A Silent Retreat

They came crawling on all fours — thin as corpses, black-furred with exposed bone glistening under the moonlight. Their spines were serrated, ribcages moving like jaws, and their faces… their faces were death masks of ancient prey. Some bore twisted antlers, others had empty sockets dripping with fangs. They didn't breathe. They scraped. They creaked. They screamed.

Not like beasts.

Like brittle leaves crushed underfoot.

"Contact front," Ghanashyam said coldly, eyes narrowed.

"Hollow Hunger," whispered Kavya beside him, unsheathing her blade.

A swarm of them — at least two dozen — surged from the treeline, shrieking as they broke into a sprint. Their limbs moved too fast, too loose. Some snapped pieces of their own ribs and launched them like spears. One of the front-line scouts caught a bone shard in the neck and fell back, gurgling.

"Formation Theta!" Ghanashyam barked.

The Ashguard responded instantly. Shields locked. Weapons drawn. Echo sigils glowing along the earth like veins of fire. Behind them, Yug and Sarla lay unconscious, cradled by makeshift stretchers.

Then came the wave.

The demons collided with the front lines in an explosion of motion and sound. Black limbs and jagged bones struck against shields, teeth clattered against metal, claws ripped through the air. And in the chaos—an unnatural howl.

A sound that didn't come from any mouth.

It flooded into the minds of the Echo Hunters — The Echo Howl. A psychic shriek that peeled into memory. Men dropped their weapons, screaming. One cried out for his dead brother. Another fell to his knees, convulsing.

Ghanashyam's jaw clenched. "Badrinath."

A voice like stone broke the air.

"Manomaya kalpana bhasma bhavati…"

The mounted shaman sat atop a horned elk, staff spinning above his head. As he chanted, silver light erupted from the Echo Marks etched beneath their feet. The illusions snapped. The past scattered. Sanity returned.

Now they fought.

Kavya disappeared into shadow.

One of the creatures leapt, jaws open wide — and never landed. Its head fell from its neck mid-air. Kavya moved like a whisper behind it, blade soaked black.

Harun dropped into a carving stance. With two glowing fingers, he traced an Axiom into the ground.

"Agnivana."

Flames erupted in a spiral, circling the Echo Hunters like a halo of wrath. Demons within it ignited at once, their fur bubbling, bones cracking as they thrashed and collapsed in flame.

Still more charged, their numbers swelling with frenzy. The more they outnumbered, the more savage they became — each movement more erratic, more relentless.

Badrinath struck one with his staff, chanting a word that caused the demon's spine to unravel.

Harun blocked a bone spear with his forearm, roaring as flame burst from his wounds.

Kavya reappeared beside Ghanashyam, breathing hard. "There's no end to them."

"There doesn't need to be," Ghanashyam growled. He stepped forward and speared the largest creature straight through its chest, pinning it to the stone. It writhed, gurgled, and finally collapsed.

Breathing hard, the Ashguard stood above a field of scorched and twitching corpses.

The Hollow Hunger had been silenced — for now.

But above them, something watched.

High atop the broken watchtower, another shape had emerged. Taller. Stronger. Arms like blades. Skin like cracked stone. It smiled as it watched the Echo Hunters gather themselves.

Ghanashyam turned his head just slightly.

"Everyone — move into the forest. Now."

No one questioned.

Sweat trickled down their necks despite the cold. Even without battle, the aura pressing against their skin was unbearable — suffocating.

They didn't look back.

But they knew:

The true demon hadn't even moved yet.

The corpses of the first wave still smoldered, their blackened bones hissing in the rain-soaked mud. But silence did not return.

It never had the chance to.

From the shattered rooftops and gutted tree lines, they emerged — Karalachal.

Six-limbed horrors, tall as temple gates, their skin peeled raw and glistening like butchered meat. Their faces were nothing but stretched bone and endless screaming sockets. And they moved—wrong. Insect-like grace fused with human malice. Twitching. Swaying. Lurching like possessed marionettes.

They did not howl.

They did not charge.

They descended—midair and precise.

Rajen, still mounted, turned to shout a warning.

Something slammed into him from above.

The force broke his spine mid-sentence. A Karalachal had landed directly onto his saddle, ripping him off the horse like meat from a spit. Its six arms closed around his limbs, holding him in the air like a broken doll. He screamed.

"RAJEN!" someone cried.

But it was too late.

The Bhukmara — still lurking in the tree roots — surged forward like fire ants. Drawn by blood. They tore into Rajen before his voice finished echoing. Black limbs, claws, and snapping jaws shredded armor, flesh, and bone.

By the time the Ashguard reached him, only his helmet remained.

"Circle and crush!" Ghanashyam roared, voice cutting through the chaos.

The formation shifted like iron clockwork.

Harun flared his Echo sigils once more. "Agnivāna!"

A ring of spiraling flame burst from his body, consuming half the Bhukmara swarm and incinerating two Karalachal mid-pounce. Screeching, they twisted in the air like burning paper.

Kavya vanished.

