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- Bengal and Surrounding Regions -
- April to May 1936 -
Weeks passed, and the name of Maheshvara became more than just a whisper. Across Bengal and even some of the surrounding regions on the border of the Province, it spread in hushed voices among the oppressed, in frantic reports from British officers stationed outside Calcutta—which was fully under Maheshvara's control—and in the growing defiance of those who had once lost hope.
Aryan did not waste time. Every night, he moved like a ghost, appearing where he was needed most. He freed political prisoners before they could be executed, led coordinated strikes on British supply lines, and ensured that every act of resistance carried his unmistakable mark—the Chakra. It was found carved into the walls of British outposts, burned into the ground where their convoys had been ambushed, and carried as insignias by those who now fought under his command.
But inspiration alone wasn't enough. Aryan and his allies worked relentlessly to expand their operations, executing the plan they had set in motion that night in the underground hideout. Recently recruited and trusted envoys were sent to Bihar, Assam, Punjab, and the South, each carrying clear instructions—build, recruit, and prepare. Across India, resistance groups once divided by ideology, caste, or region will soon find themselves drawn toward the same cause.
Bengal had already become his stronghold, and he made sure it was armed like one. The British Indian military in the province was already in his grip. Its supply chains were compromised, its officers confused, and its Brigadier General—a man once sent to restore order—had been reduced to an empty shell. Any reports that did make it out were manipulated by Aryan's people, feeding the British misinformation, making them believe that nothing was truly out of control.
Meanwhile, Aryan worked in the shadows, reverse-engineering captured British blueprints. Firearms, explosives, artillery—everything that had once given the empire its military advantage was now being dismantled and understood. Repurposed warehouses and abandoned buildings were transformed into manufacturing facilities, churning out weapons under his watchful eye. What once belonged only to the oppressors now became tools of liberation.
The British command in Delhi still did not fully grasp the scale of what was happening. Their officers knew something was wrong in Bengal, but their networks were blind, their informants silent, their communications tampered with. But Aryan knew it wouldn't last. The British were not fools. They had ruled through deception and manipulation for over a century. If brute force failed, they would resort to what they did best—divide and rule.
Propaganda would come next. Lies about Maheshvara, designed to turn Indians against him, to paint him as a tyrant, a fanatic, or worse, a puppet of foreign powers. They would spread rumors that he was working against Hindu-Muslim unity, that he sought to destroy India rather than free it. They would exploit every old wound, every religious and social divide, and they would do it well.
Aryan would not let them.
The time to strike was now. He would not sit back and wait for the British to adapt. If they wanted to twist the truth, he would ensure the real story reached all of India first. His actions in Bengal would be carried across the country, and now, he was ready to expand his revolution across the entire Indian subcontinent.
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- Outskirts of Calcutta, Bengal Province -
- May 18, 1936 -
The night air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves as Aryan stood at the edge of the abandoned field. His eyes burned with focus as he stretched out his hand, letting his Dark Magic stir to life. What had once been a tool for illusion and shadows had now evolved into something far greater.
With his skill now at an Advanced level, he could do more than manipulate darkness—he could shape it, command it, and give it form. The knowledge had come to him naturally, like a door unlocking in his mind, revealing new depths of his power.
Before him, several lifeless bodies lay—remnants of creatures he had hunted in the dungeon world, their physical forms preserved for this very purpose. He had discovered that these bodies, infused with residual energy, could serve as vessels for his magic. Now, it was time to put that knowledge into practice.
He extended his fingers, and the shadows around him pulsed in response. Dark tendrils slithered from his hands, weaving through the corpses like living threads. Slowly, the bodies began to shift. Their limbs twitched, their hollow eyes flickered with eerie light. Then, one by one, they rose.
No longer mere husks, they had become Shadow Warriors—spectral figures bound to his will, neither truly living nor dead. Their bodies were wrapped in a thick, shifting darkness, their forms flickering between solidity and shadow. Each one carried the skills and instincts of a trained fighter, enhanced by the unnatural resilience his magic provided.
Aryan studied them for a moment, ensuring their stability. They were not mindless puppets; they could think, react, and execute his commands without direct control. This was exactly what he needed.
"You will spread out across Calcutta and Bengal," he instructed, his voice calm but firm. "Support Shakti and Karna. Maintain order, protect our people, and ensure Maheshvara's presence is felt."
The spectral warriors bowed slightly, acknowledging his command before vanishing into the night. Some melted into the shadows, disappearing entirely, while others moved with inhuman speed, racing toward their destinations.
With that task done, Aryan turned his attention to the next step.
