Bhima trudged through the dense underbrush, his boots crunching against the dry leaves scattered across the forest floor. The morning sun filtered through the towering trees, its golden rays doing little to warm the chill settling deep in his bones. He had walked for hours, leaving behind the chaos of the city in search of answers—and a moment of peace.
But peace remained elusive.
Each step was heavy with the weight of his actions. He could still see the faces of the mercenaries, their terror mirrored in his monstrous reflection. He could still hear the distant cries of innocent bystanders caught in the wake of his rampage.
And then there was the name—Sons of Rudra.
The radio broadcast had been brief but damning, connecting him to a cult he had never even heard of. Yet, somehow, it all felt connected: the power surging through his veins, the attack on his lab, and the mysterious man who had disappeared into the night.
Bhima pushed forward, determined to unravel the tangled threads of his predicament. But as the hours wore on, exhaustion began to creep in, and his body—still adjusting to the Pralaya Shakti—demanded rest.
He reached a small clearing and collapsed onto a moss-covered boulder, his breath ragged. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Bhima pulled his hood lower, shielding his face from the light. His skin still carried a faint bluish hue, a constant reminder of the transformation lurking beneath. The yantra patterns were dormant now, their glow extinguished, but Bhima could feel their presence just below the surface.
His stomach growled, snapping him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t eaten since the night before, and the hunger gnawed at him with increasing ferocity.
“Great,” he muttered. “First, I’m a monster. Now I’m a starving monster.”
The sound of snapping twigs jolted him upright. Bhima’s body tensed, his senses sharpening as he scanned the tree line.
He wasn’t alone.
A shadow moved between the trees, quick and deliberate. Then another. And another.
Bhima rose to his feet, his heart pounding. He reached for a makeshift weapon—a sturdy branch lying nearby—but before he could grasp it, a voice rang out.
“Dr. Bhima Mishra,” the voice called, calm and commanding.
Bhima’s blood ran cold.
The speaker stepped into the clearing, flanked by two heavily armed figures. He was tall and lean, his features sharp and angular. His dark robes billowed slightly in the breeze, and a faint smirk played on his lips.
“You’ve been difficult to track,” the man said, his tone carrying a faint edge of amusement.
“Who are you?” Bhima demanded, gripping the branch tightly.
The man placed a hand over his chest, inclining his head slightly. “Forgive me. Where are my manners? I am Rudrasena, leader of the Sons of Rudra.”
The name struck Bhima like a thunderclap. This was the man behind the mercenaries, the one pulling the strings.
“You’ve been meddling in things you don’t understand,” Rudrasena continued, stepping closer. “But that’s not your fault, is it? You’ve been chosen. Marked by the Mahapralaya Astra. A fate you didn’t ask for, but one you cannot escape.”
Bhima took a step back, his grip tightening on the branch. “What do you want from me?”
Rudrasena smiled, his sharp features catching the light. “To help you,” he said simply. “To guide you. The power inside you is ancient, divine—a fragment of Shiva’s cosmic force. You’ve only scratched the surface of what it can do. But with my help, you could wield it fully, become something greater than you ever imagined.”
Bhima’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard that line before. Some guy in a suit told me the same thing right before his goons trashed my lab.”
Rudrasena’s smile faltered for a moment, his expression darkening. “A minor inconvenience,” he said dismissively. “Those men acted without my direct oversight. But their actions proved one thing: the world fears what it doesn’t understand. They see you as a threat. I see you as a savior.”
Bhima’s grip on the branch loosened slightly as doubt crept in. Rudrasena’s words were unsettlingly persuasive, and a small part of him yearned to believe them. But the memory of his rampage—the destruction, the fear—held him back.
“You’re lying,” Bhima said, his voice firm. “You don’t care about saving anyone. You just want the power for yourself.”
Rudrasena’s smile returned, but it was colder now. “I see you’ve inherited more than just Shiva’s strength,” he said. “His stubbornness too.”
The two armed figures flanking Rudrasena stepped forward, their weapons raised. Bhima’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he stood his ground, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Consider this an invitation,” Rudrasena said, his tone smooth and measured. “Join me willingly, and I’ll show you a world beyond your comprehension. Resist, and you’ll only delay the inevitable.”
