CHAPTER 9: THE RITUAL BATTLE
The temple was older than the city itself.
Padmini had read about it before—a forgotten shrine, swallowed by the jungle, built long before Imphal became Imphal. Some said it was a temple of Shiva, others believed it was a site of penance, a place where those who had touched forbidden power came to cleanse themselves.
All she knew for certain was that it was the only chance Ajit had left.
And now she was standing in front of it.
The entrance was hidden behind a wall of twisted vines and massive, gnarled roots, as if the forest itself had been trying to bury it. The stone doorway was ancient, cracked with time, but still standing.
And carved into the arch above it—words in a language even older than Sanskrit.
Padmini traced the inscription with her fingers, feeling the rough, weathered stone beneath her touch.
“Here lies the poison that was never meant to be consumed.”
She swallowed hard.
Rajesh stood beside her, his breath slow, measured. “This place gives me bad vibes,” he muttered.
Padmini exhaled. “Yeah. Me too.”
But they didn’t have a choice.
They stepped inside.
The air was thick, stale with centuries of dust and decay. Their footsteps echoed in the vast, open chamber as they moved carefully through the ruined temple.
Massive stone pillars lined the hall, each one carved with ancient depictions of serpents, gods, demons locked in battle. The Nagas were here—their figures etched into the stone, twisting and writhing, locked in an eternal war against forces that looked too dark to be named.
The Halāhala.
It had been here before.
And someone had tried to lock it away.
Padmini’s fingers tightened around the book she had brought.
“This is the place,” she murmured.
Rajesh turned on his flashlight, sweeping it across the far end of the chamber. “Yeah, but where do we actually—”
Then he stopped.
The altar stood at the center of the temple.
A massive, circular platform covered in faded markings, designed for a ritual that had not been performed in centuries.
And in the middle of it—
A fire pit.
Blackened with time. Waiting to burn again.
Padmini and Rajesh exchanged glances.
“Guess we found it,” Rajesh said, voice low.
Padmini nodded, gripping the book tighter.
Now, they just had to bring Ajit here.
And pray it wasn’t too late.
Ajit stood at the entrance of the temple, his silhouette outlined against the moonlit jungle.
He had followed them here—not because they had convinced him, but because something deep inside had pulled him forward, step by step, through the trees, through the vines, until he was standing at the threshold of something ancient.
Something waiting.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and burnt offerings long forgotten. The stones beneath his feet pulsed with a presence he couldn’t name, a weight pressing down on his bones.
He felt trapped.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it was because of the temple—
Or because of himself.
Padmini stood before him, her expression unreadable.
“Come inside,” she said.
Ajit didn’t move.
“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice quieter than he intended.
“You don’t have to either,” she shot back.
Ajit exhaled, his fingers twitching at his sides. His arms still bore the black-red veins of the Halāhala, pulsing just beneath the skin. He could feel it inside him, restless, alive, waiting.
“You cannot undo what has already begun.”
His jaw clenched.
“Ajit,” Padmini said again, stepping forward. Her eyes were pleading now. “This is the only way.”
“You don’t know that,” he muttered.
Rajesh scoffed from the side. “Yeah, because resisting it has been going so well for you.”
Ajit shot him a glare, but Rajesh didn’t back down. “We’ve seen what’s happening to you. You think you’re hiding it, but you’re not. The way you fight now, the way people—”
He hesitated.
Ajit knew what he was going to say.
The way people look at you.
Like they don’t know if you’re going to save them or kill them.
Rajesh swallowed, his voice quieter now. “You’re slipping, man. And you know it.”
Ajit turned away, running a hand through his hair, staring out into the jungle. His heart was hammering, his breath uneven.
He hated this.
Hated how right they were.
Hated how much he wanted to believe them.
But the whisper in his head was louder than theirs.
“They are afraid of you.”
“They are trying to make you weak.”
“They will never understand what you are becoming.”
Ajit gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Ajit,” Padmini’s voice softened. “We’re not trying to hurt you.”
She stepped closer, reaching out—hesitant, careful.
“We’re trying to bring you back.”
Ajit’s breath hitched.
For a moment—just a moment—he wanted to take her hand.
He wanted to believe.
But the Halāhala laughed.
“Back to what?”
“A man?”
“Or something more?”
Ajit’s eyes snapped open.
And he took a step back.
Padmini’s face fell.
“No,” he whispered. His hands were shaking. “No, I—I don’t need this.”
“Ajit—”
“I said NO!”
The temple shook.
The stone pillars trembled. The ground rumbled beneath them, and the air grew thick with the weight of something unseen.
