"Run as hard as you can!"
The desperate voice cut through the silence, urging Kriday to escape from the looming death behind him. His body, battered and barely conscious, struggled to respond. His breath came in ragged gasps as he turned his head slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice's owner, but his vision blurred under the toll of blood loss and exhaustion. The world around him felt like a shifting haze, his senses dulled except for the deafening pounding of his own heart.
It was dawn, the sun's first rays attempting to pierce through the thick canopy, casting flickering golden reflections onto the flowing stream nearby. The water glistened like molten light, untouched by the chaos unfolding in its presence. The forest was dense, its trees providing some resistance against the behemoth chasing him, Raigon. The beast's massive build struggled to maneuver through the tightly packed trunks, but its raw power still gave it an undeniable advantage over the frail human it pursued. Kriday, with what little strength he had left, forced his body into a sprint, his survival instincts finally igniting.
But it wasn't enough.
His legs faltered, his body betrayed him, and he tumbled forward, crashing onto the damp forest floor. A sharp pain shot through his chest, but before he could even register it, the beast lunged. Its fangs, dripping with saliva, aimed straight for his neck, an efficient, fatal strike. In a desperate last stand, Kriday lashed out with his right leg, aiming for its face. The attack was weak. Raigon barely flinched before clamping its powerful jaws around Kriday's left leg with bone-crushing force.
A sickening crunch echoed through the air. Agony unlike anything he had ever known consumed him, and his screams choked in his throat. His body no longer responded. He couldn't fight. He couldn't even move. His vision darkened as death wrapped its cold fingers around him.
His life didn't flash before his eyes, not at first. Instead, he saw Dhrithra, his ever-protective guardian, the one who had always shielded him from harm. He was the sheltered one, the one who had never needed to fight. A lifetime of academic excellence, of careful protection, had left him unprepared for a moment like this. He had never been strong enough to stand on his own. So why was he still resisting now? What was the point?
Then, another voice, one not of despair, but of defiance. The same voice that had warned him earlier rang in his head, forcing him to remember the frustration that had simmered within him for years. The feeling of helplessness, of being weak, of being nothing more than a burden.
No.
With a surge of newfound determination, Kriday ignored the pain and used his free right leg to target the beast's eyes. His foot struck its glowing red orb, and the Raigon flinched, releasing his leg with a deep, guttural snarl. A second of reprieve, that was all he needed. But before Kriday could capitalize on it, the beast recovered and lunged again, jaws wide open for a final, merciless strike.
A flash of steel.
A dagger buried itself into the Raigon's right eye with precise force. A roar of pain erupted from the beast as it recoiled, the thick black blood of its kind gushing from the wound. The mysterious figure who had been warning Kriday stepped into view, his hooded form now fully visible. Without hesitation, he ripped the dagger from the beast's eye socket and took a low, battle-ready stance, one unmistakably belonging to Thekkan Kalari, the Southern style of Kalarippayattu.
The Raigon shrieked in agony, its massive frame thrashing wildly, but the warrior remained unfazed. With swift, calculated movements, they targeted the beast's tendons, slashing deep with a series of rapid strikes. Each cut was precise, designed not to kill but to cripple. Unable to sustain its weight, the Raigon stumbled back, writhing in pain before retreating into the forest. The monstrous entity disappeared beyond the stream, leaving behind the scent of blood and torn earth.
The battle was over.
The hooded warrior exhaled deeply before turning towards Kriday, who was already unconscious. His body was riddled with injuries, deep bite wounds on his right leg, bullet wounds still oozing from earlier. The sheer extent of his wounds made it clear: he shouldn't have survived this long.
The warrior knelt beside him, tearing strips from their own cloak to bind the worst of his injuries. As they worked, his gaze lingered on Kriday's face. A strange expression flickered across their eyes; recognition? Confusion? Surprise? It was as if he had seen a ghost.
"How?…" he murmured under his breath.
With careful movements, he secured Kriday onto his back, crossing the remaining fabric into diagonal knots for support. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the depths of the unknown realm, carrying the unconscious Kriday.
