CHAPTER 2

After that, Rudra waged a relentless campaign of blood and fire for an entire year, ruthlessly killing those who stood in his way. He spared no one, not even children, whom he twisted into soldiers for his cause. His empire grew larger, his army swelling with the broken and the damned. Behind him stood Bharav, the man who once saved Rudra and his people from annihilation in the jungle. Yet now, Bharav was no longer the savior but the emperor, commanding from the shadows. Rudra, his right-hand man, was the enforcer, and his closest ally, Arjun—the boy he had rescued from the jungle—was now his fiercest general, leading with the same ferocity Rudra had once shown.

Rudra's throne was a grim monument to his reign. Made from the bones of his enemies and soaked in their blood, it was a seat of power that demanded sacrifices—endless sacrifices. Each day, the pile of corpses beneath it grew taller, the stench of death becoming a constant companion in the halls of his empire. The once-bright flames of idealism that had ignited Rudra's crusade were now smothered by the darkness of his own ambition.

April 14, 2226

The grand palace was alive with celebration. Laughter and music filled the air as Rudra's subjects gathered to honor their ruler. The halls glimmered with golden light, but beneath the surface, shadows danced. People raised their cups, sang songs of loyalty, and cheered for the man who had built an empire on the ashes of the old world. Rudra stood tall, a symbol of unshakable power, but deep in his eyes, a storm brewed—a haunting emptiness left by years of war and betrayal.

The festivities were at their peak when chaos erupted. A deafening horn echoed through the palace, silencing the jubilant crowd. Moments later, an unknown army breached the outer gates, their battle cries shaking the very foundations of the palace. Flames roared in the distance as Rudra's men scrambled to defend the kingdom.

Rudra stood atop the dais, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "To arms! No mercy!" he roared, his presence commanding even the most panicked soldiers. As his warriors rushed into battle, he felt an odd chill creep up his spine.

Before he could turn, a searing pain exploded in his back. He stumbled forward, blood spilling onto the ornate floor beneath him. A knife had been driven deep into his flesh. The throne room fell silent as the crowd watched in stunned horror. Slowly, Rudra turned to face his attacker—and his heart shattered.

It was Arjun.

The boy Rudra had saved from death. The man he had raised like a brother. The warrior he had trusted above all others. Arjun's hands trembled as he held the bloodied knife, his face a mix of anguish and resolve. "This is for all the blood you've spilled," Arjun whispered, his voice breaking. "This is for the lives you've destroyed."

Rudra's mind raced. He wanted to scream, to demand an explanation, but his voice failed him. His vision blurred as betrayal sank its claws deep into his soul. Yet before he could act, a new pain tore through him—a blade plunged straight into his chest.

This time, it was Bharav.

Bharav's eyes burned with a hatred that Rudra hadn't seen before. "You were always a fool," Bharav sneered, his voice cold and venomous. "Did you really think I saved you out of loyalty? No, Rudra. I saved you to use you. To make you the monster that would destroy my enemies. And now that you've served your purpose, your time is over."

Rudra's legs buckled, but he refused to fall. Blood poured from his wounds as he stared at Bharav, disbelief and rage warring within him. "You… planned this," Rudra choked out, his voice barely audible.

Bharav laughed—a cruel, mocking sound that echoed through the throne room. "Planned it? I orchestrated it. Every battle, every kill, every ounce of blood you spilled was part of my design. And now, I will claim what is rightfully mine."

Before Rudra could respond, Bharav wrenched the knife from his chest and turned to Arjun. Without hesitation, he drove the blade into Arjun's neck, slicing through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed across the room as Arjun's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, his severed head rolling to a stop at Rudra's feet.

Bharav leaned in close to Rudra, his voice a whisper dripping with malice. "You once told me that to survive, one must kill their emotions. Look at you now, former leader. Stripped of everything. Broken. How does it feel to taste your own poison?"

Rudra collapsed onto his knees, his hands trembling as he clutched at his wounds. The cheers of the crowd had turned to screams, and the throne room descended into chaos. Yet for Rudra, the world seemed to fade away. His vision darkened, his breaths growing shallow.

In that moment, as death loomed over him, Rudra's mind flashed with memories—the faces of those he had killed, the lives he had destroyed, and the bonds he had shattered. A single tear traced a path down his bloodied cheek. For the first time in years, he felt something beyond rage and power. He felt regret.

And as his vision faded to black, Rudra realized the truth: he had not been betrayed by Arjun or Bharav. He had been betrayed by himself.