Then reappeared.

Then again.

Shadow Split.

At four corners of the battlefield, echoes of her form slashed simultaneously — carving arms from torsos, slicing across their elongated limbs with surgical fury. Black blood hit the ground like ink.

The Defensive Unit surged forward, holding the line behind Yug and Sarla's unconscious forms. Flame-glyphs lit their shields. Spears thrust in unison. For every Karalachal that lunged, three fell with punctured skulls and charred spines.

It wasn't war.

It was survival — sharpened into ritual.

And then… a moment of breath.

A silence.

Just enough.

The Healers stepped forward.

Two of them stood back-to-back, raising their palms high. Their voices intertwined like braided mantras:

"Jeevraksha…"

A green shimmer spread through the frontline — closing cuts, easing breath, mending cracked bones in the limbs of exhausted warriors.

"…Astra-Kavach!"

A psychic dome erupted around Yug and Sarla, translucent and humming. Debris shattered against it. Stray limbs bounced off harmlessly. The unconscious pair now floated within its protection, untouched by the storm around them.

But peace was never truth here.

It was bait.

From behind a crumbling hut, the soft sound of a crying child pierced the chaos.

A high, broken wail. Fragile. Desperate.

Tanuja turned sharply.

"What is that?" she asked.

Ghanashyam's eyes widened. "Don't move!" he barked. "It's a trap!"

But she was already galloping.

Tanuja rode hard, heart thundering. The others shouted her name, but it was distant now. The crying led her to a collapsed ruin, its roof blackened with ash.

And there — amid the blood and brick — lay a baby.

Wrapped in red-stained cloth. Pale. Innocent. Softly cooing.

Tears welled in Tanuja's eyes. She dismounted, trembling, and reached for it.

"It's alright… I've got you… I've got—"

The baby opened its eyes.

They were void-black.

Its mouth unzipped across its entire face, stretching from ear to ear — to skull — to spine. A tongue like a scorpion's tail flicked once.

Then it struck.

One bite.

Tanuja's head was gone.

Her body spasmed, blood fountaining from her neck as she remained upright, somehow still mounted.

The baby — no longer a baby — now sat cradled in her lap. A slick, pale Asura the size of a child, giggling as it steered her dead horse toward the Ashguard ranks.

Mocking them.

A Balāsura.

Born from the cries of lost children and twisted love, it fed not on flesh — but trust.

And tonight, it was starving.

Then — a blur.

From behind the defensive ranks, a lone figure emerged at full sprint.

Sahir — the grizzled Echo Hunter whose spear had once pierced the heart of the Brahmarakshas itself.

He said nothing.

He didn't mourn.

He hurled.

The war-spear, blackened and etched with Echo scars, sang through the wind like a death whistle.

The Balasura turned—

Its smile split wider—

And the spear struck it clean through the mouth.

It pinned the mimic child to Tanuja's armored chest with such force that it shattered the back of the saddle, dragging both corpses into the mud with a single, wet thud.

No scream.

No echo.

Just death.

Sahir walked toward the bodies.

He pulled his bloodied spear from the creature's skull with both hands. Looked down at the Asura's grotesque, frozen smile.

"Lie to someone else," he muttered.

Then turned back toward the Ashguard line—

And the storm beyond.

The village lay smothered in blood-mist and silence.

The Karalachal were dead. The Balasura lay still, its false smile split by Sahir's spear.

And for a brief moment… there was peace.

But it was wrong.

Not the silence of relief — but of containment.

Something had pressed the air flat. Even the wind refused to move.

Then came the sound — not quite a hum, not quite a scream. A resonance that rippled through bone and memory alike.

From the shattered tower at the village center, it emerged.

It did not walk.

It did not fly.

It simply was.

Mahāśrava.

The One Who Hears All.

A being draped in paradox — half god, half horror.

Its limbs swirled into circular orbits of thought, forming symbols no man could read.

Its body bore dozens of faces — some crying, some laughing, some blank as the void.

The central one — emotionless.

But it looked.

And the sky dimmed.

A young Echo Hunter stepped forward, spear raised halfway. "...What is that?"

Ghanashyam's voice snapped like a whip.

"Run. Into the forest. Now."

No time for questions.

No time for honor.

The order was clear.

As the last unit entered the forest canopy, one Echo Hunter paused.

Just one.

She turned back toward the tower.

And there it was.

Mahashrava stood atop the broken stone, still and towering, not with malice—But with recognition.

It smiled.

Not with joy.

But with memory.

As if seeing a long-lost student return to the temple of pain.

Then, slowly, one of its swirling arms lifted—

And it waved.

Not as a farewell.

But as a promise 

Ghanashyam's Final Command

The forest consumed them.

Not with hunger — but with hiding.

As they ran, sweat poured freely, though the air was cold. It was fear's heat now, not fire's.

Ghanashyam turned to the others, voice low and final.

"We leave this cursed land before nightfall.If we don't…"

He looked over his shoulder once — just once.

"…We all become part of its story."