Bhima didn’t respond. Instead, he tightened his grip on the branch and raised it defensively.
“Have it your way,” Rudrasena said, sighing dramatically. “But remember, Dr. Mishra—there’s only so much time before the Mahapralaya Shakti consumes you. And when that happens, you’ll come crawling back to me.”
With a flick of his wrist, Rudrasena gestured to his men.
“Bring him in. Alive.”
Bhima barely had time to react before the armed figures lunged at him. The first mercenary swung the butt of his weapon in a wide arc, aiming for Bhima’s head. Bhima ducked instinctively, the strike missing him by inches.
“Bad move,” Bhima muttered, gripping his makeshift branch tighter.
He countered with a wild swing of his own, the branch connecting with the mercenary’s side. The man staggered but didn’t fall, his armor absorbing much of the blow. Before Bhima could follow up, the second mercenary advanced, slamming him against a tree.
The impact knocked the wind out of Bhima, and his branch fell to the ground. He struggled against the mercenary’s iron grip, his mind racing. He could feel it—that growing heat in his chest, the faint flicker of power threatening to ignite.
No. Not here. Not now.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm as the first mercenary recovered and joined his partner. Together, they pinned Bhima, wrenching his arms behind his back.
From the edge of the clearing, Rudrasena watched with an air of detached amusement.
“Impressive restraint, Dr. Mishra,” he said, folding his arms. “I was certain you’d unleash the Pralaya Shakti by now. But I suppose even gods-in-the-making have limits.”
Bhima glared at him, his chest heaving. “If you think I’m going to let you use me, you’re dead wrong.”
Rudrasena chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You misunderstand. I don’t intend to use you—I intend to liberate you. The power inside you is shackled, suppressed by your fear. I can help you break those chains.”
Bhima strained against the mercenaries’ grip, but they held firm. “Why don’t you save the sales pitch and tell me what you’re really after?”
Rudrasena’s expression hardened, the faint smile on his lips disappearing. “Very well. You deserve some honesty, I suppose.”
He stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking onto Bhima’s.
“The Sons of Rudra have long sought the Mahapralaya Astra—the weapon of ultimate destruction, forged by the Devas themselves. It is said to hold the power to unmake creation, to reset the balance of the cosmos.”
Bhima’s heart sank. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” Rudrasena countered, his voice rising. “Look around you, Dr. Mishra. The world is broken—plagued by greed, corruption, and endless conflict. Humanity has failed to uphold the balance. But with the Mahapralaya Astra, we can correct that failure. We can cleanse the world and start anew.”
Bhima shook his head, disgusted. “Cleansing the world? That’s just a fancy way of saying genocide.”
Rudrasena’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning icy. “Do not presume to lecture me on morality. You’ve seen what the Pralaya Shakti can do—felt its power coursing through your veins. Deep down, you know the truth: destruction is not evil. It is necessary. It is balance.”
Bhima’s fists clenched, his body trembling with suppressed anger. The faint glow of the yantra patterns flickered on his arms, unnoticed by the mercenaries holding him.
Rudrasena smiled again, his confidence returning. “You are the key, Dr. Mishra. The Pralaya Shakti chose you for a reason. Together, we can awaken the Mahapralaya Astra and fulfill its divine purpose.”
Before Bhima could respond, the forest suddenly grew still. The wind died down, and the distant hum of insects faded into silence.
Rudrasena glanced around, his smile faltering. “What is this?”
A low, guttural growl echoed through the clearing, sending a shiver down Bhima’s spine. The mercenaries stiffened, their grip on him loosening slightly.
Out of the shadows emerged a massive wolf-like creature, its fur matted and its eyes glowing with a strange, fiery light. Its movements were jerky and unnatural, as if it were being controlled by an unseen force.
Rudrasena cursed under his breath. “A corrupted beast,” he muttered. “A side effect of the energy disturbance.”
The creature snarled, its gaze fixed on the group. Then, with a deafening roar, it charged.
The mercenaries released Bhima, raising their weapons to fend off the beast. Gunfire erupted, the sharp cracks of bullets echoing through the forest, but the creature barely flinched. It lunged at the nearest mercenary, its claws tearing through armor like paper.
Bhima scrambled to his feet, his instincts screaming at him to run. But something stopped him—a pang of guilt, a sense of responsibility.
