I am Rudra
I am… just another teenager. At least, that's what people think.
My days look ordinary — I wake up, drag myself to college, attend my Taekwondo classes in the evening, and return home. Nothing special. I don't really talk much, neither to my classmates nor to the people around me. Most of the time, I prefer silence.
But there's a reason.
A reason that separates me from everyone else.
It's my eyes.
For some reason, ever since I was born… I can see things that others can't. Above every person's head, I see a faint red shimmer — like a word floating in the air. Not names. Not thoughts. But… their crimes.
When I was younger, I didn't understand. I thought I was hallucinating. I tried rubbing my eyes, crying, even praying… but the words never went away.
"Thief."
"Liar."
"Murderer."
Labels burned above people's heads like ugly halos.
At first, I ignored them. After all, what could a kid do? But as I grew up, I realized… the world I lived in wasn't as innocent as everyone pretended it to be. Behind every smile, behind every handshake, there was something rotten.
And I… was cursed to see it all.
…but then, one day… everything changed.
The television screen flickered in front of me, the voice of the reporter echoing like thunder in my skull.
"Breaking News: A man has committed a brutal crime… he r#ped and k!lled a 10-year-old girl before fleeing the scene…"
For a moment, the world went silent. My chest tightened, my heartbeat pounding like war drums.
Yes… it was a crime. A sickening, unforgivable act.But what made it unbearable...was the name that followed.
"The victim has been identified as Ritu."
Ritu.
My younger sister.The one person who always smiled for me… the only person who made me feel human in this rotten world.
I felt my body go numb. The remote slipped from my hand and crashed onto the floor. My eyes, wide and empty, locked onto the picture flashing on the screen.
Her picture.Her innocent smile.Gone forever.
That day, I didn't cry.I didn't scream.I didn't beg to the heavens.
Instead, something inside me snapped.
Because I knew the truth.I had seen it—weeks ago—above his head. The word, burning like fire.But I ignored it.I ignored it.
And now Ritu was gone.
That's when I realized…My cursed eyes weren't a curse at all.
They were a gift.
A gift… to hunt.A gift… to punish.A gift… to kill that bastard.
That night, Rudra—the ordinary teenager—died.And something else was born.
A year passed.
The boy who once called himself "ordinary" no longer existed. The Rudra who walked to college with his head down, who smiled faintly only for his little sister, was long buried beneath the ashes of grief.
In his place stood a man—no, a shadow. A 20-year-old whose name would soon echo across the darkest alleys of India.
And with him, something else was born.
The Blood Moon.
At first, it began as an idea "If the world won't kill them, I will.
He roamed the streets at night, searching, watching, waiting. His eyes burned with the cursed gift—every criminal, every predator, every sinner carried their label above their head. It was like carrying a book of truth inside his gaze.
The first kill was messy. Rudra had tracked down a man labeled "Rapist." He followed him for days, learning his routine, his weaknesses. When the man slipped into a deserted alley, Rudra struck.
There were no witnesses. Only silence… and screams.
The next morning, the police found the man's body—mutilated beyond recognition. The newspapers wrote about it. The anchors debated it. "A new serial killer?" they asked. But no one knew the truth.
But Rudra understood one thing: he couldn't do this alone. The world was too corrupted, too rotten for one man's hands. Evil bled everywhere—in streets, in offices, in government halls. If he wanted true justice, he needed something bigger than himself.
And so, he built it A Cult
A group of believers, chosen not for their faith but for their rage. Men and women broken by crime, people who had lost families, who had seen the darkness up close and wanted vengeance more than life itself.
He didn't recruit them openly. No posters, no messages. Blood Moon was not advertised—it was felt. Those who were desperate enough, those who burned enough, they found him.
And once they found him, they never left.
To join, every member had to wear a tight steel ring on their finger. The ring wasn't decorative—it was painful. Forged in iron, bound to cut skin if clenched too hard. The ring was a symbol of their oath, a reminder of their chains.
"If you wear the ring," Rudra told them,"you belong to Blood Moon. You will not hesitate. You will not forgive. You will not fear."
And they obeyed.
From slums to high-rises, from small towns to metros, Blood Moon spread its shadow. Quietly, silently, efficiently.
They did not kill randomly.They killed when the system failed.
When a corrupted judge freed a murderer with bribes, the Blood Moon arrived at his mansion. By morning, the mansion was drenched in blood.When a politician silenced a whistleblower, his car was found abandoned on the highway, the driver's seat painted red.When the police themselves covered crimes, their station walls dripped with their own screams.
Every execution was brutal. Every corpse was left as a message.
Not just to kill. To terrify.
And soon, the whispers began.