Prologue 8

In the midst of the tapestry of intertwining fates and ambitions, Rudra, the formidable presence of their world, had his own untold challenges and unspoken struggles. Unlike Siddharth, who grappled with the limitations imposed upon him, and Krishna, who yearned to emulate the idol of his heart, Rudra's desires were primal, his ambitions straightforward – he longed for dominance.

The concept of a good, hard-fought battle stirred something deep within him, a primal desire that coursed through his veins. Yet, what had transpired today, in the face of the new kid, was nothing short of an insult. Rudra, the uncontested powerhouse, had been denied the clash he sought. This was no fight, but rather a maddening interference.

In the dimly lit room, devoid of any warmth, Rudra's fists hammered into the solid concrete wall. Each blow echoed his frustration, a cacophony of anger and impatience. The pain radiating from his bruised knuckles was a reminder of his powerlessness against the course of events. As his relentless onslaught on the unyielding wall continued, a voice broke through his solitude.

"Oii, Musclehead, could you stop? Can't you see there are others who live next to you?" A figure materialized before Rudra's door, the corner of his lips curling into a menacing grin."Is that so?" Rudra replied, his voice dripping with a dark amusement. In a split second, he dashed towards the intruder, his massive grip seizing the man's collar, and with an explosive burst of strength, he hurled him mercilessly against the wall.

"Can't you see that there are others who live next to you?" Rudra jeered, his laughter bearing an ominous weight. The man struggled to his feet, bloodied and battered, and mustered the bravado to retort, "Kid, you don't know who I am. You better stop now, or no one will be able to save you from me."

"Is that so?" Rudra, unperturbed, strolled towards his door, intending to close it with finality. But in a flash, the man lunged, a gleaming knife materializing in his hand. A quick, sidelong movement saved Rudra from the lethal blade, though not unscathed. The knife found its mark, drawing blood and leaving a searing line along Rudra's bicep.

Rudra's grin remained, unshaken by the blood trickling down his arm. "Well, I like toys!" he declared with an eerie smile. He surged forward once more, meeting the man's desperate stab with grace. The knife slid harmlessly past as Rudra gracefully ducked, then, with a powerful yank on the man's shirt, flung him against the door once more.

The foldable knife, its blade retracted into its handle, now protruded from the man's trembling hand. A sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he landed on the ground, crying out in agony. In this neighborhood, where violence and cruelty were distressingly commonplace, such cries blended into the grim symphony of daily life, as every day, someone, somewhere was being subjected to pain.

Rudra's steps were deliberate and heavy as he approached the fallen man. The guy, now writhing in pain, was reduced to pitiful sobs. With a malevolent glint in his eyes, Rudra used the sole of his shoe to press down mercilessly on the man's hand, causing excruciating pain that only intensified his cries. It was a brutal punishment for the torment this man had inflicted on his own family, and Rudra showed no mercy.

He then retrieved the knife, tossing it aside with a casual indifference. As he did, a gush of crimson sprayed from the injured hand. Rudra's face contorted with a potent mix of anger and disgust. This man, whom he considered nothing more than a vile tormentor, had caused endless suffering for his wife and children, their cries for help haunting Rudra night after night. Rudra had finally decided that enough was enough. "You fucking pig" Rudra was fed up with hearing the children and the wife of this person crying every night asking for help.

Fury coursed through Rudra's veins as his fingers clenched into fists. The guy lying helplessly on the ground was the outlet for his frustration. Each brutal punch was accompanied by words, a searing proclamation of his disdain.

"Will you do these shitty things again?" he spat out with each blow, the knuckles impacting with a vengeance. The man's groans served as his only response. ONE!!

"I can't even sleep because you keep beating them up," Rudra continued, his rage unabated. The darkness of the night concealed his visage, and only the rhythmic, merciless pounding gave testament to his anger. TWO!!

"Get lost from our area before I decide to just kill you someday," his voice quivered with the intensity of his fury, the words laced with a dire warning. THREE!!