He couldn’t let this thing hurt anyone else.
The glow of the yantra patterns intensified, and Bhima felt the familiar heat rising in his chest. He clenched his fists, fighting against the surge of power, but it was no use.
“Not again,” he whispered.
His body began to change—his muscles swelling, his skin darkening to a deep, radiant blue. The yantra patterns blazed like molten lava, and his eyes burned with fiery intensity.
The transformation was complete in seconds, and the clearing fell silent once more. The creature hesitated, sensing the shift in power, and turned its glowing eyes toward Bhima.
Rudrasena’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “There it is,” he said softly. “The true power of the Pralaya Shakti.”
But Bhima wasn’t listening. His focus was entirely on the creature, his breathing heavy and uneven. He crouched low, his fingers digging into the earth, and let out a thunderous roar that shook the trees.
The creature snarled in response, its muscles coiling as it prepared to attack.
And then they charged at each other.
The ground quaked as Bhima’s massive, blue-hued form slammed into the corrupted wolf-like creature. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the clearing, knocking over smaller trees and forcing Rudrasena and his remaining mercenary to take cover.
Bhima grappled with the beast, his glowing arms locking around its neck as it thrashed wildly. Its fiery eyes burned with primal rage, and its claws raked against his thickened skin, sending sparks flying. Yet Bhima’s strength held firm.
“Not today,” Bhima growled through clenched teeth, his voice a low rumble that barely sounded human.
The beast let out a deafening roar, opening its massive jaws to unleash a torrent of searing flames. Bhima twisted his body just in time, the fire scorching a nearby tree instead of his face. The blue markings on his arms flared brighter as his fury surged.
He roared back, his fist crashing into the creature’s jaw with a force that echoed through the forest. The wolf staggered, its glow flickering for a brief moment.
Rudrasena watched the fight from behind a boulder, his smirk returning. “Magnificent,” he murmured, his tone tinged with admiration. “The Pralaya Shakti in action. Such raw, unbridled potential.”
The mercenary beside him shifted nervously. “Should we intervene, sir?”
Rudrasena waved him off. “No. Let him revel in his power. It will only make him more susceptible to my offer later.”
Bhima, meanwhile, was losing himself in the battle. Each strike he landed felt like a release, a catharsis for the storm raging within him. But with every punch, every roar, the beast inside him grew stronger, its influence gnawing at the edges of his mind.
He slammed the creature to the ground, pinning it beneath his massive hands. The beast writhed and snapped its jaws, but Bhima’s grip was unyielding.
“Stay. Down!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating like thunder.
With one final surge of power, Bhima raised his glowing fist and brought it crashing down onto the creature’s head. The ground beneath them cracked, and the beast let out a final, agonized howl before its fiery form dissipated into embers.
As the clearing fell silent, Bhima stood over the smoldering remains of the creature, his chest heaving. The glow of the yantra patterns on his skin began to fade, and his body slowly reverted to its human form.
Exhausted, he dropped to his knees, his vision swimming. The ground felt unsteady beneath him, as if the earth itself was rejecting him.
“You’re beginning to understand, aren’t you?” Rudrasena’s voice cut through the haze like a blade.
Bhima looked up, his gaze unfocused. Rudrasena had stepped into the clearing, his expression calm and confident.
“This power inside you—it’s not a curse. It’s a gift,” Rudrasena continued, gesturing to the embers scattered around them. “Look at what you’ve accomplished. That creature would’ve slaughtered everyone in its path, yet you stopped it with ease. Imagine what you could do with proper guidance.”
Bhima shook his head, his voice weak but defiant. “I don’t need your help.”
Rudrasena crouched before him, his tone softening. “You’re afraid,” he said, almost sympathetically. “Afraid of what you might become. But fear is the enemy of progress, Dr. Mishra. You can either let it control you, or you can rise above it.”
Bhima glared at him, summoning the last of his strength. “I’ll rise above it… without you.”
Rudrasena sighed, rising to his feet. “So stubborn. But that’s fine. You’ll come around eventually. They always do.”
He pulled a small device from his robes and pressed a button. A drone whirred to life, hovering above the clearing. A holographic projection flickered to life, displaying a map marked with several red dots.
