Chapter 27

Chinar, situated on the southern edge of the state, was under the control of Mundra until five years ago. However, after the discovery of black, inflammable stones in that deserted area, the Asuras laid claim to the land. Considering it unimportant, Siddharth easily handed it over to the Asuras as payment for the advanced weapons and army he had purchased from them. Since most of the area was covered in dense forest, common people did not settle there.

After a two-day journey, Vasuki arrived. Darkness was gradually spreading. The atmosphere around the mines, where the black stones were extracted, was eerie and ominous. The yellow light emanating from the mouths of hundreds of tunnels burrowing into the ground resembled the eyes of a terrifying creature. Light smoke drifted from some of the tunnels—these were laboratories for the creation of fire spirits. The stench of burnt flesh and the occasional painful screams from within sent waves of fear through those present. The devil soldiers had captured hundreds of villagers and gathered them there.

On a high platform before them, a gruesome and terrifying spectacle was unfolding. The commander of the devil's stood at the back with some soldiers, while at the front stood a masked figure.

A man wearing a terrifying mask was instilling fear with his actions. Next to him stood a prisoner with his hands tied, screaming in terror. The masked man asked in a loud voice, "Do you surrender himself willingly or not?"

The prisoner only pleaded, "Leave me, please, let me go!"

"As you wish," said the masked man, covering the prisoner's head with a cloth and laying it on a bench. The prisoner wailed loudly. The masked man asked again, "Last chance?" Tell me your decision

While the prisoner whimpered, still pleading.

The mask grew angry and, with a swift motion, yanked off the cloth. The prisoner's head had vanished. His body collapsed with a dull thud. The entire crowd stood frozen in fear. The masked figure pointed a finger toward them, as if choosing the next victim. The crowd's hearts pounded—who would be next?

Earlier, the masked man had severed the hands and legs of another prisoner.

"You, the one in the green dhoti," the masked man declared, his wide eyes locking onto him. The man immediately folded his hands and pleaded, "I accept, I surrender willingly."

"I surrender," he sobbed.

The masked man let out a loud, piercing scream. "Who else accepts?"

Only murmurs and cries echoed through the crowd. Some prisoners attempted to flee, but the devil soldiers beheaded them on the spot. On the masked man's orders, a massive cloth was draped over the entire crowd. As the cloth slowly descended, voices rose in desperation.

"I accept! I accept!"

The masked man roared, "Those who accept, move to the left."

Almost the entire crowd stood up, except for one middle-aged man who remained still, his expression unyielding. The masked man pointed at him.

"You are a true hero," he said, "but an even bigger fool."

With a slight twitch of his raised finger, the masked man inflicted an invisible force upon him. The middle-aged man gasped for air, clutching his throat and writhing in pain. The crowd watched in horror as the masked man slowly pulled back his finger, as though drawing the very life from him. The man fell, convulsing, his mouth open in a silent scream of agony.

With a final, abrupt motion, the masked man withdrew his hand. The man collapsed, lifeless. A wave of sheer terror swept through the crowd—so intense that for a moment, every heart seemed to stop.

The masked man warned, "If anyone changes his mind or refuses to cooperate, I will take his life in the same manner."

At a signal from the commander on the stage, the soldiers forced the prisoners—paralyzed with fear—into separate lines and led them into the tunnels, where their flesh would be burned to transform them into fire ghosts.

Once the ground was cleared, the commander placed a box full of gold coins in front of the masked man. Suddenly, the middle-aged man who had been lying dead on the ground stood up and walked over. Moments later, others emerged from behind the platform—including the one whose head had seemingly disappeared.

Watching from a distance, Vasuki stepped forward and said, "You performed well, but it was weaker than last time."

"How, sir?" The masked man was slightly startled.

"Last time, half the crowd fainted at the final scene. This time, everyone remained standing," Vasuki pointed out.

"Yes, you're right. The last performance used real blood."

Taking him aside, Vasuki placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "This time, I have a more difficult task for you. If you succeed, you will receive so much wealth that you'll never have to work again."

"Tell me the task," the masked man replied firmly.

Vasuki narrowed his eyes. "You always speak from behind a mask. At least show your face this time." His tone carried a hint of displeasure.

The masked man chuckled. "What will you gain by seeing my face, sir? We are impersonators. Today I have one form, tomorrow another. You may recognize me now, but tomorrow, you will not."

With that, he removed the mask. Vasuki studied his face for a moment before moving on to explain his plan.

After instructing the impersonator and assessing the progress of the fire ghost creation with the commander, Vasuki traveled to a distant location. He retrieved a small, round-tipped arrow from the supplies on his horse, placed it on his bow, and shot it into the sky. As it reached its peak, the arrow emitted a faint glow followed by a mild explosion.

Seated on a broken tree trunk, illuminated by the dying light of the burning meteor, Vasuki did not have to wait long. A strange, oppressive feeling crept over him—a sensation of deep, instinctive fear.

It was the sign he had been waiting for.

The next moment, a powerful gust of wind swept through, extinguishing the meteor's glow. Unease gripped Vasuki's heart. Moments later, a long black shadow appeared near the leftmost tree. In the pale, milky light of the moon, the figure looked as it always did—like a towering man completely shrouded in a thick, dark cloak. No hands, no feet, no face. Only a flat, black silhouette.

Vasuki steadied himself and spoke, "My Lord Orion, as per your orders, I experimented on the Earth bender and left him alive."

A deep, resounding voice emanated from the shadow. "How is Siddharth's progress?"

Vasuki lowered his head. "He have started developing rashes on his feet, but the medicine is nearly finished."

Silence hung between them. Then, the shadow began to move—backward, as if gliding through the air rather than walking. Within moments, it disappeared into the darkness.

As soon as the presence was gone, Vasuki rushed to the spot where it had stood. As expected, a bundle wrapped in a sticky, viscous substance lay there. Without hesitation, he grabbed it, mounted his horse, and spurred it forward. He had no intention of lingering in that cursed place any longer.