Chapter 6: The Gathering Storm

The battlefield was silent, save for the faint crackle of dissipating divine energy. The scent of scorched stone and ash lingered in the air.

Aryan stood frozen, his chest heaving, his hands trembling slightly. The golden blade was gone, but he could still feel its warmth, as if it were still part of him—waiting beneath his skin.

Vikram slumped onto a broken pillar, his face pale.

"Okay… I'm gonna say it. We're so screwed."

Indra let out a sharp bark of laughter, amused by the chaos.

"Kid's got a point." He turned to Aryan with a wicked grin.

"This is just the beginning."

Aryan's fingers curled into fists. His heart was still racing. He had just fought three Rakshasas—actual demons—and survived. But his mind was still reeling from the realization.

What the hell was happening to him?

Varuna's voice was calm but firm.

"You're coming with us," she said, stepping closer. "Now."

Aryan's eyes narrowed.

"Why? Where?"

Indra's storm-gray eyes hardened.

"Because whether you accept it or not, you're part of this war now."

He planted his spear into the ground, and with a sharp motion, he tore open a shimmering portal in the air. The golden rift pulsed with divine energy, swirling like a liquid flame.

"Come with us," Indra said, his voice low. "Or you'll die in this world before you learn how to fight."

Vikram's eyes widened.

"W-Wait! You're taking him?! What about me?"

Varuna's gaze was steady.

"You were lucky this time," she said softly. "But you're not marked. You're not part of this."

The words hit Vikram like a slap.

"Wait—so you're just leaving me here? Alone? With freaking demons running around?!"

Aryan turned to Varuna, his voice rising.

"He's coming with me," he said firmly.

His eyes burned with defiance.

"If this war is real… I want him by my side."

Varuna's golden eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't argue. She merely turned to Indra.

"Your call," she said coolly.

Indra smirked.

"Fine. The mortal can come."

He jabbed a thumb at Vikram.

"Just try not to get yourself eaten, kid."

Vikram paled.

"Awesome. No pressure."

The Golden Realm

The portal shimmered and widened, its edges humming with raw celestial energy.

Varuna stepped through first, her form glimmering with divine light. Indra followed, his spear casually slung over his shoulder.

Aryan hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest.

Vikram, shaking slightly, grabbed Aryan's wrist.

"Bro… are we really doing this?"

Aryan met his gaze. His chest tightened, but he nodded.

"Yeah."

Without another word, they stepped through the portal.

The golden light blinded them for a moment—then suddenly, the suffocating darkness of the ruined temple was gone.

Instead, they stood beneath an endless twilight sky, streaked with hues of gold, violet, and ember. The ground beneath them shimmered with crystalline grass, and massive, floating islands drifted slowly above a sea of clouds.

Vikram's jaw dropped.

"Holy… shit."

Towering structures of white marble and glowing crystal lined the horizon, their surfaces etched with ancient Vedic symbols. The entire realm seemed suspended between reality and illusion, as if time itself flowed differently here.

Aryan stared in awe.

"Where are we?"

Varuna turned toward them, her bronze armor catching the golden light.

"This is Swarga Loka," she said softly. "The realm of the Devas."

Before Aryan could fully process her words, Indra raised his spear and pointed toward the horizon.

There, beyond the shimmering citadels and floating islands, loomed a massive fortress. Its golden spires pierced the twilight sky, and brilliant blue flames lined its outer walls. Devas in radiant armor patrolled the perimeter, their eyes sharp and unwavering.

"That," Indra smirked, "is Deva-Kshetra. Our stronghold."

As they approached the fortress, Aryan couldn't help but feel the weight of it all.

Just hours ago, he was a regular college student.

Now, he was walking into the stronghold of gods.

The Gathering of Devas

They entered the main hall of Deva-Kshetra. The vast chamber stretched endlessly, adorned with floating lotus-shaped lanterns and walls lined with ancient scriptures etched in gold.

In the center of the hall stood three figures, their divine presence radiating through the chamber.

Aryan recognized them instantly.

Agni, the god of fire, stood with his arms crossed, flames flickering across his shoulders like a living aura. His eyes glowed a molten orange, and his skin shimmered with embers beneath the surface, as if he was barely containing his flames.

Beside him stood Vayu, the god of wind, with long, flowing silver hair that whipped and swirled around him, though there was no breeze. His eyes were the color of a storm cloud, and he radiated an aura of boundless speed and power.

The third figure was the most commanding—Yama, the god of death. His form was draped in dark robes edged with silver, and his eyes glowed with ethereal violet light. The faint shimmer of a cosmic scythe hung at his back.

Agni's voice was sharp.

"So… this is the mortal with the Mark?"

His molten eyes narrowed slightly.

"He doesn't look like much."

Aryan clenched his jaw, his fists tightening.

But Indra stepped forward, smirking.

"Oh, he's more than he looks. I guarantee it."

Yama's violet gaze met Aryan's, and for the briefest moment, Aryan felt a chill crawl down his spine. The god of death was studying him—measuring him.

Without breaking eye contact, Yama's voice echoed softly.

"He carries the power of the Vijaya Shakti, the goddess's divine essence," he mused.

"But whether he can wield it properly… remains to be seen."

Aryan forced himself to meet Yama's gaze.

He didn't flinch.

The First Trial

Varuna turned to Aryan, her eyes serious.

"You will need to be tested," she said. "The power you carry is… raw. Untamed. You need to learn to control it."

Indra smirked and slapped Aryan's back hard enough to make him stumble forward.

"Time for some god-tier training, kid."

Agni's eyes gleamed with fire.

"And if you fail…" he grinned, flashing sharp teeth.

"Well…" his voice was almost playful,

"You'll burn."

Vikram paled.

"Oh, awesome. You'll just burn him alive. Totally reassuring."

But Aryan's eyes didn't waver.

He held out his hand, and the golden sigil on his wrist flared to life once more.

For the briefest moment, his blade of light flickered into existence.

He stared at the Devas, his voice steady.

"Then let's begin."