“These,” Rudrasena said, pointing to the glowing marks, “are ancient sites of immense power. Relics from a time when gods walked among mortals. My men have already begun reclaiming them, piece by piece. Once we have them all, the Mahapralaya Astra will awaken in full.”
Bhima’s blood ran cold. “You’re insane,” he muttered.
Rudrasena smiled. “Perhaps. But insanity is often mistaken for vision.”
The hologram shifted, zooming in on one particular site: the Somnath Temple, its spire gleaming in the digital display.
“This will be our next target,” Rudrasena announced, his tone almost conversational. “The Shiv Dwar Yantra lies beneath it—a crucial component of the Astra’s awakening. If you truly wish to stop me, Dr. Mishra, you’ll have to face me there.”
He turned to leave, the mercenary following close behind.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Rudrasena added over his shoulder. “The next time we meet, I won’t be so lenient.”
Bhima watched them disappear into the trees, his body too weak to give chase. The weight of Rudrasena’s words settled heavily on his shoulders.
The Sons of Rudra weren’t just a group of fanatics—they were organized, methodical, and dangerously close to achieving their goal. And now, they had a head start.
For the first time, Bhima felt truly outmatched. But as he sat there in the clearing, his resolve began to harden.
If Rudrasena thought he could scare him into submission, he was wrong. Bhima didn’t fully understand the power within him, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.
He pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the pain that shot through his body. His journey was far from over.
Somnath Temple awaited.
The sun hung low in the sky as Bhima entered the outskirts of a small temple town nestled in the shadow of rolling hills. The air was heavy with the mingling scents of incense and flowers, and faint hymns floated from the ancient temple at its center. Pilgrims moved through the streets, their faces serene with devotion, but Bhima felt none of their peace.
His body was a battlefield, each step a reminder of the transformation that had left him bruised and aching. Despite the faint glow of the yantra patterns now fading, their presence lingered in his mind, a constant echo of the power surging beneath his skin.
Bhima needed answers, and there was only one place left to seek them: the temple.
He approached the temple cautiously, its intricate carvings of Shiva’s cosmic dance etched into weathered stone. The sanctum’s towering spire pierced the sky, a testament to centuries of devotion. Bhima’s heart pounded as he ascended the steps, his shadow cast long and thin by the evening light.
Inside, the temple was dimly lit by oil lamps, their golden light flickering against the polished stone walls. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint hum of prayers. At the altar, a trio of elderly priests tended to the sacred fire, their movements deliberate and reverent.
Bhima hesitated, unsure how to explain the storm raging inside him. Before he could find the words, one of the priests—a wiry man with a silver beard and piercing eyes—turned toward him, as if sensing his presence.
“You carry a heavy burden, traveler,” the priest said, his voice calm but knowing. “What brings you to this sacred place?”
Bhima stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly. “I need answers,” he said, his voice rough from exhaustion. “Something… happened to me. Something I can’t explain.”
The priest’s gaze flicked to Bhima’s arms, where faint traces of the yantra patterns lingered like glowing scars. His expression darkened.
“The Pralaya Shakti,” the priest murmured, his tone laced with both awe and caution. “It has awakened within you.”
Bhima’s breath caught in his throat. “You… you know what this is?”
The other two priests turned toward him, their faces grave. The eldest among them, his robes adorned with intricate threadwork, gestured for Bhima to sit.
“We know,” the elder priest said. “And we have feared its return for many lifetimes.”
Bhima sank onto the stone floor, his legs too weak to hold him. “Please,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “I don’t understand any of this. I didn’t ask for this power. I just want to know what’s happening to me.”
The elder priest studied him for a moment before nodding solemnly. “You are touched by the Mahapralaya Astra, a weapon forged by the Devas to embody Shiva’s Pralaya Shakti—the force of cosmic destruction. Long ago, it was sealed to prevent its misuse. But it seems the seal has been disturbed.”
Bhima’s mind raced. “Disturbed by who? And why me?”
The priest’s expression hardened. “The Sons of Rudra. A secretive order bent on unsealing the Astra and using its power to ‘purify’ the world. If the Astra fully awakens, it will bring unimaginable destruction. You have been chosen as its vessel, but why it chose you is a mystery only the cosmos can answer.”
