CHAPTER 5: LOSING GROUND
Ajit sat in the back of the lecture hall, staring at nothing.
Sharma Sir’s voice droned in the background, rattling off equations and electromagnetic field theories, but Ajit wasn’t listening.
He couldn’t.
His fingers tapped against his knee, restless. His veins still itched, his muscles still felt wired, unstable.
The fight with Alha kept replaying in his mind.
The moment he had ripped its arm off.
The moment it had run from him.
Ajit clenched his fist. He should have felt victorious. But all he could think about was the way his body had moved on its own.
The way he had liked it.
“You are wasting your strength.”
The whisper was still there. Quieter now, but not gone. Never gone.
His nails dug into his palm.
He needed to focus. Needed to—
“Ajit.”
A notebook landed on his desk with a thud.
He blinked, snapping back to reality. Padmini stood over him, arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between annoyance and concern.
“You haven’t taken a single note,” she whispered.
Ajit glanced at the empty pages in front of him. She was right. Again.
Padmini sighed. “How bad is it?”
Ajit looked at her, forcing a smirk. “Define ‘it.’”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your grades. Your sleep schedule. Your life. Take your pick.”
Ajit exhaled. He knew she wasn’t joking.
Sharma Sir was already pissed at him. One more failed exam, and his scholarship was gone. His attendance record was a joke.
And outside of class?
People had started whispering.
He had noticed it that morning—the way his classmates stepped aside when he walked past, the way they lowered their voices when he was near.
The fight with Alha had been all over social media. The footage wasn’t clear, but it was enough.
Enough for them to see how he had fought.
How he had changed.
“People are scared of you, Ajit,” Padmini said quietly.
Ajit’s fingers twitched.
“They think you’re… different now.”
He forced a grin. “Come on, I’ve always been different.”
“This isn’t funny.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll pass. People have short memories.”
Padmini didn’t blink. “Will it?”
Ajit didn’t answer.
Because for the first time, he wasn’t sure.
Laxman watched from across the courtyard.
Ajit sat alone under the neem tree, hood up, head down, a barely touched cup of chai on the table in front of him. He looked tired—not just physically, but in a way that sank deeper, into his bones.
And yet, the moment anyone walked too close, they changed course.
Like an invisible force was keeping them away.
Laxman’s fingers drummed against his arm. He had been watching this happen for weeks. The distance growing between Ajit and everyone else. The whispers. The rumors.
And now, the news.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through a dozen different articles, each worse than the last.
“Naga Man’s Fight With Alha Leaves Dozens Injured—Is He Losing Control?”
“Fear or Faith? Imphal’s Hero Is Becoming More Dangerous.”
“Did Naga Man Almost Kill Alha?”
Laxman exhaled sharply.
Ajit wouldn’t talk about it. Wouldn’t explain why he was getting slower, angrier, more reckless.
Wouldn’t explain why his eyes had turned black.
Laxman’s grip tightened around his phone. People were losing faith in Naga Man.
And maybe?
Maybe they should.
He glanced back at Ajit. He was barely holding himself together.
Laxman’s jaw clenched.
He had always looked up to Ajit. Had always thought that if anyone deserved power, deserved to be chosen for something greater, it was him.
But what if Ajit wasn’t worthy anymore?
What if someone else could do better?
What if he could do better?
The thought was small. Dangerous.
But once it was there, it wouldn’t go away.
And deep down, Laxman wasn’t sure he wanted it to.
Padmini couldn’t sleep.
She sat cross-legged on the floor of her dorm, surrounded by scattered books, half-burnt manuscripts, and loose pages filled with handwritten Sanskrit inscriptions. A single candle flickered beside her, casting long shadows across the walls.
Her laptop was open, multiple tabs pulled up—articles on ancient purification rites, serpent mythology, and the legend of the Halāhala poison.
Everything pointed to the same conclusion.
Ajit was changing.
And if she didn’t stop it, he might never come back.
She exhaled, pushing her hair back. “Come on, there has to be something.”
Her fingers traced over a brittle palm-leaf manuscript she had borrowed—stolen—from the university archives. The text was handwritten, ancient, the ink faded.
“The Great Poison was never destroyed, only contained. A body can hold it, but the soul must resist it. Should the mind break, the poison will take the vessel as its own.”
Padmini swallowed hard. Ajit wasn’t just infected.
The Halāhala wasn’t just inside him.
It was waiting to take over.
She turned the page. More inscriptions. More warnings. Then—
Something new.
Her eyes widened.
A purification ritual.
An ancient practice meant to sever a cursed spirit from its host.
She skimmed the details—fire, sacred water, binding chants. The ritual was brutal, dangerous, possibly fatal if done wrong.
But it was the only thing she had found.
She grabbed her phone, fingers hovering over Ajit’s contact.
Would he even listen?
Would he even want to be saved?
Padmini clenched her jaw. It didn’t matter.
She was going to save him whether he wanted it or not.
Padmini sat at the café, fingers tracing the rim of her untouched tea.
She checked her phone again.
9:47 PM.
No messages. No missed calls.
No Ajit.
