The darkness was absolute. It was not just the absence of light, but the obliteration of everything—sound, space, and time all ceased to exist as Edge drifted in this void. His mind struggled to make sense of the sudden shift, but there was nothing to anchor him. It felt like an eternity, suspended in nothingness, a prison with no walls, where even the concept of time had lost its meaning.
He had no idea how long he had been there, alone with his thoughts, when the void began to change. Tiny sparks of light appeared, far off in the distance. They flickered like the first stars in a newborn universe, fragile yet defiant. The sparks multiplied, growing in intensity until they coalesced into a radiant explosion that banished the darkness in an instant.
As the light grew, the void around him transformed. Edge found himself floating, not in the emptiness of space, but in a realm that defied the laws of reality. The scene before him was one of breathtaking beauty—a landscape carved from the dreams of the divine.
Massive mountains, their jagged peaks piercing the heavens, towered over sprawling forests. The greenery below was a tapestry of life, vibrant and teeming, each tree and plant more lush and verdant than anything Edge had seen before. Rivers of liquid crystal wound through the valleys, reflecting the myriad colors of the sky above.
And that sky—Edge's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upward. Four suns blazed in each cardinal direction, their light melding into a kaleidoscope of gold and amber hues. Between these celestial giants, multiple moons orbited in a serene dance, their surfaces scarred and pitted, some larger than planets, others small and distant.
It was a world beyond his comprehension, a place where the rules of nature had been rewritten by a hand that was not human.
Yet, amid this awe-inspiring spectacle, Edge felt a creeping unease. This place, for all its beauty, was not meant for mortals like him. It was a realm of gods.
Then, a voice echoed through the air, a sound that resonated not just in his ears, but in the very core of his being. "You there, boy," it called, the words like a command that brooked no disobedience.
Edge turned instinctively toward the source of the voice, his body moving on autopilot. But as his eyes locked onto the figure before him, he felt his blood run cold. The being standing before him was not just any entity; it was the deity whose legacy he bore—the great God Hanuman.
The sight of Hanuman was overwhelming. Though Edge knew the god as a protector, a force of good, there was something terrifying in his presence. Hanuman's aura was a maelstrom of raw power, so intense that it distorted the very air around him. It was not malice that Edge sensed, but something more primal—a force of nature, vast and unyielding.
Despite everything he had learned about the benevolence of Hanuman, a primal fear seized Edge's heart. He could feel his body tremble, not from a conscious choice, but from a deep-seated instinct for survival. The air around him grew thick, oppressive, like the weight of the world pressing down on his chest.
Edge's mind screamed at him to run, to flee from this force that could annihilate him with a mere thought. But he was rooted to the spot, unable to move, as if the very earth beneath him conspired to keep him in place.
Hanuman's eyes, as dark and unfathomable as the void Edge had just escaped, regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Mujhe maaf karna," Hanuman's voice reverberated through the air, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality. "I apologize, young one. I lack the finesse to fully control my spiritual pressure, and you are, after all, incredibly weak."
There was no mockery in Hanuman's tone, only the blunt truth. This was not the god himself, but a mere fragment, a spark of his infinite energy. Yet even this avatar was a force of nature, a being so powerful that it could barely contain its own might. The pressure Edge felt was not intentional—it was simply the byproduct of standing in the presence of something far beyond his comprehension.
Edge could barely breathe, his chest tight with the weight of Hanuman's presence. His body, despite every instinct telling him to flee, refused to move. He knew that the fear he felt was not born of ill intentions; it was a natural response to the sheer magnitude of power that stood before him.
Somehow, through sheer willpower or perhaps divine intervention, Edge managed to move. His body acted on instinct, driven by the need to show respect, to acknowledge the deity before him. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head low in reverence. "I greet the Lord," he managed to say, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Hanuman's eyes softened, and the oppressive weight in the air lessened slightly. "Stand, young one," Hanuman commanded, his voice firm but not unkind. "I am not one for formalities. Relax. You need to be at ease for what comes next, for I am not pleased with your progress."
The words hit Edge like a physical blow. The air around him grew heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of Hanuman's displeasure was a tangible force. The sensation was indescribable—like having the weight of a mountain pressing down on his back, while simultaneously being consumed by fire from the inside out. His nerves screamed in agony, every fiber of his being crying out under the strain.
If there had been a knife nearby, Edge would have stabbed himself just to feel something other than this overwhelming sensation.