Bhima shook his head, his frustration boiling over. “This Rudrasena guy—their leader—he said I’m supposed to help them unlock it. But I’m not going to let that happen. There has to be a way to stop them.”
The elder priest leaned forward, his tone grave. “To stop them, you must first master the Pralaya Shakti within you. It is a double-edged sword, Dr. Mishra—a force of balance, but also of chaos. If you cannot control it, you will be consumed by it, just as Rudrasena intends.”
The weight of the priest’s words settled heavily on Bhima’s shoulders. He had always prided himself on his intellect, his ability to analyze and solve problems. But this was unlike anything he had ever faced.
“Then teach me,” Bhima said, his voice resolute. “Show me how to control it.”
The priests exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. Finally, the elder priest nodded. “We will guide you as best we can. But know this: the path ahead will test not just your body, but your spirit. Only by embracing both creation and destruction can you hope to wield the Pralaya Shakti as a force for good.”
Bhima nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
The elder priest rose, his movements slow but deliberate. “Then we must act quickly. Rudrasena will not wait, and neither can we. His plans are already in motion.”
As the priests began preparing for the ritual that would guide Bhima’s training, a distant sound reached his ears—a faint but unmistakable hum of machinery.
Bhima’s blood ran cold as he turned toward the temple entrance. The hum grew louder, accompanied by the faint whir of spinning blades.
A drone.
Before anyone could react, the drone swooped into the temple, its small projector flickering to life. A holographic image of Rudrasena appeared, his smirk as sharp as ever.
“Dr. Mishra,” the projection said, its voice smooth and mocking. “I see you’ve found yourself some new friends. How quaint.”
The priests bristled, their eyes narrowing at the sight of Rudrasena. Bhima clenched his fists, his body tense with anger.
“I thought I’d save you the trouble of searching for me,” Rudrasena continued. “The Shiv Dwar Yantra awaits beneath the Somnath Temple. It’s a vital piece of the Mahapralaya Astra, and I fully intend to claim it. Of course, you’re welcome to try and stop me. Consider it… an invitation.”
The projection flickered, then vanished, leaving the temple in tense silence.
Bhima turned to the priests, his jaw set. “Somnath Temple,” he said firmly. “That’s where I’m going next.”
The elder priest nodded, his expression grim. “Then may Lord Shiva guide your path. And may you find the strength to face what lies ahead.”
Deep within a sprawling underground complex, Rudrasena stood in a cavernous hall illuminated by the cold glow of monitors and ancient, flickering torches. The air buzzed with energy, both technological and mystical, as his followers scurried about, analyzing relics and ancient texts under his command. The blend of cutting-edge equipment and centuries-old artifacts created an eerie juxtaposition—a testament to Rudrasena’s mastery of fusing modern science with ancient mysticism.
At the center of the hall, a massive stone tablet lay on a raised platform. Its surface was etched with intricate carvings and cryptic Sanskrit inscriptions, pulsating faintly with an unnatural glow. Rudrasena’s piercing eyes scanned the carvings with a fervor bordering on obsession.
“Bring the Yantra map,” he commanded, his voice calm yet laced with authority.
A young acolyte hurried forward, carrying a holographic projector. With the press of a button, the device emitted a shimmering map that filled the air above the tablet. The map displayed the locations of sacred Shiva temples, their positions marked by glowing symbols.
Rudrasena’s gaze lingered on the mark representing the Somnath Temple. “The Shiv Dwar Yantra,” he murmured, more to himself than to his followers. “The gateway that will amplify the Astra’s energy. With it, the Mahapralaya Astra will awaken fully, and the balance of power will shift forever.”
He turned to his trusted lieutenant, Shakti, who stood nearby with her arms crossed. Her Rudra Vajra rested against her hip, its edges gleaming ominously in the dim light.
“Is the team ready for the Somnath raid?” Rudrasena asked.
Shakti nodded. “They are prepared. But what of Bhima Mishra? He has already proven more… formidable than expected.”
Rudrasena chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and calculation. “Dr. Mishra is formidable, yes. But he is also conflicted. That makes him vulnerable.”
Shakti raised an eyebrow. “You seem awfully confident, considering he nearly destroyed our scouting team.”