The air was thick with the remnants of an unseen battle. Somewhere in the dense woodland, the groans of a wounded beast echoed like a war cry lost to the wind. The very earth trembled beneath the weight of something colossal retreating into the unknown. The entourage of warriors, clad in dark olive uniforms and fitted with the sleek yet formidable 'Perpetual Gear,' stood motionless for a brief second, silent sentinels absorbing the unexpected sounds piercing the early dawn.
A stout man, his body sculpted by years of battle, stood at the helm of the unit. His sharp eyes, glistening under the moon's fading glow, narrowed as he turned his head slightly. His expression, unreadable yet heavy with purpose, bore the weight of command. The stars on his epaulette distinguished him from the others, a mark of authority that none dared challenge.
"Something interesting is going on," he murmured, barely audible, his voice dripping with intrigue.
A moment later, he shifted his weight, double-tapping his boots. A sharp churr resounded as the 'Perpetual Gear' strapped to his calves hissed to life. Within seconds, the flattened extensions beneath his heels adjusted, their intricate mechanisms calculating the rough terrain ahead. His body, once grounded, now glided over the uneven earth with breathtaking grace, accelerating as if weightless.
The rest of his unit remained behind, their gazes following him as he became a blur against the twilight landscape.
"You carry on with the regular rounds. I will chase it," he ordered, his voice steady and firm. "If I am not back here in another fifteen, come retrieve me."
"Yes, Commander."
Among the ranks, Raghuvendra, second in command, watched, his lips curling slightly in admiration. His eyes traced the fluid motion of his superior, every movement precise, every step calculated.
"It is always beautiful to watch the Commander glide using them," he remarked, his voice brimming with respect. "No one in the entire 'Shambhala' does it better."
The others just agreed, a silent agreement , their expressions a mix of awe and certainty.
The Commander's speed was immeasurable. The 'Perpetual Gear' was a marvel of engineering, but in his hands, or rather, beneath his feet, it was an art form. While others could run, he flew. While others navigated, he conquered. The forest blurred around him, the distant cries of the beast growing louder.
His hunt had begun.
The warrior pushed himself to his limits, his breath ragged as he carried Kriday through the uneven terrain. Every muscle in his body burned from exhaustion, but his instincts screamed that he could not afford to slow down. There was a presence closing in on him, fast, precise, and relentless. Whoever it was, they were not ordinary. He had felt this kind of pursuit before, but this time, he was not alone. The dead weight of Kriday on his back was making escape all the more difficult.
His feet pounded against the damp soil, weaving through the towering trees. The dense foliage above barely let any moonlight through, and the only sound accompanying him was the whisper of leaves dancing in the wind, until the distant hum of something mechanical echoed through the trees. He clenched his jaw. The 'perpetual gear', an elite army's tool of unparalleled speed and agility. That meant his pursuer was no ordinary soldier; they were trained for this, and they were closing in.
He altered his course, darting between the thick trunks, taking sharp turns in a desperate attempt to shake them off. The air around him grew heavier, a subtle pressure forming as he pushed beyond his limits. His heart pounded against his ribs, the cold air slicing through his lungs. The path he followed was now leading them out of the forest, the shadows giving way to the eerie glow of the open land ahead.
And then—
He skidded to a halt.
A steep descent stretched out before him, a near-vertical slope of jagged rocks and loose gravel. His breathing was labored, his body trembling from exertion. Carrying Kriday down such a path was suicide. The decision needed to be made in an instant.
His hand moved swiftly to his waist, pulling out an object hidden beneath the folds of his cloak. A mask—deep red, adorned with war-ridden markings. The fearsome visage of Begtse, the Buddhist god of war. He clenched the mask in his right fist, his eyes flickering with a silent prayer. If battle was inevitable, he would fight as the avatar of the wrathful protector.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he unstrapped Kriday from his back, setting him down carefully against a rock. His breathing steadied, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. A stillness settled over him as he placed the mask over his face, the red blending into the darkness of the night. His identity, his very existence, was now hidden behind the spirit of a warrior.