He inhaled deeply, centering himself. His Prana surged within him, flowing like an unbroken current. He recently tried experiments on his new-found powers after his secondary mutation awakening, and had already mastered flight within the space of the dungeon world, but here, in his home world, he needed to push his limits further.
His body lifted effortlessly off the ground, no longer bound by gravity. His control over Life Energy had reached new heights, allowing him to replace his need for breath, if he so wanted, reinforce his physical body beyond its already enhanced state, and manipulate Bio-Energy to heal at an accelerated rate—akin to Wolverine's legendary regeneration.
He hovered for a brief moment before shifting his focus outward. Instead of forcing his body against gravity, he harmonized with the natural forces around him. The environment responded, lifting him higher with ease.
Then, he moved.
One moment, he was still—the next, he shot forward like a bolt of lightning. The wind howled around him as he streaked across the sky, his speed unmatched, his body barely touching the air before leaving it behind. Unlike Shadow Teleportation, which was effective but limited for surveillance, flight gave him a complete view of the world below. He could see everything, anticipate threats, and act before anyone even knew he was there.
Tonight was only practice. But soon, he would take to the skies in full force.
Soon, all of India would know Maheshvara's presence, not just on the ground, but above them as well.
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- British Command, Delhi , India -
- May 20, 1936 -
The air inside the conference hall was thick with cigar smoke and tension. A dozen high-ranking British officers sat around the long wooden table, their faces grim as they studied the latest intelligence reports from Bengal. The room, usually filled with calm discussions of governance and logistics, now carried an unmistakable weight of unease.
Major General Arthur Hastings, an aging but sharp-eyed officer with decades of experience in the empire's colonial administration, leaned forward and tapped his fingers against a stack of documents. "Gentlemen, we have a problem," he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Bengal is seemingly falling out of our hands, and we don't even know how."
There were some nods, some stiffened backs. Across the table, Colonel Richard Faulkner adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "The Governor of Bengal has not sent a single official report in over three weeks. Our efforts to contact him have failed. Telegraph lines from Calcutta are either 'down' or feeding us meaningless drivel about 'technical issues.' We were willing to overlook it for a time, but now…" He glanced at Hastings before continuing, "Brigadier General Alan Whitemore is also missing. His last confirmed communication was a month ago, and since then, nothing."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"Disgraceful," muttered Brigadier Henry Wallace, his jaw tightening. "Are you telling me an entire British military command post has simply gone silent? What the bloody hell is happening in Calcutta?"
Faulkner exhaled sharply. "That's the problem, sir. We don't know."
He reached into a folder and pulled out several reports, handing them down the table. "What little intelligence we do have paints a concerning picture. Reduced tax collection, dwindling exports, and supply chain disruptions. Less tea, less jute, less raw material flowing to London—all at a time when tensions are rising in Europe. This is unacceptable."
General Hastings lit a fresh cigar and took a deep drag. "And this Maheshvara?" His tone carried skepticism, but not dismissal.
Faulkner hesitated before responding. "That's where things get… strange." He adjusted his glasses again and continued, "The locals believe him to be some kind of warrior-saint, a supernatural figure leading the resistance. Nonsense, of course. But what's more concerning is that his name keeps appearing in resistance activities—across Bengal, in villages, in cities, even within Calcutta itself."
Wallace scoffed. "My God, are we really sitting here discussing some Indian legend? I thought we had real concerns."
Hastings shot him a sharp look. "We do. And legends, Colonel, have a way of turning into revolutions."
The room fell silent.
The reports continued—intercepted messages of Indians rallying to Maheshvara's banner, British outposts mysteriously abandoned, arms shipments lost, local informants either disappearing or refusing to cooperate. The infrastructure of British control in Bengal was eroding, and no one in this room could say how deep the problem went.
Hastings finally leaned back, his gaze cold and calculating. "Gentlemen, I am not a superstitious man. I do not believe in warriors from myths. But I do believe in facts. And the fact is, Bengal is slipping, and we are sitting on our hands while it happens." He took another puff of his cigar before continuing, "We cannot afford to be reactive. We must root out the source of this disruption before it spreads further."
He turned to Lord Charles Withersby, a senior political advisor with deep ties to London. "Send word to the Viceroy. We need full authorization to assemble a special counter-insurgency committee. Hardliners. Men who are willing to do what is necessary."
Withersby nodded. "And what of Bengal in the meantime?"
Hastings' expression darkened. "Send fresh intelligence teams under new command. No more useless bureaucrats, no more incompetence. We need ruthless, experienced officers—men who will cut through the nonsense and uncover the truth."
The meeting ended with silent agreement. Orders would be sent, men would be gathered, and plans would be drawn.
Maheshvara, whoever or whatever he was, had just caught the full attention of the British Empire.
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