Rudrasena stepped closer to the tablet, his fingers tracing its glowing carvings. “Confidence comes from understanding. And I understand Bhima far better than he understands himself. He is a man burdened by fear—fear of his power, fear of his purpose, fear of becoming what he already is.”
He turned to face Shakti, his voice growing colder. “Fear can be weaponized, Shakti. It makes men reckless, desperate. And desperation is the perfect tool to shape destiny.”
In the shadows of the hall, another figure emerged—a hooded acolyte carrying a small, pulsating artifact. The artifact radiated a faint, fiery glow, and Rudrasena’s expression brightened as he took it in his hands.
“This,” Rudrasena said, holding the artifact aloft, “is a fragment of the Pralaya Seal. Once whole, it kept the Astra dormant, suppressing its power. But with each fragment we retrieve, the seal weakens.”
Shakti frowned. “And what happens when the seal is fully broken?”
Rudrasena smiled, his voice almost reverent. “The Mahapralaya Astra will no longer be bound. Its energy will radiate unchecked, cleansing the world of its impurities. Cities will crumble, empires will fall, and from the ashes, a new order will rise.”
He stepped closer to the holographic map, his gaze fixed on the glowing mark of the Somnath Temple.
“Dr. Mishra believes he is protecting the world by opposing me,” Rudrasena continued. “But in truth, he is delaying its salvation. The power within him—his Pralaya Shakti—is not meant to protect. It is meant to destroy, to purge the old and make way for the new.”
Shakti’s lips tightened. “And if he refuses to embrace that purpose?”
Rudrasena’s smirk returned, more sinister than before. “Then he will burn alongside the rest of the world.”
A faint hum interrupted the moment as another holographic projection appeared—a live feed from the drone Rudrasena had sent to Bhima. The image showed Bhima leaving the temple, his movements slow but determined. The faint glow of the yantra patterns on his arms was visible even in the dim light of the temple steps.
Rudrasena watched intently, his eyes narrowing. “There it is,” he said softly. “The glow of uncertainty. He is still fighting himself.”
Shakti folded her arms. “And what if he stops fighting? What if he learns to control the power?”
Rudrasena tilted his head, considering the question. “If he masters the Pralaya Shakti, he will become an obstacle—a dangerous one. But no matter how strong he becomes, he cannot stop what is coming.”
He gestured to the map, his voice rising with conviction. “The Shiv Dwar Yantra. The Mahapralaya Astra. The convergence of forces is inevitable. He can delay it, he can struggle against it, but he cannot prevent it. The cycle of creation and destruction must be completed.”
Shakti nodded, though her expression remained guarded. “I’ll prepare the team for the raid. The Shiv Dwar Yantra will be ours by tomorrow night.”
Rudrasena waved her off. “See to it.”
As Shakti left the hall, Rudrasena turned his attention back to the artifact in his hands. Its fiery glow seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, a reminder of the power he was on the verge of claiming.
He closed his eyes, his lips moving in a silent prayer—or perhaps a mantra. The glow intensified, casting long shadows across the hall.
“The old world trembles,” he whispered to himself, a hint of awe in his voice. “And the new world awaits.”
The night was heavy with silence as Bhima trudged along the winding forest path. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy above, casting shifting shadows that played tricks on his tired eyes. His mind churned with the priests’ words, the drone’s ominous message, and Rudrasena’s maddening confidence.
The Shiv Dwar Yantra… the Mahapralaya Astra… Why does it feel like I’ve been pulled into a battle I don’t even understand?
Bhima’s hand brushed against the faintly glowing yantra patterns on his arm. Their steady hum reminded him that whatever Rudrasena wanted, it was tied to this power coursing through him—a power he still barely understood.
He paused, leaning against a tree to catch his breath. The stillness of the forest should have been calming, but Bhima’s instincts buzzed with unease. Something was watching him.
“Dr. Mishra,” a smooth, familiar voice broke the silence, sending a jolt through Bhima’s body.
He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows. From the darkness emerged three figures, their movements deliberate and unthreatened. Leading them was a man clad in black robes adorned with fiery red accents.
Rudrasena’s lieutenants.
The man in the center stepped forward, his face sharp and angular, a smirk playing on his lips. “No need for alarm. We’re not here to harm you—yet.”