He lunges towards the forest again. Sprinting as fast as he can. In the periphery of his vision, a figure emerged. The army personnel had arrived.
The moment their eyes met, the atmosphere thickened with unspoken animosity. The soldier stood still, assessing his prey, his posture relaxed yet exuding an undeniable thirst for combat. His cloak fluttered lightly in the breeze, his perpetual gear still humming faintly from the momentum of his chase. A single step forward, and the smirk that played on his lips deepened into something sinister.
No words were needed.
They understood each other perfectly.
One was a pursuer, the other a guardian. One sought control, the other sought escape. But now, they stood on the precipice of something far greater than either of their original intentions.
The dawn held its breath.
And then, the battle began.
Drona steadied his breath, gripping the dagger tightly in his left hand while his dominant right held the Glock-like firearm infused with his Tattva. Across from him, Vrisha stood poised, swords glinting in the dim morning light. The weight of the air thickened, their auras clashing before the battle had even begun. Without a word, they lunged.
Vrisha's Surya Tattva-infused Talwaar blazed as it cut through the space between them. Drona fired a bullet aimed straight at his head. The impact threw Vrisha's sword arm back, disrupting his strike, but he recovered almost instantly, countering with his Katar. The searing heat radiating from the weapon melted the edge of Drona's dagger, twisting its form and rendering it nearly useless.
Vrisha's footwork, powered by the Perpetual Gear, made him a blur, covering the uneven terrain with effortless glides. He twisted mid-air and delivered a devastating kick to Drona's side, sending him crashing into a tree. Drona barely had time to regain his stance before Vrisha followed up with an energy wave from his sword, a molten arc of destruction aimed straight at him.
Drona leaped to the side, but the sheer force of the blast grazed his left leg, leaving a deep burn. He retaliated, unloading a precise volley of bullets at Vrisha, who barely managed to deflect them. One shot found its mark, piercing his shoulder, while another scraped his side. The heat from Vrisha's previous attack had already begun to distort the forest around them,ash and soot clouding the air, embers dancing in the wake of destruction.
Vrisha smirked, despite the blood trickling down his arm. "You're Drona, aren't you?" he called out, pointing his sword at his opponent. "That footwork, that gun. It could only be you."
Drona remained silent, his expression masked beneath Begtse's war face.
"You can't win against me like this," Vrisha continued, his voice laced with a dangerous amusement. "Your Tattva is at a disadvantage. Space and time manipulation means nothing if you can't use it on yourself. So why aren't you warping me into nothingness?" He took a step forward. "Or is it that using it will reveal your identity?"
Drona's grip on his damaged dagger tightened. With a controlled exhale, he launched himself at Vrisha once more, slashing with desperate precision. But Vrisha was unfazed, countering every strike with minimal effort. "This is unlike you," he mused, parrying yet another attack. "No tricks, no warping. Just this? Tell me, Drona, why are you holding back?"
The tension broke as a guttural snarl echoed through the battlefield. The ground trembled as Raigon emerged from the shadows, its massive form cutting through the smoke-filled air. Its hunger-driven rage fixated on the blood dripping between them.
Vrisha's focus split for a fraction of a second—just enough time for Drona's dagger to slip past his defenses. The blade sank into his left arm, drawing fresh blood. The moment the wound was inflicted, Drona pulled back, knowing he had secured his escape. The beast lunged at Vrisha, its fangs bared, and the army officer barely had time to react.
Drona wasted no time. He sprinted to where Kriday lay hidden beneath the shroud of his cloak. With swift, practiced movements, he secured the unconscious boy to his back and vanished into the thickening mist of battle.
Vrisha, now locked in combat with Raigon, struggled to hold back the relentless beast. He knew harming it would be disastrous, Raigon was sacred, a being no one dared to slay. He attempted to push it away, but the creature, drawn by the scent of blood, was unrelenting. With no other choice, he swung his Surya-infused Talwaar, aiming only to wound, to drive it back. But in a cruel twist of fate, the lethal energy coursing through his blade burned too deep.
