Chapter 4: The Hunter and the Hunted

The once-majestic temple was now nothing more than a heap of broken stone and scorched earth. The faint golden glow from the Deva's portal flickered out, leaving only the pale moonlight illuminating the ruins. The scent of burnt stone and ancient incense still lingered in the air.

Aryan sat on a cracked slab of stone, his head in his hands. His wrist still pulsed faintly with the golden sigil, the Deva's Mark, though the warmth had dulled.

Vikram, trembling from head to toe, crouched beside him, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Bro… what the hell just happened?"

Aryan didn't answer. He couldn't. His hands were still trembling from the surge of divine energy that had erupted from the orb. His mind was still reeling from the gods appearing out of thin air. And somewhere in the back of his head, Raktavij's haunting voice echoed.

"The hunt has begun…"

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Varuna stepped forward, the hem of her radiant cloak sweeping over the rubble. She extended her hand to Aryan.

"You need to come with us," she said firmly.

Indra, leaning casually against his crackling spear, snorted.

"Correction. You have no choice but to come with us." His storm-gray eyes were sharp and unyielding.

Aryan slowly met their gaze. "Why me?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "I didn't ask for this. I was just… just…"

His voice cracked.

He wasn't ready for this. He was just a college kid, not some divine warrior.

Varuna's eyes softened slightly. She crouched before him, speaking gently but firmly.

"You carry the Deva's Mark now," she said. "Whether you like it or not, you are bound to our cause."

Indra let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"Don't waste your breath, Varuna. He won't have a choice soon enough."

Before Aryan could respond, Indra turned to him, his voice low and sharp.

"The Asuras will hunt you now," he said bluntly. "They will send Rakshasas, Vetalas, and worse to drag you into the darkness. You can either stand and fight—" his eyes narrowed—

"—or die screaming."

Vikram's voice wavered with panic.

"Okay, hold up—die screaming? What the hell kind of recruitment pitch is this?!"

But Aryan barely heard him.

He stared at the mark on his wrist. It pulsed faintly with divine warmth. The symbol seemed almost… alive, like it was a part of him now.

He clenched his fists.

"Why would the Asuras want me?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.

Varuna and Indra exchanged a brief glance, and for the first time, Aryan noticed hesitation in their eyes.

Varuna turned back to him, her gaze grave.

"Because… you are not entirely mortal anymore," she admitted softly.

"The orb you destroyed was no mere relic—it was a Vijaya Shakti, a fragment of Devi Durga's power, meant to seal Raktavij. But when you crushed it… the power was imprinted on your soul."

Aryan's throat tightened.

"Imprinted?" he echoed.

Indra's lip curled into a smirk.

"In other words, you're part god now, kid."

The Marked One

Aryan felt his chest tighten. His heart pounded against his ribs, but not from fear. From something else—something unfamiliar.

Power.

For a brief moment, he could still feel the raw energy that had surged through him—the divine surge that had sent Raktavij flying.

His fingers curled into fists.

Part god. Part weapon.

Vikram was less impressed.

"Wait, wait, wait." He waved his arms, his voice rising in panic. "You're saying he's part god now? Like, demigod Thor or something?"

He turned to Aryan, eyes wide.

"Bro, can you, like, summon lightning or fly or something?"

Indra snorted.

"Not yet." He twirled his spear with a casual flick. Lightning crackled along the edge.

"But if he lives long enough, maybe."

Vikram grabbed Aryan's shoulders.

"Dude. You're like an Avenger now! This is insane!"

But Aryan was still staring at the sigil on his wrist.

The golden mark flickered faintly, and he felt a rush of warmth move through his veins—brief, but unmistakable.

For a fleeting second, he wondered what he could become.

The Hunter Arrives

Before Aryan could speak, a cold wind swept through the ruins. The torches that still flickered snuffed out in unison, and the moonlight dimmed as if something vast and malevolent had blotted it out.

Varuna's eyes snapped toward the treeline, her hand immediately going to the hilt of her curved blade.

"They're here," she muttered.

Indra's spear flared with electricity, his grip tightening.

"Already?" he sneered. "Persistent bastards."

Aryan followed their gaze and felt the blood drain from his face.

Emerging from the shadows were three monstrous figures. Rakshasas.

The largest of them, nearly nine feet tall, had blackened skin and glowing amber eyes. Its face was twisted into a permanent snarl, with jagged, bloodstained fangs. The creature's claws dripped with some unholy venom, sizzling as they hit the stone.

The second Rakshasa was leaner, its body shimmering with dark smoke, as if it existed halfway between the physical and spectral realms. Its face was partially obscured by a bone mask, with glowing red slits for eyes.

The third, the smallest, crouched low, its spindly limbs twitching like a predator stalking prey. Its elongated tongue slithered out, tasting the air. Its eyes locked on Aryan.

The largest one let out a deep, guttural growl.

"The Marked One… he is ours."

Without warning, the first Rakshasa lunged forward, its claws slashing through the air.

Time seemed to slow.

Indra's spear surged with lightning as he met the demon head-on, the crackling storm searing through its corrupted flesh. The Rakshasa roared in fury but didn't slow.

Varuna unsheathed her curved sword with fluid grace, slashing at the second demon, her blade cutting through its smoky form. The creature shrieked, its body flickering between realms, but it did not retreat.

The third demon, however, didn't engage the gods.

It locked eyes with Aryan.

And it charged.

Aryan's legs locked. His body screamed at him to move, but his limbs wouldn't obey.

"I'm going to die," he thought.

But then—the sigil on his wrist flared.

A surge of golden light exploded from his palm, blasting the Rakshasa backward. The demon howled in pain, its skin sizzling with divine burns.

Aryan staggered back, staring at his own hand in shock.

"W-what…?"

But there was no time for answers.

The Rakshasa snarled and lunged again.

And this time, Aryan didn't run.

His eyes hardened, and the golden sigil blazed brighter.