Bhima’s fists clenched instinctively. “You work for Rudrasena.”
The smirk widened. “A keen observation, Doctor. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vishvaraksha, and these are my associates. We’ve come to deliver a message—and perhaps, an opportunity.”
Bhima stepped back, his stance guarded. “If Rudrasena wants to talk, he can come himself. I’m not interested in hearing his lackeys.”
Vishvaraksha chuckled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Oh, but you misunderstand. Our leader is a busy man, orchestrating the salvation of humanity and all that. But he values potential, and you, Dr. Mishra, are brimming with it.”
Bhima’s glare hardened. “I’m not interested in whatever madness he’s planning.”
“Madness?” Vishvaraksha echoed, tilting his head. “Is it madness to cleanse a world drowning in corruption and decay? To bring balance to a cycle that has spiraled into chaos? You’ve seen the power within you, Doctor. You’ve felt it. Do you really think it’s meant to be suppressed, caged like a rabid animal?”
Bhima stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. “That ‘power’ nearly destroyed a temple. It’s a curse, not a gift.”
Vishvaraksha’s expression flickered, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment before returning. “Ah, fear. The oldest of shackles. Rudrasena expected as much.”
He gestured to the lieutenants flanking him, who stepped forward holding a small, glowing device. It projected a three-dimensional image of a map, the Somnath Temple highlighted with a pulsing red light.
“This,” Vishvaraksha said, “is our next target. The Shiv Dwar Yantra, a relic of unimaginable power, lies beneath its sacred foundation. With it, the Mahapralaya Astra will awaken fully. And with you, Dr. Mishra, we could control it—wield it.”
Bhima’s eyes narrowed. “Wield it for what?”
“To bring balance,” Vishvaraksha replied, his tone fervent. “To purge the rot festering in this world and reshape it into something pure, something just. Rudrasena offers you a place in this new order. Together, you could achieve greatness beyond comprehension.”
Bhima took a step back, his jaw tight. “What part of ‘not interested’ don’t you understand?”
Vishvaraksha sighed, shaking his head as if disappointed. “I was afraid you’d say that. You see, Dr. Mishra, Rudrasena doesn’t take rejection lightly.”
The lieutenants moved in closer, their hands resting on weapons glowing faintly with an unnatural light.
“But I’ll give you one last chance,” Vishvaraksha continued, his voice soft but menacing. “Join us willingly, or be forced to watch as the world burns—starting with the Somnath Temple.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath as Bhima weighed his options. His instincts screamed at him to fight, but the rational part of his mind hesitated. These men weren’t like the mercenaries at the lab—they were disciplined, prepared, and armed with weapons he didn’t understand.
Still, he couldn’t let them think they could intimidate him.
Bhima straightened, his voice steady. “You tell Rudrasena that I’ll be at Somnath. And I’ll stop him. Not for him. Not for your ‘new order.’ For the people he’s going to hurt trying to play god.”
Vishvaraksha’s smirk returned, more sinister this time. “How noble. A shame your defiance will cost you everything.”
Before Bhima could react, the lieutenants lunged. One swung a glowing blade at him, its edge crackling with energy. Bhima ducked just in time, the weapon slicing clean through the tree behind him.
The fight was brutal and chaotic. Bhima fought with a mix of instinct and desperation, dodging and countering blows while struggling to suppress the surge of rage building within him. Every strike, every threat pushed him closer to the edge.
“Come on, Doctor,” Vishvaraksha taunted from the sidelines. “Let it out. Embrace it. Show us the beast you’re so afraid of!”
Bhima’s vision blurred as his anger flared. His skin began to glow faintly, the yantra patterns flickering across his arms. He could feel the power rising, clawing at his restraint.
But he couldn’t lose control—not here, not now. Summoning every ounce of willpower, Bhima delivered a powerful kick that sent one lieutenant crashing into a tree. The other hesitated, and Bhima used the opening to grab a fallen branch, swinging it with all his strength.
The glowing weapons crackled and sputtered as the lieutenants fell back, their confidence shaken. Vishvaraksha stepped forward, his smirk now replaced with a scowl.
“You’ll regret this, Dr. Mishra,” he said, his tone cold. “We’ll see you at Somnath.”