"STOOOOPP," an echoing thought suddenly rang in his head, disrupting the relentless onslaught. A voice, a warning. 'Don't overdo it. RUDRAAAA.' There was a flicker of discomfort on his face as the message resonated within him. He woke up from the crimson haze, finding himself still standing above the man who lay battered on the ground. "Filthy bitch, get lost. The next time I hear a cry from your house, you are dead." Rudra spat his words with venom, his legs smashing down onto the man's face as he left.

'You lost control, were about to do it,' the thought haunted him. Rudra vehemently denied it, the chaos of his mind a turbulent whirlpool of emotion. His breathing became rapid, his heart pounding relentlessly.

"NOT again," he shouted, his voice echoing through the deserted streets. The turmoil within him was rising. He couldn't contain it. His body was slowly, gradually beginning to heat up, as if an inferno were roaring within. The feverish flames of his emotions burned brighter with every moment.

"Fuck it," he muttered, surrendering to the impending turmoil. Rudra knew he had to seek release, an outlet to vent the storm within. He started running towards the abandoned building, nearly half a kilometer from his home. His steps faltered, his legs trembling, but he couldn't halt his frenzied sprint.

'Tang' – a continuous, ear-piercing sound of metal clashing filled his mind. The moment he entered the school's 100-meter radius, the resonance grew more intense. Rudra jumped over the locked gate and dashed inside. 'Tang' – the sound was now echoing from the second floor. Rudra's eyes locked onto the destination as he mounted the stairs. But the noise ceased when he reached the second floor, leaving no clues.

"Where did it come from?" Rudra muttered, his breath labored and tempestuous. His heart thudded heavily within his chest, his body radiating an almost unbearable heat.Was it a classroom? The first door he attempted remained locked. The same with the second, the third, and the fourth. No one was in any of them. Silence.

Suddenly, the sound of a drum reverberated through the stillness. Rudra turned to find a figure standing in the center of the school's field. The man's back was to him, his long hair cascading over his shoulders and obscuring his face. Rudra could barely discern a tattoo-like design, but the rest of the man remained a mystery.

"Why the fuck are you here now?" Rudra's voice boomed, his rapid breathing matching his heightened body temperature. The air surrounding him grew dense, his feverish state evident. Without a second thought, he sprinted towards the field, his hands poised to either strike or grasp.

In a heartbeat, he was upon the figure, his intentions unmistakably clear. 'Swoosh' – but his hands grasped nothing but air. "You never learn, do you?" came the response, and Rudra whirled around to face it. Rudra admitted with uncharacteristic humility, "I admit it–" but was abruptly interrupted by the man's demand for clarification.The truth tumbled from Rudra's lips, "I - I lost." It was as if a dam had burst, and his vulnerability washed forth. "Huh?" the man pretended not to have heard, goading him to speak the truth.Rudra acknowledged with fervor, "I admit it, damn it, I lost!" He shouted as if unburdening the soul of a heavy weight.

A slight smile graced the man's lips, his bluish eyes holding a mysterious allure. He appeared to be in his early twenties, with an ethereal beauty that transcended the chaos and dust that clung to him.

"Twice, first to a boy when I was in school and second time when the drunkard showed up," Rudra continued, his confessions flowing like a flood.

"And why did you say that? Are they both half dead?" The man's eyes remained sharp and inquisitive as if dissecting the raw truth from Rudra's words.

"No, I lost control during this time, but during the school's battle, the boy defeated me with one single move." Rudra pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation. "Help me, Asva"

A knowing expression crossed Asva's face, the tide of their conversation shifting. "Tell me about this boy," he spoke, casting his penetrating gaze upon Rudra.

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"Was it really that big of a secret?" Devesh asked, his gaze locked onto Giriraj, who was sporting a knowing smile. "Well, I always knew this much," Giriraj responded with a chuckle, "After all, I've seen you grow into what you are today. It would be a shame if I hadn't noticed." Their conversation seemed to revolve around the secrets Devesh held, and they shared a light-hearted moment, like the old days. "It's not even just one," Devesh confessed, "So many, hiding behind one." Their laughter resonated through the air, reminiscent of their school days when they discussed everything from TV shows and movies to their dreams and aspirations. 