The fire pit at the center of the temple flared to life, burning with black-blue flames.
Ajit staggered back.
He didn’t do that.
Did he?
Padmini’s eyes widened.
Rajesh swore under his breath.
The Halāhala roared in his blood.
And Ajit turned—fled into the jungle.
He couldn’t do this.
He wouldn’t.
Because deep down, he already knew the truth.
He didn’t want to be saved.
Ajit ran.
Through the thick jungle, past twisted trees and ancient roots, his breath sharp, his pulse steady. The Halāhala pulsed in his veins, whispering, laughing, dragging him deeper into itself.
“You made the right choice.”
“You do not need them.”
“You do not need saving.”
He clenched his fists, his claws.
He had to clear his head. Had to get away.
But then—
The air changed.
Ajit skidded to a stop, instincts flaring. The jungle was too quiet. No rustling leaves, no insects, no wind.
And then—
The first shot came.
A beam of blinding energy tore through the trees, missing Ajit by inches. He twisted, dodging as the blast scorched the bark behind him, leaving a smoking crater.
He knew that shot.
He knew who fired it.
Ajit didn’t need to turn around to see.
But he did anyway.
And there it was.
Alha.
The AI warrior stood at the edge of the clearing, its sleek, metallic frame gleaming under the moonlight. Red optics glowed with unreadable calculations. Its form shifted—armor plating adjusting, recalibrating, adapting.
Learning.
Ajit’s breath came slow, controlled.
“Not now,” he muttered.
Alha didn’t care.
“Engaging target.”
Then it moved.
Fast.
Ajit barely had time to react before Alha was on him, striking with machine-perfect precision.
A blow to the ribs—Ajit blocked.
A spinning kick—Ajit ducked.
A second strike, a third, a fourth—each one faster, sharper, calculated.
Ajit dodged, countered, twisted—but Alha was already adjusting.
Already learning.
“Combat patterns updated.”
Alha struck again—this time, Ajit wasn’t fast enough.
The impact sent him crashing through the trees, splintering wood, hitting the ground hard. The jungle floor cracked beneath him, the wind knocked from his lungs.
Ajit hissed, pushing himself up, but Alha was already there.
A cold, steel-plated hand wrapped around his throat.
Ajit snarled.
Alha lifted him effortlessly, tilting its head, studying him.
“Toxin levels unstable. Energy signatures corrupted. Hostile biological transformation detected.”
Ajit struggled, growling. His fingers gripped Alha’s wrist, but the machine didn’t budge.
It wasn’t just trying to defeat him.
It was analyzing him.
“You are no longer Naga Man.”
Ajit’s eyes burned black-red.
And then—
The jungle exploded.
A force—wild, unseen, primal—erupted from Ajit’s body, blasting outward like a shockwave.
Alha was sent flying, smashing through trees, tearing through the earth.
Ajit landed on his feet, his body humming with raw, unfiltered power. His veins pulsed, his breath came slow. Controlled. Measured. A predator waiting.
Alha was already recovering.
It pushed itself from the wreckage, recalibrating.
Ajit cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders.
And for the first time—
He wasn’t running anymore.
The flames roared to life.
Inside the temple, the ritual had begun.
Padmini stood at the center of the ancient altar, her hands shaking as she traced the final lines of the sacred circle onto the stone floor. The symbols glowed faintly, ancient Nagari script thrumming with unseen energy.
Rajesh worked beside her, setting up the last of the offerings—bowls of sacred ash, dried herbs, a vial of river water from the Brahmaputra. Things the text had said were needed. Things that might be enough.
Because this wasn’t just a ritual.
It was a battle.
A battle against something older than time, something that had lived in the veins of demons and gods alike.
And if they failed—
Ajit would be lost forever.
Padmini wiped the sweat from her brow. The fire in the center of the chamber burned hotter now, shifting from orange to blue, twisting unnaturally. The air felt thick, humming with something unseen.
The ritual had recognized its purpose.
It had recognized the poison.
Now, all they needed was Ajit.
And outside, something screamed.
Padmini flinched. “That was him,” she whispered.
Rajesh swallowed hard. “Then we better start now.”
Padmini nodded, stepping into the circle, lifting the manuscript. Her hands trembled as she began to speak the words.
The language was ancient. Forgotten.
It wasn’t meant for human tongues.
But still, she spoke.
The first syllables left her lips, and the temple trembled.
The fire surged higher, licking at the air, casting wild shadows against the stone walls.
Outside—Ajit was still fighting.
But inside?
Inside, the ritual had begun calling to him.
Calling him home.
Ajit felt it the moment it began.
A pull. A shift. A force reaching for him from deep inside the temple.