Outside, the streets of Imphal were still alive—laughter from nearby tables, the hum of auto-rickshaws, the faint beats of Bollywood songs playing from a vendor’s radio. The world moved on.
But Padmini sat still.
Waiting.
For something that wasn’t coming.
She exhaled slowly, placing her phone face-down on the table. She had tried to be patient. She had tried to understand.
Ajit was dealing with something bigger than himself. She knew that.
But lately?
It felt like he was slipping further and further away.
The chair across from her remained empty.
A part of her had hoped—even expected—that he would remember.
But of course, he hadn’t.
Not this time.
Not anymore.
She felt a presence before she saw him.
Rajesh slid into the chair across from her, his usual cocky grin missing.
“I brought cake,” he said, placing a small bakery box on the table.
Padmini gave him a look.
He held up his hands. “Okay, fine, technically, I brought samosas. But they’re birthday samosas, so that counts, right?”
Padmini didn’t laugh.
Rajesh sighed, leaning back. “He forgot, didn’t he?”
Padmini looked away. “He didn’t even text.”
Rajesh rubbed his face. “I swear, I love the guy, but sometimes I just wanna punch him.”
She shook her head. “It’s not just today, Rajesh. It’s—everything. He’s shutting us out. He won’t talk. He won’t listen. And…”
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
“…I don’t know if he even cares anymore.”
Rajesh frowned. “You don’t mean that.”
Padmini hesitated.
She didn’t. Not really.
But she was tired.
Tired of watching him fall apart and pretending everything was fine.
Tired of waiting.
Rajesh sighed. “I don’t know what’s happening to him, Pads. But we can’t give up on him.”
Padmini’s gaze dropped to the table.
“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep trying.”
The words were quiet. Barely a whisper.
Rajesh didn’t have a response to that.
For the first time, neither of them did.
The news played on every screen in the electronics shop.
Rows of televisions, from massive flatscreens to tiny outdated monitors, all displayed the same image—Naga Man, mid-battle with Alha, eyes black, hands wrapped around the machine’s severed arm.
The footage looped, playing over and over.
Ajit stood across the street, hood pulled low, watching from the shadows.
He knew he should walk away.
But he couldn’t.
The anchor’s voice was sharp, clipped, filled with fear-mongering certainty.
“Has Naga Man finally gone too far?”
“The city once saw him as a protector, but now—”
“Unstable. Violent. Dangerous.”
“Is he becoming worse than the criminals he fights?”
Ajit’s fists clenched.
It wasn’t just the news.
It was the people.
The ones watching the broadcast, murmuring, whispering.
“I told you he’s losing it.”
“He ripped off that thing’s arm like it was nothing.”
“Maybe we were wrong about him.”
Ajit’s chest tightened.
He had fought for this city for years. Risked his life, bled for these streets.
And now?
One mistake. One moment. And they were ready to turn on him.
His fingers itched.
“They don’t deserve you.”
Ajit blinked hard, shaking the thought away.
He exhaled, stepping back into the alley, away from the crowd, away from the news, away from everything.
The city had always whispered about him. But now?
Now it was afraid.
And a small, dangerous part of him?
Was starting to wonder if maybe—they should be.
In the depths of his underground fortress, Ravana stood before the new Alha.
The machine was no longer the same.
Gone was the sleek, streamlined chassis of its first design. Now, reinforced plating covered its limbs, etched with glowing crimson lines that pulsed like veins. Its shoulders were broader, its movements more fluid—less like a machine, more like a predator.
And its eyes.
Still gold, still glowing—but sharper now. Hungrier.
Ravana ran a hand along its metal frame, his fingers brushing the intricate engravings etched into the alloy. This wasn’t just an upgrade. This was evolution.
Alha’s head tilted slightly, its voice perfectly calm.
“New combat parameters uploaded. All previous battle data has been analyzed. Adaptations implemented. Probability of Naga Man’s defeat: 83%.”
Ravana smirked. “Not good enough.”
“Further analysis required.”
Ravana stepped back, crossing his arms. “What do you remember from your last engagement?”
Alha’s golden gaze flickered as it processed. “Subject exhibited irregular combat behavior. Physical strength and reaction time spiked unpredictably. Signs of an external influence detected.”
Ravana’s smirk widened. “The Halāhala.”
“Confirmed.”
Ravana exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening. “It’s inside him now. Corrupting him. And he’s trying to fight it.”
He turned to the massive display screen behind him, where surveillance footage of Ajit played in slow motion—the moment his eyes darkened, the second he tore Alha’s arm free.
The raw power. The brutality.
Ravana chuckled. “He won’t last.”
Alha’s head tilted again. “Clarify.”
Ravana’s grin was sharp. “He’s losing control. And the best part? He doesn’t even realize it yet.”
He walked to the control panel, fingers dancing across the keys. The fortress hummed around him, machinery shifting, adapting—preparing.
“Let him struggle a little longer,” Ravana murmured. “Then we’ll break him.”
He turned back to Alha.
“Find him. Watch him. And when he’s at his weakest…”
A pause.
Then, softly—almost fondly—
“Kill him.”
Alha’s golden eyes flashed.
“Understood.”