Rudra first key (chapter 27)

The silence hung heavy, a tangible entity pressing down on the assembled onlookers. Rudra, the focal point of their anxious gazes, remained an island of stillness amidst the dissipating black fog. His obsidian eyes, pools of unwavering calm, tracked the chaotic dance of shadows before him, a stark contrast to the electric tension thrumming through the air.

The pulsating black sphere, the source of the unsettling fog, throbbed with a silent, pressure-wave heartbeat. Each pulse sent tremors through the crowd, forcing them to stumble back. The tendrils of the fog, like grasping, inky fingers, spiraled inwards, converging on a single point before slowly, ominously, unfurling… and then, impossibly, seeping into Rudra's body. Invisible to all but him, the fog's intrusion sparked a cacophony of hushed whispers, quickly escalating into a low, anxious murmur that drowned out even the most forceful attempts at silence.

"Chosen, he's been chosen," a voice rasped, cutting through the nervous energy. "But the Key… it didn't even reveal itself! No demonstration of ability, nothing! This… this wasn't even a Key, was it? Just… moving black fog."

Another voice, sharper, more insistent, countered, "Look at his forearm! The Circle of Acceptance! It's formed!"

Indeed, a stark black circle, fractured by a network of ominous cracks, had materialized on Rudra's forearm – the unmistakable mark of a Key's acceptance of its wielder. The whispers intensified, a torrent of speculation and awe washing over Rudra as he stood, seemingly oblivious, absorbing the flood of information.

Moments stretched into an eternity. Then, as if responding to an unspoken command, Rudra began to exhale the very fog that had consumed him. The inky blackness flowed from his pores, a slow, mesmerizing expulsion of the enigmatic power.

A voice, familiar and concerned, pierced the hushed expectancy. "Rudra! Are you alright? The fog… does it hurt? Is it dangerous?"

Ray's voice, laced with worry, pulled Rudra from his internal contemplation. He turned, his gaze settling on his friend. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips.

"No," he replied, his voice calm, steady, "It's… not dangerous." The words hung in the air, a promise and a mystery intertwined, as the black fog continued its slow, deliberate release, leaving behind only the lingering question of what power Rudra now possessed

The world around Rudra began to shift in ways that defied comprehension. It started subtly—the faint murmurs of the crowd, once a constant hum in his ears, grew distant and hollow. He turned his head, his dark eyes scanning for the familiar faces, but where there had been people moments ago, there was now only an eerie void.

The voices remained, echoing faintly in the emptiness like whispers carried by an unseen wind. He tried to focus, to grasp the words, but they dissolved the moment he understood them, as if the act of listening stripped them of their existence.

A cold realization began to sink in. The crowd was gone. Their voices lingered only as shadows of what had been, fading like smoke.

Then he turned his gaze to the heart-shaped gateway, its familiar outline sharp against the formless expanse. He felt its presence, knew it was there. But as his awareness solidified, so too did its absence. The moment he understood its existence, it ceased to be.

Rudra's breath caught. His mind raced. He hesitated before looking to the sky. His heart sank. The once-vast expanse, the heavens that should have stretched endlessly above, vanished the instant his eyes met them. It left no trace, no memory—just an emptiness that devoured everything it touched.

He looked down, trembling, and the same thing happened. The land beneath his feet flickered and vanished, leaving him adrift in an endless void.

There was nothing.

He stood—or perhaps floated—in a space that felt neither solid nor liquid. Time lost its meaning. Seconds stretched into eternities. His body began to feel heavy, as though being dragged downward, yet there was no ground to stop his descent.

And then, he was falling.

Endlessly, aimlessly, Rudra plunged into the depths of the void. It wasn't a physical fall but an unraveling, a spiraling descent into nothingness. The absence of sound, light, and touch wrapped around him, suffocating in its completeness.

Years seemed to pass. Decades, maybe. He no longer knew. There was no light, no anchor, no sense of self—only the weight of his own thoughts, fleeting and fragile.

Then, realization struck him like a thunderclap.

"If there is no light… then how can I see my hands?"

He raised them instinctively, but there was nothing. No shape, no shadow, no sensation. His hands were gone. No, not just his hands. His arms. His legs. His entire body. He reached for his face, but it wasn't there. His form had dissolved, leaving only a fragment of what he once was.

Panic surged through him, but even that began to fade, swallowed by the void.

"What do I have left?"

His mind clawed desperately for an answer. His body was gone. His senses were gone. All that remained was his consciousness, a fragile thread in an infinite sea of nothingness.

But even that was unraveling. His thoughts, his very sense of being, started to fade. Memories slipped through his grasp, and with each passing moment, he felt himself dissolving further into the abyss.

This is the end, he thought. This is what it means to cease.

Yet, as he teetered on the edge of oblivion, a voice pierced the darkness.

It was warm, genuine—a voice he had clung to many times before. It didn't call his name, but it reached into the depths of his fading consciousness, wrapping around the fraying edges of his being.

And then he felt it.

A hand.

Strong and steady, it gripped what remained of him. Not his body, for he no longer had one, but the core of his essence. The hand pulled, dragging him from the nothingness, tearing him from the grasp of the void.

Suddenly, there was light.

Rudra gasped as he felt the air rush into his lungs. He could feel again—the warmth of the sun on his skin, the weight of the ground beneath his feet. The void was gone, replaced by a world he could touch, hear, and see.

He opened his eyes, his breath ragged and uneven. Ray stood before him, worry etched deep into his features.

"Rudra," Ray said, his voice trembling. "You weren't responding. Are you okay?"