A voice that wasn’t a whisper anymore.
It was a command.
“Come back.”
Ajit’s body froze mid-fight.
Alha’s fist came crashing toward his skull— but Ajit didn’t dodge.
Didn’t even move.
Because in that moment—the world shattered.
He wasn’t in the jungle anymore.
He wasn’t anywhere.
Ajit stood in an endless void, a space of writhing black and blue, where time folded in on itself and shapes twisted in the corners of his vision.
And before him—
A serpent.
Massive, ancient, coiled through the void like a god slumbering between worlds. Its eyes burned black-red, its scales shimmered like molten darkness.
It wasn’t just alive.
It was inside him.
“You think you can purge me?”
The voice rumbled through his bones.
Ajit gritted his teeth. “I don’t think,” he growled. “I know.”
The serpent laughed.
“Then why are you still here?”
Ajit launched forward.
He moved faster than thought, fists crashing against the serpent’s form—but his blows passed through it like smoke.
No impact. No damage. No effect.
“You cannot fight what you are.”
Ajit snarled.
The Halāhala coiled around him, its presence wrapping through his limbs, his veins, his breath. It didn’t feel like an outside force anymore.
It felt like a second skin.
It felt like him.
“You call this a battle?” the voice sneered. “You are standing in a grave of your own making.”
The void began to collapse.
Reality warped.
The temple, the jungle, the stars themselves bent inward, pulled toward Ajit like a whirlpool of corrupted light.
And in the distance, he could hear it—
Padmini’s voice.
She was calling to him.
Chanting.
The ritual was still pulling him back.
Ajit’s mind split.
One part of him felt the weight of the words, the heat of the flames, the hands reaching out to save him.
The other part?
It felt the power.
The raw, undeniable strength of something beyond human.
“Stay with me,” the Halāhala hissed. “And you will be limitless.”
“Go to them—and you will be weak.”
Ajit’s breath hitched.
Because for a moment—
For just a moment—
He didn’t know which choice he wanted to make.
The ritual fire burned high, crackling with unnatural blue flames, casting wild shadows across the temple walls. Padmini’s voice rose above the chaos, her chant flowing seamlessly from the ancient text, her hands steady despite the tremor in her bones.
Ajit was caught between two worlds.
His body was here—inside the ritual circle, kneeling, shuddering, the dark veins across his skin pulsing violently, fighting against the purification.
But his mind was somewhere else—trapped in the blackened void, face-to-face with the Halāhala itself.
Rajesh wiped sweat from his brow, glancing anxiously between Padmini and Ajit.
“Is it working?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Padmini didn’t answer.
Because she wasn’t sure.
Ajit was resisting.
Something was resisting.
The temple walls shook.
And then—
Laxman stepped forward.
He had been watching from the shadows.
Watching Ajit struggle. Watching Padmini try to save him.
Watching them try to throw away the power that should have been his.
Ajit had never deserved this.
Not from the beginning.
Laxman had seen the way he wasted it. Seen the way he had tried to fight against what was already inside him.
But Laxman?
Laxman wouldn’t waste it.
He would embrace it.
“This is my chance.”
He stepped forward, into the firelight, his expression unreadable.
Padmini’s chant faltered.
Rajesh tensed. “Laxman, what are you—”
Laxman moved too fast.
In a single, fluid motion, he shoved Padmini aside, snatching the ritual manuscript from her hands.
She gasped, stumbling back.
“Laxman, stop!”
But he wasn’t listening.
His eyes were locked onto Ajit.
Ajit, still kneeling, still trapped, still lost in the battle within himself.
Still fighting a power he had never deserved.
“This power doesn’t belong to you.”
Laxman stepped into the ritual circle.
And then—he reached out.
His fingers dug into Ajit’s chest.
And he pulled.
The screaming began.
Ajit’s body arched backward, his mouth open in a silent, agonized gasp. The dark energy that had been coiled inside him for months began unraveling, tendrils of black-red power thrashing wildly, tearing away from his body—and rushing into Laxman.
Laxman didn’t flinch.
Didn’t fight it.
Didn’t resist.
He welcomed it.
His veins blackened, his breath turned sharp, his body convulsed as the Halāhala poured into him—rushing into his bones, filling his mind, sinking into his soul.
The temple roared.
The flames turned black.
Padmini screamed.
Rajesh tried to pull Laxman away—but it was too late.
The ritual had been broken.
And in that moment, the poison found a new host.
Laxman stood tall.
Stronger. Faster. More than human.
He opened his eyes—and they burned black-red.
Then he smiled.
And whispered,
“Now I am worthy.”