Yashu_Kumar_

Genre: Fantasy, Mythology, Action, Mystery, Horror
Themes: Destiny, Betrayal, War, Redemption
Introduction
For centuries, the celestial realms have been in a fragile balance. The Devas, celestial beings of divine power, have ruled the heavens, while the Asuras, their eternal rivals, have been cast into the shadows. But now, the balance is tipping.

A prophecy foretells the return of Vritra, the most powerful and feared Asura king, whose reawakening would bring devastation upon all realms. At the center of it all is Aryan, an ordinary mortal—at least, that’s what he believed. Unbeknownst to him, he carries a celestial spark, a fragment of power belonging to Kartikeya, the war god. His fate is tied to an ancient war, one that threatens to consume everything he holds dear.

Alongside his childhood friend Shanaya, whose destiny is entwined with the goddess Shakti, Aryan is thrown into a cosmic battle between gods and demons. But as he uncovers the hidden truths of the Devas, he begins to question who the true villains are. Are the Devas as righteous as they claim? Is he truly meant to save the realms—or destroy them?

Eclipse of Devas

The air inside the ancient temple was thick with the scent of burning incense and damp stone. Flickering torches lined the moss-covered walls, their dying flames casting eerie shadows that danced like restless spirits.

Aryan took a cautious step forward, his sneakers crunching against the scattered debris of centuries-old bricks. His best friend, Vikram, had dared him to explore this ruined temple at night, claiming it was haunted. It was a stupid bet, but Aryan never backed down from a challenge—especially when it involved uncovering secrets.

"Dude, this place is seriously creepy," Vikram whispered from behind him. "Let's just take a picture and leave."

Aryan ignored him, his gaze fixed on the massive stone idol at the center of the temple. The four-armed figure of a deity, partly eroded with time, loomed over them, its hollow eyes staring into the void. The inscriptions on the pedestal were barely readable, covered in vines and dust. But what caught Aryan's attention was the relic clutched in its hands—a small, blood-red orb encased in a skeletal grip.

His fingers tingled as he reached out. As soon as his hand brushed against the orb, the temple trembled.

A chill ran down his spine. The air around him shifted, growing heavy, suffocating. The torches snuffed out, plunging them into darkness. Vikram cursed behind him, but Aryan couldn't move.

A voice—deep, guttural, ancient—whispered into his mind.

"Moksha ya Vinash… (Liberation or Destruction…)"

Aryan's breath hitched. His vision blurred, and suddenly—

A flash of fire. A battlefield drenched in blood. Screams of dying gods. A monstrous figure with crimson eyes and fanged teeth grinning at him.

The vision vanished as quickly as it came. Aryan stumbled back, gasping. The orb pulsed in his hands, as if it were alive.

Then, from the darkness, a figure emerged.

A tall man with charcoal-black skin and glowing red eyes. His body was adorned with golden armor, but his presence felt wrong—too ancient, too powerful.

"You have awakened me," the figure said, his voice reverberating through the temple walls. "And now, your fate is sealed."

The temple collapsed around them, and Aryan had only one thought as the world crumbled—

Chapter 1: The Whispering Relic