Rudra didn't answer immediately. His mind raced, replaying the experience in fragments, trying to make sense of what had happened. The void, the voice, the hand—it was all too vivid to be a dream, yet too surreal to be real.

"Ray…" Rudra said finally, his voice quiet and hoarse. "The thread… what was it?"

Ray frowned, confused. "Thread? What are you talking about?"

But Rudra didn't respond. He couldn't explain it, not yet

And suddenly

The atmosphere grew oppressive as Rudra struggled for breath, his body trembling under an unseen weight. The fog, that eerie black mist, had returned, creeping back into him with a chilling deliberation. It felt heavier, darker, and more invasive, seeping through his pores like an unwelcome intruder.

"Ray," Rudra gasped, his voice strained, "is there something on my back? Take a look."

Ray crouched behind him, his eyes scanning Rudra's back intently. "Nothing. What's wrong? You don't look good," Ray said, concern etched into his face. But Rudra's focus was inward, consumed by an unnerving sensation that was growing stronger with each passing second.

"Look again," Rudra insisted, his voice trembling. "There's… something there. Something inside me, growing. It wasn't there before."

Ray hesitated, worry mounting. "There's nothing, Rudra. Do you feel something?"

Rudra clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I feel it. It's like something is being created inside me… something new… something alien."

Before Ray could respond, Rudra's voice broke into a scream—a raw, visceral sound that pierced the tense air. The crowd recoiled, their murmurs rising like a tidal wave.

"Look at him again!" a voice shouted from the gathering. "That kid… what's wrong with him this time?"

Ray grabbed Rudra's shoulders, his own voice tinged with panic. "Rudra! Look at me! What's happening? Why are you screaming like that?"

But Rudra's cries only grew louder, echoing with an agony that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. The air shifted suddenly as a presence approached—his parents and brother, their faces stricken with fear.

"Rudra!" his mother's warm yet trembling voice cut through the chaos. "Tell us what's happening. Please, we can help!"

Through gritted teeth and shallow breaths, Rudra managed to speak. "It's… my back… something is growing there." He clutched his forehead, his voice faltering. "Now… now it's happening here too!"

Another scream tore from his throat, louder and more guttural, as though his very body was being ripped apart. The sheer force of his agony pushed the crowd back, the air around him vibrating with an unseen power.

Desperate to understand, Rudra ripped off his shirt, revealing his bare back to the horrified onlookers. Gasps and cries of alarm filled the air as something began to shift beneath his skin—two lines, faint at first, but growing more pronounced with each of his tortured screams.

The lines pulsed, glowing faintly, before his skin began to split. Slowly, excruciatingly, something emerged from the torn flesh—white, feathered, and drenched in crimson blood. The crowd watched in stunned silence as massive, angelic wings unfolded, each movement accompanied by fresh rivulets of blood trickling down Rudra's back.

As the wings fully extended, their ethereal beauty starkly contrasted with the horror of the scene. Rudra's screams subsided momentarily, his chest heaving as he tried to process the agony. But before relief could take hold, another wave of pain wracked his body. This time, it came from his forehead.

Two circular marks appeared, glowing ominously. The skin split open, and with a sickening sound, horns began to sprout. They grew longer and sharper, twisting upward like a crown of torment. Rudra's cries reached a crescendo before abruptly stopping, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing.

For a moment, there was silence. Ray and Rudra's family stood frozen, their faces pale with shock. Rudra, barely able to stand, thought the nightmare was finally over. But then, a sharp *snap* echoed through the air. His wings moved involuntarily, flipping him into the air with a jarring force.

Suspended high above the ground, Rudra's eyes widened as a glowing blade materialized in front of him. It was unlike anything he had ever seen—crystalline and otherworldly, its shape both elegant and alien. The weapon pulsed with an inner light, radiating an energy that seemed to resonate with his very soul.

"Ray!" Rudra shouted, panic lacing his voice. "What is this now?"

Ray stared in disbelief, his voice shaky. "It's your Key… a dual-property Key. It's one of the rarest types in existence."

The crowd, previously murmuring in confusion, fell silent, their collective gaze locked on Rudra and the radiant blade. Awe and fear mingled in their expressions as they witnessed the impossible.

The blade hovered closer, its glow intensifying as it approached Rudra's chest. He could feel its pull, an undeniable connection that both terrified and fascinated him. The blade began to dissolve, its light merging with his body. Relief swept through his family as they saw the process unfolding smoothly.

But their relief was short-lived.

Without warning, golden threads erupted from Rudra's chest, writhing like living tendrils. They coiled around the blade, gripping it tightly before violently plunging it into his heart. Rudra's eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as blood spilled from his mouth, staining the blade.

The crowd screamed in terror, children scattering in all directions except for the royal heirs, who stood rooted in place, captivated by the spectacle.

Suspended in the air, Rudra's voice faltered. "What… what is happening to me?" he whispered, his strength fading. Yet amidst the chaos, a single voice reached him—a faint, almost tender whisper.

"It's beautifu just like

"The blood flowing from the heavens."

The blade vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and the wound on Rudra's chest closed, leaving no trace of the trauma. He fell to the ground, his wings trembling but intact. Ray rushed to his side, his face pale with worry.

"Rudra," Ray said, his voice steady but grim. He grabbed Rudra's hand, studying it intently. "Your circle… it's incomplete. It's only half."

"What does that mean?" Rudra asked, his voice weak and hoarse. "And those threads… what were they?"

Ray's expression darkened. "It means something is interfering with your bond to the Key. Those threads… they're a manifestation of that interference. It's a struggle for control."

The weight of Ray's words settled over Rudra like a shroud