They truly understood each other. However, life had unfolded its plans, and some memories that had faded over the years now were flickering in front of their eyes, the memories faded as soon as Devesh came to a realization, "How is she?" he inquired with a teasing tone. Giriraj replied with an arched brow and a playful grin, "Which one do you mean?"

"Tell me about any one of them," Devesh chuckled. Giriraj let out a sigh, understanding exactly who Devesh was referring to, and responded with a soft chuckle, "She is alright." This conversation had an aura of nostalgia that only the two of them shared.

"Hmm... you guys still—" Devesh began.

"Yes, we still bicker," Giriraj interrupted with a laugh, "Do you think we can ever be together without it?"

"No," Devesh replied, and they shared another round of laughter. "So, what's next?" he asked, curious about Giriraj's plans.

Giriraj, who knew more about Devesh's life and future than the other way around, chuckled, "Next? I don't know. Maybe after finishing college, I'll get into the corporate world. That's the best shot I have at life. Get married, start a family. A wife and some kids, that's more than enough, don't you think?" Devesh nodded and smiled, appreciating the simplicity of his friend's aspirations.

"Yeah, maybe. Maybe we can even be better parents," Devesh added with a smile. "But that's after we defeat your foe," Giriraj playfully pointed out. "Right!" Devesh laughed. "Did you check the text again?" Giriraj inquired. Devesh raised an eyebrow, and Giriraj clarified, "The reply from that foolish bastard, you retard."

Devesh chuckled, "Oh, that! Yeah, turns out he will be here soon to pick us up."

"Not 'us'—you," Giriraj corrected. "Send me the bio of this bastard as well. I'll help when I can, but I can't just join in directly."

"I understand," Devesh replied. "Then best of luck to you and her. That Mamta sure hit the jackpot with you," Devesh said with a grin.

"By the way," Devesh continued, "What happened to your ex?"

"Do you mean her? Na..." And their conversation between old friends continued, each catching up on the other's life and reminiscing about the times when their dreams of conquering the world had been their guiding stars. Despite the years that had passed, their friendship remained as strong as ever.

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As these events unfolded under the moonlit sky, Isha remained immersed in her studies, preparing for her upcoming exams. Her friend sat by her side, providing companionship and support. Krishna had finished his practice and was sharing a meal with Ramu Kaka. They discussed the intricate stories of the Puranas, delving into the rich tapestry of ancient legends.In the night, Rudra stood alone in the field, seemingly engaged in a private conversation with himself.

Devesh was bidding farewell to his best friend, Giriraj, not entirely sure when they would meet again. They embraced the uncertainty of the future. Ajay, in the comfort of his home, performed push-ups while his sister affectionately teased him for breaking a sweat.

Maya, with a new haircut, immersed herself in a book, her eyes reflecting a newfound radiance, the source of which remained a mystery. and Aiedrow had just parked his car and was on his way to an art studio adorned with the name "OVIYAN" on top.

Amidst all these moments, a tragic incident unfolded as Siddharth, smiling and unaware of the impending disaster, walked from the park towards the road. A moment of misfortune struck as he slipped, falling onto the road, directly in the path of an oncoming truck. Helpless and injured, Siddharth lay there, unable to move his limbs, let out a silent scream, and tears flowed from his eyes due to the excruciating pain. The world around him seemed to fade, replaced by a deafening, screeching ring.

The news of the accident triggered a series of phone calls, and Isha couldn't stop her tears as she received the tragic information. Krishna rushed towards the hospital, driven by the urgency of the situation. Meanwhile, Abhay and Ishan, still inside the practice hall owned by their family, remained unaware of the unfolding calamity. Siddharth, in a state of shock and pain, whispered to himself, "What a shitty life," questioning if this was truly the end. His vision blurred, and he couldn't comprehend the world around him. But even in his despair, Siddharth's eyes briefly captured the glimpse of a shadow, a stranger who stood near the spot he fell from. The figure, a few years older than him, had long hair, a muscular back, and fair skin. His face wasn't completely visible but Siddharth was sure that he did not know this guy. His eyes getting heavy now he slowly saw his vision fade away as he saw the shadow vanish from there.