The crimson-eyed figure stood across the storm-lit skyline like a nightmare carved from ancient memory.
Rain ran down the edge of the opposite rooftop.
His crimson robes moved with the wind.
And those eyes—
those same blood-red eyes from the battlefield—
remained fixed on Aarya.
Mahakaal.
For one terrifying moment, the city below seemed to disappear.
Only the two of them existed.
Separated by distance.
Connected by fate.
Then lightning split the sky.
The rooftop across from them was empty.
Gone.
No crimson robes.
No red eyes.
Nothing.
Only rain and darkness.
Aarya's jaw tightened.
"Who is he?"
Karan Veer Rathore's scarred face darkened.
"The man your past life failed to kill."
The words hit harder than the rain.
Arya Malhotra stepped closer, arms folded against the cold wind.
"You know his name."
Karan's silver eyes remained fixed on the empty rooftop.
"Mahakaal Varman."
Even the storm seemed quieter after that.
Aarya frowned.
"The one from the vision."
Karan nodded.
"In Dvapara, he was the war priest of the Naga Order."
His voice lowered.
"The mastermind behind the fall of the Dragon Guardians."
Aarya's fingers curled into fists.
Fragments of memory flickered.
A battlefield.
Blood.
A spear.
Princess Vanya is falling.
His chest burnt.
The dragon mark pulsed.
Before he could speak—
The rooftop door exploded inward.
The heavy metal slab slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.
Three masked figures rushed in.
Black tactical armour.
Curved poisoned blades.
Silver serpent insignias.
The Naga Order.
The first attack had begun.
Karan moved instantly.
"DOWN!"
He lunged forward with the speed of a trained killer.
A combat knife flashed in his hand.
Steel clashed.
Sparks burst into the rain-soaked darkness.
Arya Malhotra drew her pistol from beneath her coat.
Her movements were smooth.
Practised.
The first shot rang out.
One assassin staggered.
The second lunged toward her.
Aarya moved without thinking.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up.
He stepped into the strike.
Caught the attacker's wrist.
Twisted.
A crack split the night.
The blade clattered across the rooftop.
The assassin hissed and swung with his other hand.
Aarya ducked.
His fist drove into the man's ribs.
The force of the impact sent the attacker crashing into the concrete.
Aarya froze for half a second.
He had never fought like this before.
Yet his body moved as if it remembered.
A voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"Again."
The third attacker came from the side.
The blade flashed toward his neck.
Time slowed.
Aarya tilted his body.
The strike missed by an inch.
His hand snapped forward.
Palm strike.
Throat.
The assassin stumbled back, choking.
Karan took down the first one with a precise knife slash.
Arya fired again.
The second dropped.
Only one remained.
The attacker looked at Aarya with sudden fear.
He recognised something.
"The heir…"
Before he could finish—
Darkness spread unnaturally across the rooftop floor.
Not shadow.
Something alive.
A voice hissed through the storm.
"Kill him."
More figures emerged.
Five.
Then seven.
All black-clad.
All armed.
Arya cursed softly.
"This isn't a hit squad."
Karan's expression hardened.
"No."
His voice dropped.
"It's an execution team."
The assassins charged together.
Steel flashed.
Rainwater sprayed beneath boots.
The rooftop became chaotic.
Karan moved like a phantom.
Knife.
Elbow.
Slash.
Precise and brutal.
Arya's pistol cracked through the storm.
Aarya barely ducked beneath a poisoned blade.
The dragon mark on his chest ignited.
Pain shot through him.
Then power answered.
Dark violet flames burst across his hand.
The nearest assassin froze.
Fear flashed behind the mask.
Aarya stared at his own palm.
The flames swirled like living shadows.
The voice returned.
"Unleash me."
The assassin lunged.
Aarya thrust his hand forward instinctively.
The flames exploded.
A wave of violet-black force tore across the rooftop.
Two attackers were hurled backwards.
One crashed through the rooftop water tank.
Another slammed into the concrete wall.
Silence followed.
Even the rain seemed to pause.
Arya stared at him.
Her voice lowered.
"What… are you?"
Aarya looked at his own hand.
The last of the flames curled into smoke.
He didn't know.
A slow clap echoed from the darkness.
Everyone turned.
A figure stepped out from the shadows near the rooftop ledge.
Tall.
Crimson robes.
Red eyes glowing in the rain.
Mahakaal Varman.
His smile was ancient.
Cruel.
"Well done, Aaryaveer."
The name hit like lightning.
Aarya stepped forward.
"I'm not him."
Mahakaal laughed softly.
"No."
His gaze sharpened.
"You are worse."
Rain slid down his face.
He lifted one hand.
Dark tendrils spread across the rooftop floor.
They moved like living snakes.
One shot straight toward Arya Malhotra.
Aarya reacted instantly.
He threw himself between them.
The shadow tendril struck his shoulder.
Pain exploded through his body.
He staggered back.
Black veins began spreading beneath his skin.
Mahakaal smiled.
"Still protecting others first."
His voice lowered.
"That is why you lost."
Karan stepped forward, knife raised.
Mahakaal only smiled wider.
"Not tonight."
The crimson figure dissolved into smoke.
Gone.
Only his voice remained in the storm.
"The red moon rises soon. Come to Kurukshetra."
Silence swallowed the rooftop.
Aarya gritted his teeth.
The wound on his shoulder burnt like fire.
Black veins spread slowly beneath his skin.
Arya moved to his side instantly.
Her hand gripped his arm.
Concern flashed in her eyes.
"Aarya."
Karan knelt beside him.
His face darkened.
"This is shadow corruption."
Aarya forced himself to stand.
His eyes lifted toward the storm clouds.
Kurukshetra.
The battlefield from his dreams.
The place where destiny had once ended.
And where it would soon begin again.