With that, he signaled his men to retreat. Bhima watched them disappear into the shadows, his chest heaving with exertion.
The faint glow of the yantra patterns on Bhima’s arms faded as he emerged from the forest and entered the village once more. The cool night air kissed his sweat-soaked skin, but his mind churned with the echoes of Vishvaraksha’s taunts.
“Let it out. Embrace it. Show us the beast you’re so afraid of!”
The words cut deeper than any blade, not because they were taunts, but because they resonated with a truth Bhima was trying to deny. He didn’t just fear the beast within him; he feared that once unleashed, he wouldn’t want to suppress it again.
The village’s streets were quiet, the only sounds coming from the distant chants emanating from the temple. The rhythmic prayers and clanging bells created a calming undertone that pulled Bhima’s focus back to the present. He needed guidance.
The temple gates loomed ahead, the faint scent of incense reaching him before the sight of the flickering oil lamps. Bhima hesitated at the entrance, his fingers brushing against the carvings of Shiva’s cosmic dance.
Inside, the three priests were waiting, their eyes sharp with expectation. The elder priest stepped forward, his expression grave.
“You encountered them, didn’t you?” he asked.
Bhima nodded. “They came to deliver a message—and a threat. They’re planning to attack the Somnath Temple.”
The elder priest’s face darkened. “The Shiv Dwar Yantra,” he murmured. “It is a critical piece of the Mahapralaya Astra’s seal. If Rudrasena obtains it…”
Bhima finished the sentence for him, his voice steady. “He’ll have everything he needs to fully awaken the Astra.”
The priest placed a hand on Bhima’s shoulder, his touch both reassuring and heavy with responsibility. “You must stop him, Dr. Mishra. The Shiv Dwar Yantra must not fall into Rudrasena’s hands. But remember this: you carry the Pralaya Shakti within you. It can be a force of balance or a force of chaos. Which it becomes depends entirely on your will.”
Bhima met the priest’s gaze, his jaw tight. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop Rudrasena.”
The other two priests began preparing offerings at the altar, chanting softly as they sprinkled sacred water over the fire. The elder priest gestured for Bhima to kneel before the flames.
“Before you embark on this path,” the priest said, “you must ask yourself: are you prepared for what lies ahead? The battle will not just test your strength—it will test your spirit, your resolve, and your humanity.”
Bhima knelt, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows across his face. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “If I don’t fight, Rudrasena wins. And if he wins, countless lives will be lost. I can’t let that happen.”
The priest nodded, his expression softening. “Then offer your fears to the flames. Let Shiva guide you in the dance of creation and destruction.”
Closing his eyes, Bhima focused on the fire’s warmth, its crackling rhythm aligning with his breath. Images flashed in his mind—his mother praying at her altar, the destruction of his lab, the mercenaries fleeing in terror from his monstrous form.
He didn’t know if this power was a curse or a blessing. All he knew was that it was his responsibility now.
The elder priest’s voice broke the silence. “When you face Rudrasena, remember this: the Pralaya Shakti is not just within you—it is you. Accept it. Master it. Only then will you find balance.”
As the flames burned lower, Bhima rose to his feet, his expression hardened with resolve. “Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly to the priests. “I’ll protect the Shiv Dwar Yantra. And I’ll stop Rudrasena.”
The priests watched him leave, their expressions a mix of hope and caution. The elder priest spoke softly to the others as Bhima disappeared into the night.
“Let us pray that he finds the strength to wield his power wisely. For the fate of the world may rest in his hands.”
The forest path stretched before Bhima as he set out for Somnath Temple. The moonlight illuminated his path, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in time with his steps. His body still ached from the earlier fight, but his resolve burned brighter than ever.
In his mind, Rudrasena’s mocking voice echoed again: “You cannot stop what is coming.”
Bhima clenched his fists, his pace quickening. Maybe I can’t stop it, he thought. But I can sure as hell try.
As Bhima approached the edge of the forest, a distant rumble reached his ears. In the horizon’s faint glow, he could see smoke rising from the direction of the Somnath Temple.
“They’ve already started,” Bhima muttered, his eyes narrowing.
The faint glow of the yantra patterns on his arms returned, their light steady and determined. With a deep breath, he broke into a run, ready to face whatever awaited him.