Pralaya didn't know why, but something deep inside him urged him to return to the battlefield. His heart pounded with an unexplainable pull, as if something was calling to him. Ignoring his father's desperate shouts for him to come back, he sprinted into the night.
The moment he arrived at the site of the battle, a strange sensation washed over him. It was as if his senses had expanded beyond their limits—he could feel everything around him, the echoes of the battle still lingering in the air. The energy of the Śūnyayoma and the Śūnyavāda clashed in a way he had never noticed before, but now, it felt as if he could almost see it.
He shivered.
What the hell is happening to me?
Pralaya shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Instead, he focused on something else—the way the Śūnyayoma had been moving before the Śūnyavāda appeared. It hadn't just been attacking randomly. It had been searching for something.
If it had been looking for someone, there would be traces. But there weren't any bodies, no signs of someone else having been here. That meant it was looking for something.
Determined, he began searching the area. He combed through the debris, overturning broken carts, peering into shadows. Two hours passed, and he found nothing.
Maybe he had been overthinking it.
With a sigh, he turned to leave.
And that's when he saw it.
A mask.
It was black, demonic in design, lying on the ground right by his feet.
Pralaya's breath caught in his throat.
That wasn't here before.
He crouched down, hesitating before picking it up. The moment his fingers brushed against it, an eerie chill ran up his spine. There was nothing outwardly strange about it—no ominous aura, no markings—but deep down, something felt wrong.
"Drop the mask."
The voice came from behind him.
Pralaya turned sharply, his heart pounding.
Standing a few feet away was a man dressed entirely in black. His presence was suffocating, his aura one of sheer lethality. Three swords hung at his waist, their hilts wrapped in dark cloth. His face was hidden beneath a shadowed hood, but his eyes glowed faintly beneath it.
"You look like a civilian," the man said casually, tilting his head. "I'll make this simple. Drop the mask."
Pralaya tightened his grip on the mask instinctively. "Why?"
The man sighed. "Kid, I'm trying to be nice here. That thing is dangerous. You don't want to be holding it."
Pralaya's instincts screamed at him to run, but his body refused to move. Something about the mask would not let him go.
The man clicked his tongue. I really don't feel like killing a kid but you leave me to little choice here boy.
Pralaya's blood ran cold.
Before he could react, a blast of pure karmic energy struck him in the chest.
The world spun.
He crashed into a nearby wall, pain exploding through his body. His vision blurred, and darkness crept into the edges of his sight.
The man walked up to him, shaking his head. "Nothing personal, kid. You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Pralaya could barely hear him. His mind was slipping.
Then—
A vision.
He stood in a ruined battlefield.
The ground was littered with bodies, charred, broken and bloody. Flames raged in all directions, black smoke filling the sky, it looked like hell itself. And in the center of it all—
A figure.
Hovering above the destruction, wreathed in fire. Their presence was overwhelming, suffocating. They radiated an aura of absolute dominance.
The figure slowly turned.
Pralaya knew they couldn't see him.
And yet… they did.
For a moment, the figure's gaze met his.
Then, they turned away.
The vision shattered.
---
Back in reality, the swordsman reached for the mask.
But Pralaya's grip was like iron. Even unconscious, he wouldn't let go.
Then—
A pulse.
Karmic energy erupted from his body.
The swordsman's instincts screamed at him, and he leaped back just in time.
The mask in Pralaya's hand began to melt into his skin.
And then—
It disappeared.
A deep, guttural sound escaped from Pralaya's throat. His body rose unnaturally, his limbs moving with an eerie stillness.
The swordsman's grip on his sword tightened. "Oh, hell no."
Pralaya's head snapped up. His eyes were no longer his own.
A black void swirled in place of his face.
The mask had become him.
The swordsman cursed under his breath. "Well, I was gonna take it easy on you, but it looks like we're doing this the hard way."
In an instant, he vanished.
Reappearing behind Pralaya.
"Akash Step—Phantom Blink."
His blade flashed, aiming straight for Pralaya's neck.
But—
Pralaya moved.
With impossible speed, he tilted his head at an unnatural angle, dodging the strike by mere inches.
The swordsman's eyes widened. "Oh. Well, that's bullshit."
Pralaya lunged. His movements were jerky, inhuman—like a puppet being controlled by an unseen force. His hand shot out, a dark chain materializing from his palm.
"Avidya Bind—Chain of Samsara."
The chain lashed toward the swordsman like a serpent, splitting into dozens of writhing tendrils mid-air.
The swordsman clicked his tongue.
He spun his blade, slicing through the chains in rapid succession. "Threefold Severance—Moksha's Edge!" Each cut sent bursts of silver energy through the tendrils, severing them instantly.
But they reformed just as fast.
Pralaya—or whatever was inside him—tilted his head again. Then, faster than the eye could follow, he closed the distance.
The swordsman barely had time to react.
"Māyā Veil—Illusory Shift!"
He flickered, his form splitting into three identical copies, all of them dashing in different directions.
Pralaya's head snapped between them. His masked face distorted, shifting unnaturally. Then, with terrifying certainty, he lunged at the real one.
The swordsman barely blocked in time. Sparks erupted as their energies clashed, the sheer force sending shockwaves through the air. as steel clashed against unnatural energy. The sheer force of their battle cracked the ground beneath them, sending shockwaves rippling through the night.
