Location: Kolkata, IndiaDate: September 20, 2029Time: 12:21 AM
They said the sky had always been blue.
That stars meant hope. That the moon meant peace.
But tonight… the sky bled.
Red clouds surged like veins. Lightning crackled without warning, without sound. Thunder rolled from nowhere. The rift above the city had widened — like someone had torn the fabric of reality with bare hands.
Yash stood barefoot at the edge of his shattered apartment window.
The streets below were chaos.
People ran. Some screamed. Some stood frozen.A child sobbed beside a corpse.A man tried to lift a crushed scooter off a body and screamed until his voice broke.
The monsters had begun their hunt.
These weren't just beasts.
They were wrong.
Too many joints. Too little flesh. Black oil instead of blood. Their faces looked stitched from nightmares — symmetrical, smooth, emotionless.
One of them stared at Yash from below.
And smiled.
A nearby building exploded.
Not from a bomb — from pressure. Something large, invisible, tore through the foundation. Bricks flew. Glass rained down. A bus lifted into the air and folded in half before smashing into the ground like paper.
The sky crack pulsed again.
And from it — new things dropped.
Not monsters.
Statues.
Six of them.Carved stone figures with glowing red eyes.Each landed across the city like chess pieces.
And for a moment — the chaos paused.Even the monsters stopped moving.
The statues opened their eyes.
They weren't statues.
They were Rakshasa relics — ancient weapons made by dark gods to claim land, to signal war.
Yash staggered back.
He didn't understand all of it.
But his body did.
The mark on his back burned hot. His hair fully whitened now. His breath came slow, like he wasn't breathing oxygen anymore — but something deeper.
Then came the voice again:
"Witness, child of ash.This is the breaking of time.The gods will not stop this.But you… may still rise."
Yash screamed as the mark glowed brighter than fire.
His knees hit the floor. His spine arched.His bones cracked — not breaking, but reshaping.
Ash poured from his skin like smoke from a volcano.It didn't burn — it shrouded.
His eyes turned pale silver.The room filled with whispers — not human, not godly.
Outside, the monsters began screeching.
They could feel him now.
The first one climbed toward his window.
It leapt.
Yash raised a hand. Instinct, not intention.
The creature turned to ash mid-air.
So did the next.
And the next.
The apartment floor cracked under his feet.The walls shattered from the pressure.
And standing in the smoke and ruin was no longer just a boy.
He had become something else.