The first sensation Onish felt upon regaining consciousness was an unbearable itching, as though claws of fire raked across his very essence.
Who am I? The question reverberated through his fragmented mind, burning with an intensity that threatened to unravel him entirely. His identity was a void, wiped clean like an unwritten page. Panic surged as he turned his focus inward—there was nothing tangible to grasp, only fragments of thought and an unshakable sense of loss.
Flashes of vivid yet alien memories stormed his consciousness, a chaotic kaleidoscope of images that didn't belong to him. They felt invasive, like a corrosive film clinging to his being. Time became meaningless as his awareness spiraled into disarray.
Gradually, the turmoil subsided. Bit by bit, his sense of self coalesced. I am Onish, he realized, the last disciple of Swami Anand Giri. Memories began to take form: his quest for Brahma Loka, the betrayal that shattered him, and the ambush that left him drifting in liminality. Horror crept through him as he examined his Sukshma Sharira—his subtle body—now riddled with cracks that leaked light like fractured crystal. These fissures not only fractured his memories but stripped him of the power to craft a new physical form from the Panch Bhoota—ether, water, air, fire, and earth.
Hopelessness wrapped its icy grip around him. Without a body, he was nothing but prey for forces that roamed the unseen realms. An eternity of unfulfilled hunger and thirst loomed before him, an existence plagued by desires he could never satiate. Worse still, he knew of beings who enslaved wandering souls, bending them to their will. Tales of tantriks wielding such trapped spirits for dark rituals chilled him to his core.
His spiral of despair was shattered by a resounding crack, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap. He looked up to see a fissure above him, spilling dim light into the oppressive void. Driven by instinct, Onish ascended, fleeing the suffocating darkness.
He emerged into an enormous chamber shaped like a colossal bowl. Its surface glittered with countless black pearls, and wraithlike entities floated above them, exuding an aura of malevolence. A primal fear surged within him. Desperately, he sought the chamber's edge, only to recoil in pain when he touched its black stone walls. The contact seared his essence, leaving a glowing red mark. He shuddered; the scriptures taught that a soul should pass through matter without hindrance. Something was deeply wrong.
The wraiths turned as one, their crimson eyes locking onto him. A sharp, eerie whistle pierced the chamber, setting his instincts ablaze with terror. Onish scanned his surroundings with heightened urgency but found no escape. He shot upward, the wraiths in pursuit, their presence oppressive and suffocating. Summoning every ounce of focus, he attempted Prapti Siddhi, the power of teleportation. But his fractured soul betrayed him; the Siddhi faltered.
As the wraiths closed in, desperation overtook him. He dove into one of the cracked pearls, hoping against hope it might shield him. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with despair, an oppressive force clawing at his resolve. He steadied himself by chanting his guru's mantra. With each repetition, the oppressive energies receded, replaced by a fragile sense of peace.
Time became an abstract concept as Onish hid within the pearl. Chanting incessantly, he entered a state of Ajapa-Japa and then Nirvikalpa Samadhi, where his consciousness dissolved into profound stillness. The peace was absolute—until a booming voice shattered his meditation.
"What are you doing, fools? You've processed less than a third of the souls!" The voice was sharp and filled with menace. Onish's awareness snapped back. Floating out of the pearl, he saw a towering shadowy figure addressing the wraiths. Its fiery red eyes swept the chamber before narrowing on the cracked pearl.
"A soul tried to escape, and you let it slip away?" the shadow bellowed. The wraiths emitted mournful whistles, trembling under its scrutiny.
The shadow extended a hand, drawing the cracked pearl into its grasp. "Strange. It's not here. Are you certain it touched the inferno stone?" The wraiths responded with a low, discordant hum.
Onish stifled his fear as the shadow's gaze swept the chamber. For a terrifying moment, its fiery eyes lingered near him, but it moved on. "I'll return in three years. Fail me again, and you'll wish for annihilation." With a wave, the shadow opened a jagged doorway in the chamber wall.
Seizing the moment, Onish slipped through the door. Beyond lay a dark forest, ancient and foreboding. Before him, a monstrous three-headed dog barred his path, its glowing red eyes fixated on him. It sniffed the air, and Onish's formless essence trembled. Suppressing his panic, he darted into the forest's shadowy depths.
Behind him, the shadow emerged, its voice commanding and cold. "A soul has escaped. Find it." The dog growled but did not pursue. The shadow's voice took on a sinister edge. "Not yet. Let it run. We'll claim it when the time is ripe."
The shadow dissolved into the air, leaving behind a dark, smoldering boulder.
Onish raced through the forest, his formless soul weaving between twisted trees and grotesque creatures. Though they didn't seem to notice him, he couldn't shake the sensation of being hunted. The shadow's malevolent presence loomed, closing in with every moment.
I need a body, he thought, the urgency gnawing at him like a living thing. Without one, he was little more than prey—a fleeting ember in a storm of darkness. A forbidden idea surfaced, chilling him: he could possess a freshly deceased body. The act would stain his soul, a sacrilege against everything he'd been taught. But was clinging to principles worth the cost of annihilation?
As the shadow's presence intensified, Onish faced his ultimate choice: uphold his sacred vows or abandon them for survival. The forest grew darker, the air heavier, and the answer loomed as inevitable as the shadow itself.