"That's it…"
Dev forced himself up—bones creaking.
He summoned every last drop of flame and breath—
Agnichakra ignited again, this time not from his hands, but from within his chest.
He lunged forward with a silent scream—
And struck the fracture.
BOOM.
Rudra staggered—his first moment of weakness.
He dropped to one knee.
Cracks spread across his torso like shattering stone.
"Impossible…"
Rudra whispered—and collapsed.
But the stone giant had one more breath left.
With his final ounce of strength, he hurled a last punch at Dev—
CRACK!
Dev screamed again as his ribs fractured, blood gushing from his side. He collapsed, eyes dimming, vision swimming in red.
Far above, Swami Vairagyanand saw the scene.
He descended, his hands glowing with the power of a death mantra, ready to end Dev once and for all.
But Dev, barely conscious, channeled the Neerchakra.
Water erupted beneath him—lifting him into the sky in a column of mist and power.
As he rose, he locked eyes on Chandalini Dasi.
"No—NO—STAY AWAY!" she screamed, stumbling back.
But Dev reached for her.
Snatched her.
She screamed—snakes flailing, hands clawing.
"LET ME GO!"
Dev said nothing.
Only blood trailed from his mouth.