The masked Pralaya moved with inhuman fluidity, his body twisting and contorting as if his bones had lost all structure. He struck out with terrifying speed, his fingers clawing through the air, leaving trails of black energy in their wake.
The swordsman—still calm despite the absurdity of the battle—parried each attack with precise, controlled movements. His three swords flashed in the moonlight, slicing through Pralaya's attacks with a cold efficiency.
"Alright, I've fought a lot of people in my life," the swordsman grunted, dodging a swipe aimed at his throat. "But whatever the hell you are? You move like a drunk puppet with all its strings cut."
Pralaya—or rather, the thing inside him—did not respond.
Instead, he suddenly twisted his entire torso mid-air, dodging a blade by mere millimeters and countering with a black tendril that shot from his back.
The swordsman barely managed to avoid it, flipping backward with a fluid motion. "Tch. That's new."
He didn't get a chance to breathe.
Pralaya blurred forward, his movements so unnatural they sent an eerie chill down the swordsman's spine.
Then—
"Avidya Bind—Chain of Samsara!"
The chains of darkness shot out again, multiplying and filling the battlefield like writhing serpents.
The swordsman narrowed his eyes. Rend—Cycle Severance!"
In an instant, he slashed his swords in a rapid flurry, golden arcs of karmic energy splitting the chains apart. The battlefield became a storm of destruction, the two of them locked in a deadly dance of attack and counterattack.
But then—
The swordsman made a mistake.
For just a fraction of a second, he misread Pralaya's next movement.
And that fraction was all it took.
A single tendril wrapped around his wrist.
Before he could react, Pralaya's other hand rose. Black energy swirled around his fingertips, condensing into a single, growing orb.
A sphere of absolute nothingness.
"Śūnyagarbha—The Womb of the Void."
The swordsman's instincts screamed at him.
If that touches me, I die.
His body tensed. He struggled, but the grip around his wrist was unnaturally strong. He clenched his teeth. "Damn it—"
Pralaya—or rather, the thing inside him—raised the sphere higher, preparing to unleash its power.
But then—
Something happened.
Pralaya fought back.
---
Inside the Void
Pralaya found himself in an endless black abyss.
It was as if he had been ripped out of his body and thrown into a realm of pure emptiness. And yet, within this void, he could see.
He could see his own body moving. He could see the swordsman struggling.
And he knew—
If I don't stop this, that man dies.
Pralaya clenched his fists. "No. I won't let this thing control me."
A low, guttural laugh echoed from the darkness.
Something was there.
Emerging from the abyss was a colossal black serpent. Its scales shimmered like liquid shadow, and its glowing red eyes bore into Pralaya's soul. It coiled around him, massive yet weightless in this void.
It spoke.
"You struggle in vain, child. This body is no longer yours."
Pralaya glared at it. "Who the hell are you?"
The serpent's mouth curled into something resembling a grin.
"I am the hunger that lurks in the abyss. The shadow that clings to existence. The whisper in the void that was forgotten by time."
Its body coiled tighter, circling Pralaya like a predator playing with its prey.
"You may call me... Nāga-Tamas, the Darkness Unborn."
Pralaya clenched his jaw. "I don't care what you are. That's my body, and I'm taking it back."
The serpent let out a cold, hissing laugh. "Foolish child. You are nothing. Your will is weak. Accept the inevitable—your body belongs to me now."
It lunged at him.
Pralaya braced himself—
But then—
Everything stopped.
A wave of absolute stillness fell upon the void.
The serpent froze mid-motion, its eyes widening in sudden... fear.
Something was watching.
Pralaya could feel it too. A presence. A gaze so overwhelming, so suffocating, that even the darkness itself recoiled.
And then, in the farthest reaches of the void—
Something else appeared.
It was him.
But also... not.
A shadowed version of himself, standing with an unnatural stillness. It didn't speak. It didn't move.
It only stared.
And somehow, without uttering a single word, it commanded.
Leave.
The serpent's body shuddered. Its entire form trembled under the silent authority of that being.
It tried to resist.
But it could not.
The moment that thing looked at it, its fate had already been decided.
---
Back in the Real World
Pralaya's body shook violently.
The black sphere of death in his palm flickered.
Then, suddenly—
A black mist erupted from the mask, spiraling into the air before solidifying.
Before the swordsman's eyes, the massive form of the serpent manifested in the real world, its coiled body looming over Pralaya.
The air grew heavy. The ground trembled.
But—
Pralaya stood tall.
His breathing was ragged, his hands clenched into fists.
And the mask... was still on his face.
But he was in control.
For now.
The swordsman, still catching his breath, looked between Pralaya and the massive serpent. He sheathed one of his swords and let out a slow, exhausted sigh.
"Alright. I'm gonna be honest—this was not how I expected my night to go."
Pralaya, still panting, shot him a tired glare. "Shut up."
The swordsman smirked. "Oh? You're back? Good. For a second there, I thought I'd have to cut off your head."
Pralaya didn't respond. He was too busy trying to process what had just happened.
The serpent, now fully formed, let out a low, deep hiss. Its presence was still there—but it no longer had control.
The swordsman tilted his head. Things are finally getting interesting
Pralaya exhaled sharply.