Chapter 4: New Beginnings

Srestha, clad in his new college uniform, made his way from Tanbazar Ghat to Bantor Ghat. The route was lined with trees, their branches stretching out to form a canopy overhead. The area was alive with the chirping of birds, the sound a symphony to Srestha's ears.

As he walked, his gaze fell upon two mysterious figures. They were clad in strange, enigmatic attire, the fabric draped to cover the right side of their bodies. Srestha, intrigued but respectful, decided to ignore them and continued on his journey.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar aura enveloped Srestha, causing him to pause and look up. There, in the sky, loomed the Knife Angel, its form as menacing as ever. Srestha's heart raced, his mind reeling as he tried to process the situation.

Before he could react, the Knife Angel delivered a powerful cross punch, the impact causing knives to pierce Srestha's skin. Blood trickled down his body as the Angel hurled him into the Bantor River.

Srestha's world spun, the water's chill a stark contrast to the burning pain in his chest. He struggled to stay afloat, the Knife Angel's attack leaving him weak and disoriented.

The river, usually a peaceful haven, had now become a battleground. The Knife Angel, a symbol of violence, loomed above the water, its dark aura pulsating.

Srestha, unaware of the larger conflict at play, fought for his life, the river's currents a cruel adversary. As the battle raged on, the fates of Narayanganj's inhabitants hung in the balance.

As Srestha struggled against the river's currents, his mind drifted to the past, a kaleidoscope of memories both good and bad. He recalled the times he had been treated kindly, his gentle demeanor earning him the affection of those around him. However, the sting of his failures as a magician still lingered, a constant reminder of his perceived inadequacy.

"Why am I not like Soruvo or Father?" Srestha wondered, his heart heavy with self-doubt. "Why can't I be as powerful as our ancestors?"

Lost in his thoughts, Srestha found himself in a strange, ethereal space, the boundaries between reality and imagination blurred. A blue figure, its form indistinct yet radiant, materialized before him.

"Man is made by his belief," the figure spoke, its voice echoing through the void. "As he believes, so he is."

Srestha's brow furrowed, his mind reeling. "My mind is my enemy," he muttered, the weight of his self-doubt pressing down upon him. "I'm giving up."

The blue figure moved closer, its hand reaching out to touch Srestha's forehead. "The mind acts like an enemy for those who do not control it," it said, its voice a soothing balm to Srestha's troubled soul.

Before Srestha could respond, the figure's hand made contact with his skin, a jolt of energy surging through him. "Let me take over," the figure whispered, its presence infiltrating Srestha's mind.

Srestha's eyes fluttered closed, his body going limp as the figure's essence merged with his own. The river's currents continued to tug at him, but he felt a newfound strength coursing through his veins.

As the blue figure's essence melded with Srestha's, his body began to transform. The water around him rippled, the once-murky liquid now illuminated by the blue hue that enveloped Srestha. A distinctive symbol appeared on his forehead: a 'U' shape with a red line running through its center.

Srestha's demeanor shifted, his previous uncertainty replaced by a cocky, assertive attitude. He inhaled deeply, the scent of the city causing him to cough. "Man, it's good to be back after so long," he remarked, the sarcasm in his voice directed at the pollution that hung thick in the air.

His gaze fell upon the Knife Angel, who stood not far away. Without warning, Srestha vanished from his position, reappearing in front of the menacing art piece. With a powerful superman punch, Srestha struck the Knife Angel, the force of the blow shattering nearby buildings.

Srestha, now in close proximity to the Angel, launched a series of attacks—a jab, a cross, and a ferocious right leg axe kick. The Knife Angel, however, was not to be underestimated, its dark aura still a potent force.

The battle between Srestha and the Knife Angel spilled into the main road, the chaos drawing the attention of the citizens. The once-peaceful streets of Narayanganj now echoed with the sounds of clashing metal and shattering glass.

The Knife Angel, its menacing aura undiminished, responded to Srestha's onslaught. "Who the hell are you?" it demanded, its voice a grating cacophony of metal scraping against metal.

Srestha, unfazed, retorted, "Shut the fuck up. Your sound is annoying, like metal crushing."

The Knife Angel prepared to retaliate, but before it could, Srestha leaped into action, grabbing its legs and throwing it to the ground. The Angel responded by showering Srestha with knives, but the young magician nimbly dodged them, landing on the ground unscathed.

As the Knife Angel prepared a side hook kick, Srestha once again evaded its attack. In a swift, fluid motion, Srestha executed a spinning hook kick, the force of the strike splitting the Angel in half.

The battle between Srestha and the Knife Angel intensified, the outcome hanging in the balance. The citizens of Narayanganj, now fully aware of the danger, gathered to watch the unfolding spectacle.

Srestha, his confidence unwavering, addressed the Knife Angel, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "Stop pretending, Mr. Knife Angel. I know you're still alive," he taunted, his voice ringing out through the chaos.

The Knife Angel, its form once again whole, let out a sinister laugh. The knives that made up its body rattled menacingly, a testament to its unyielding spirit.

Srestha, his eyes narrowing, spoke with the authority of one who had seen much. "You are a vengeful spirit, an Incarnation, trapped within an inanimate object," he declared, his words carrying the weight of truth.

The Knife Angel, now fully aware of Srestha's power, ceased its mocking laughter. A tense silence fell over the battlefield, the air thick with anticipation.

Srestha, his mind racing with the knowledge of ancient magic, began to explain. "Magic without the need for casting spells or magic circles is called uncasting magic. One of these uncasting magics is known as special abilities."

As he spoke, the water around them began to gather, coalescing into a single, massive arrow. Srestha's finger, extended towards the Knife Angel, glowed with an otherworldly light.

"Special ability," Srestha whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the water. "Shot."

The arrow, now fully formed, launched itself at the Knife Angel with the speed of a bullet. The knives that made up the Angel's form shattered upon impact, the force of the strike leaving nothing but a crater in its wake.

The Knife Angel, its vengeful spirit finally laid to rest, vanished into the ether, its presence no longer a threat to the citizens of Narayanganj.

Srestha, his body still glowing with the power of his special ability, turned to face the crowd that had gathered to watch the battle. His eyes, once filled with uncertainty, now shone with the confidence of one who had proven his worth.

Srestha, his gaze fixed on the remnants of the Knife Angel, noticed a peculiar sight. A papar, its form distorted and its magic circle seemingly cut down, lay on the ground, a testament to the power of their battle.

"Oh, magic circle," Srestha mused aloud, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It looks like someone has been naughty."

Suddenly, Srestha felt the presence of two individuals, their auras distinct and powerful. Without turning to face them, he spoke, his tone light yet firm. "Who are you? Please stop staring at me; it's rather uncomfortable."

A deep, resonant laugh echoed through the air, and a voice spoke, "It's Azazel. And what might your name be?"

Sachi, the other figure, tensed, ready to engage in battle. However, Azazel, with a subtle gesture, signaled her to stand down. Azazel's eyes met Srestha's as the young magician turned to face them.

"Sorry for her behavior," Azazel said, gesturing towards Sachi. "She's my junior and can be a bit... overzealous at times."

Azazel, his curiosity piqued, asked, "So, what's your name? I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting before."

The air between the three figures crackled with tension, the weight of their power palpable. The citizens of Narayanganj, having witnessed the battle between Srestha and the Knife Angel, now watched with bated breath as this new encounter unfolded.

{C.C: azaz meaning to remove or to separate, combined with el denoting God or divine. This combination forms the word Azazel, which translates to scapegoat in English.}