Raigon let out a final, agonized roar before collapsing. The world seemed to still.
Vrisha stood frozen, his own breath betraying him. His hands trembled, sword dripping with sacred blood. His heart pounded as the weight of his actions crashed down upon him. He had slain a creature of divine significance.
Tears rolled down Drona's hidden face as he vanished into the horizon. Vrisha clenched his jaw in frustration, his mind racing.
Was he really Drona? Or just a Image what I wanted to be?
The sun crested the sky just as Vrisha's entourage arrived. They stood in silent shock, gazing at the lifeless Raigon and their captain, staring up at the heavens, his sword still clutched tightly in his hands.
Exposed to the full Sun at horizon, steam started oozing out of Vrisha as it started burning his skin.
Three days after the incident
A faint beeping sound echoed through the dimly lit underground chamber, its rhythmic pulse breaking the otherwise dead silence. The air was thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic, mixed with the faint metallic tang of machinery at work. Rows of luminescent screens lined the walls, displaying a series of vital signs, data streams, and encrypted messages. This was no ordinary hideout, it was a sanctum of technology far beyond anything found in the world above. A hidden bastion of innovation, buried deep beneath the surface.
In the center of the chamber, Kriday lay motionless on a metallic table, wires and sensors attached to his body, feeding information into the life-support system keeping him stable. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, his body visibly scarred from whatever ordeal had brought him here. A soft hum from the medical apparatus filled the air as a transparent intravenous fluid dripped into his veins, steadily repairing the damage he had sustained.
Drona stood by the bedside, arms crossed, his eyes shadowed beneath the glow of the monitors. He had spent the past three days waiting, watching, and deciphering the anomalies in Kriday's condition. The resemblance was uncanny, there was no denying it. But was it doesn't make sense
Then, at last, a flicker. A twitch of the fingers, a shift in breath. Kriday's eyelids fluttered before snapping open, his gaze unfocused and hazy. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as his senses returned in an overwhelming rush. He groaned, trying to move, only to find his limbs stiff and uncooperative.
Drona, in his late twenties, wasted no time. He stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Kriday's shoulder, pushing him gently back down. "You need to stay still. Your body is still recovering." His voice was measured, composed, but laced with an undeniable urgency.
Kriday's eyes darted around the room, absorbing his unfamiliar surroundings. His breathing quickened. "Where…where am I?" he rasped, his throat dry as sandpaper.
"You're safe, for now," Drona replied, studying the young man's reaction. "But that's not what concerns me. I need answers."
Kriday turned his gaze to the man before him. He was clad in a reinforced combat suit, a mixture of traditional battle-worn armor and sleek technological enhancements. His presence was imposing, not just in stature but in aura. There was something dangerous about him, something calculated.
Drona's fingers moved swiftly across a nearby console, and within seconds, a holographic projection flared to life in front of Kriday. A digital reconstruction of a familiar object, his student ID. The insignia of Nalanda University shimmered faintly against the blue-tinted screen.
Drona's eyes narrowed. "This ID was found in your belongings. You're a student of Nalanda University. That institution does not exist in this world."
Kriday's breath hitched. His mind raced. How did he know about Nalanda? What does he mean, this world?
Drona leaned in closer, his voice unwavering. "Who sent you here? What was their objective?"
Kriday's head throbbed as memories surfaced in chaotic flashes—his last moments before everything went dark, the inexplicable sensation of being pulled into something beyond comprehension. He clutched at the blanket draped over him, his pulse hammering.
Drona's eyes remained locked onto him, waiting for an answer.
Kriday swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I…I don't know."
A pause. Then, Drona exhaled through his nose, clearly unsatisfied but not entirely surprised. He stepped back, arms folding across his chest. "That's not good enough," he muttered. "You didn't just appear here by chance. Someone sent you—either intentionally… or by mistake."
A heavy silence hung between them, the weight of those words settling in.
Kriday's heart pounded against his ribs. If this wasn't an accident… then who? And why?
And for the first time since waking, Kriday realized his arrival in this world was no mere twist of fate.