Nirvana Funeral Service, Kuala Lumpur.
Inside the VIP hall, a single casket lay under the soft glow of warm lights—belonging to a woman in her fifties.
Hundreds of white flowers surrounded her, garlands layered gently over the closed casket.
But one petal on the floor was tainted—dark red blood dripping onto it, spreading slowly like a flower blooming in reverse.
The hall should have been quiet and respectful. Instead, it had become a slaughterhouse.
Bodies of gangsters lay everywhere—twisted necks snapped backward, skulls crushed like overripe fruit, organs spilled across the marble floor, limbs severed and discarded.
Gouged eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Their once crisp black suits were now drenched in blood, shredded, torn apart as if by an animal.
And in the center of the carnage, a man sat casually on a velvet sofa, lighting a cigar.
The crackle of burning tobacco cut through the silence. His long black hair hung messily around his blood‑soaked face.
His eyes—scarlet and burning—made him look feral. His prosecutor's uniform was torn, splattered with gore, the badge bent and smeared crimson.
Beside him rested a metal baseball bat—dented, bent, dripping with chunks of flesh and sticky red trails. One hard swing away from snapping.
Shiva Bhairava exhaled smoke slowly as he stared at the casket—silent, motionless, but filled with a depth of grief and rage no words could capture.
He cracked his neck, the sound echoing sharply. Then his knuckles followed, tight and bruised from the massacre.
Footsteps echoed from the entrance.
A woman walked into the hall—her presence cold, precise. She moved past the corpses without flinching.
Her attire was professional and sharp—black slacks, fitted blazer, straight brown hair, fair skin almost glowing in the dim light.
"I told you to wait for me," she said in Chinese, her voice calm, clipped, and commanding.
She stepped beside him, her eyes briefly sweeping over the bloodbath before settling on the casket.
"May I give my goodbyes to your mother, Shiva?"
He didn't speak—only breathed, slow and heavy. She understood. She always did.
Rui Yan stepped forward. She lit the incense, bowed three times, and prayed. The smoke curled upward like a mourning spirit.
"News has already reached your father and your three siblings, my love," she said without turning. Her voice firm, steady. "What are you going to do?"
Shiva pushed himself up from the sofa, stepping through pools of blood as he approached the casket.
His fingers trembled slightly as he touched the lid, tracing the wood as though touching his mother's face beneath it.
Rui Yan finally turned to him.
"Don't get in my way, Rui Yan," Shiva muttered. His voice was cold, heavy with grief and fury.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss onto the casket where her head rested.
"She must be avenged, Shiva," she whispered.
"That's why I'm doing it, my love."
Rui Yan reached up, her fingers brushing the torn prosecutor's suit. She felt the dried blood beneath her nails, but she didn't recoil.
"Your mother bought this for you," she said softly, "after you earned your doctorate from Oxford and Cambridge."
Shiva's thumb brushed the blood on his cheek, wiping it away absently.
Rui Yan cupped his face. He leaned in, and their lips met—deep, desperate, violent with shared grief.
When she pulled back, her voice was lower, darker.
"Do what you must, babe."
The malice in her tone was unmistakable.
"Avenge my mother‑in‑law. She was like a mother to me too. Her death will be repaid in blood. I will help you from the shadows."
Shiva looked into her eyes—cold, loyal, lethal. He brushed a strand of her brown hair back, holding her jaw gently, lovingly. He kissed her again, slower this time.
Then he turned and walked toward the entrance. His boots splashed through blood, leaving crimson footprints trailing behind him.
Before stepping out of the hall, he paused and looked back.
"Keep her fresh," he said. "I will create her peace once I'm done killing them."
Rui Yan bowed her head slightly.
"As you wish, my love."
Shiva's figure faded into the dim corridor, disappearing like a shadow leaving another shadow behind.
Rui Yan turned back toward the casket. Her expression hardened into something sharp and unyielding.
"Don't worry, Mother‑in‑law," she whispered. "Your son will avenge you. And so will I—from his shadow."
Outside, the sound of Shiva's steps grew distant.
Inside, the flowers continued to soak in the blood of the dead.
And the hall, once meant for mourning, remained a sanctuary of vengeance.
On a cold, rainy day at SMK Raja Lumu, a young boy sat at his desk, diligently working on his homework. He minded his own business, lost in the rhythm of pen against paper.
Shiva Bhairava—just fourteen, a Form 2 student—focused on his assignments, unaware of the chaos brewing around him.
A loud, angry voice suddenly shattered the quiet.
"Are you fucking deaf?! How many times must I repeat myself?!! I asked what the fucking lunch menu is today!!!"
From the corner of the classroom, three bullies surrounded a boy with glasses. One of them slammed a textbook against the boy's head, sending him scurrying in fear.
"Bring him to the back of the school," one bully instructed.
"Eh? The loser? Why?" another asked, mockingly.
The largest of the three, a fat boy with a flashy tattoo, smirked. "I just joined the Yakuza. I want to get some cash out of him," he said, eyeing the poor boy.
"Dude, he lives in some shifty apartment. Heard his mom's a hostess or something," one of his friends added.
"You're so stupid," the fat boy scoffed.
"The poorer you are, the more their family spoils you. Maybe we can do a thing or two to his mom… she's got a nice rack?"
"Fuck yeah!" the other two laughed, voices dripping with cruel amusement.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed across the wet classroom floor. The fat bully turned—and froze.
Standing behind him was Shiva. Silent. Motionless.
"Heh, what? You wanna—!" the bully started.
A pen suddenly shot through his left eye, shattering the socket.
"KUAAHHH!!!" he screamed, clutching his ruined face, blood running down like a waterfall.
Shiva remained unmoved, emotionless, his gaze cold as he looked down at the fallen bully.
The classroom erupted into chaos, students screaming and scattering. Among them, a delinquent girl watched, captivated despite the horror.
"Hey, Rui Yan, don't look at them, girl," her friend warned.
"Why? I find him… intimidating. What's his name? Shiva, right?" she whispered, eyes wide.
"Yeah… that guy's a complete study freak," her friend replied, uneasy.
"Hoo… interesting," Rui Yan murmured, her curiosity mixed with fear.
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Chapter 1 — End.