Feathers and Fire

As the Echo Hunters began weaving through the dense forest, their horses tearing through fog and shadow, Mahāsarva smiled.

From behind his back, something grotesque peeled away — a face, no longer bound to a body, stretched and malformed, sprouting two enormous, tattered wings. Limbs dangled beneath it like marionette strings, twitching with inhuman spasms. Its mouth split wide open, leaking a low, haunting warble — part laughter, part lament.

The sky screamed.

Feathers — long, black, and razor-sharp — rained down like harpoons.

One Echo Hunter's arm was impaled mid-rein pull. Another's horse collapsed as three feathers pinned its spine to the earth. Screams rose as blood misted the air.

"Disperse!" Ghanashyam's voice cracked like thunder.

"Formation Delta! Shield barrier up — distance spread, twenty meters each! Attack units, counter now!"

The group fractured expertly — a circle splintering into fragments, each horse and rider dashing in opposite vectors to confuse the aerial predator. Defensive units raised hexagonal echo shields, forming a flickering dome over the weak and wounded.

Above, the winged face spiraled like a vulture possessed, flinging its feathers in bursts, shrieking with rage. Its eyes—if they could be called that—locked on Yug's limp body, still held tight in the saddle of the lead rider.

Attackers responded in kind.

With chants and glowing blades, the Echo Blades launched waves of sonic arcs into the sky. One blast clipped a wing — the monster reeled, feathers erupting from the wound like a dying star bleeding light.

But it didn't fall.

It screamed again, a sound that made the trees curl and the Echo Hunters' mounts rear in terror. As the forest bled feathers like spearheads from the sky, Ghanashyam heard a new sound rise beyond the chaos—a low, rhythmic thunder, mechanical and distant.

A train horn.

Metal wheels grinding over tracks. A symbol of escape. A promise of survival.

Ghanashyam barked:

"A train! We head for it! The horses are strained—they won't last much longer at this pace. We regroup inside the train. Move!"

The Echo Hunters redirected, galloping toward the sound echoing through the forest.

Suddenly, one horse reared back. Its rider dismounted with calm defiance. Shaurya stepped forward, his eyes steady and full of fate.

Shaurya:

"Go. All of you. I'll hold this demon back."

Before Ghanashyam could object, Shaurya climbed a moss-covered rock. With a deep breath, he began to chant—ancient syllables echoing from a forgotten age.

Light cracked the air.

From the sky descended a celestial bow, ethereal and radiant, forged from prayer and punishment. A single arrow hovered above it, vibrating with divine energy.

Shaurya nocked the arrow and fired.

The winged demon—its face unhinged from its body, limbs spread wide like a curse—twisted in air and dodged the shot. Its lips curled into a sneer.

Demon (mocking):

"You missed."

But Shaurya only smirked.

Shaurya (calmly):

"Look behind you, asshole."

The arrow twisted mid-air like a divine serpent and screamed backward, slicing through the wind. It pierced the demon's chest from behind, pinning it violently to the earth. Its black blood spilled, thick and steaming.

The demon shrieked—an ancient, haunting scream—and raked its claws across the ground.

Suddenly, the earth split open.

Thousands of skeletal hands erupted from the soil—dry, screaming, clawing. They grabbed at every horse, every Echo Hunter trailing behind.

Shaurya's horse bucked violently—then was dragged into the earth, torn apart by the bony swarm.

Shaurya screamed as the skeleton hands gripped his arms, his face, his chest—until he was torn to pieces, sacrificed to the very ground he swore to defend.

Ghanashyam (heart heavy, voice sharp):

"MOVE! Don't let his death be for nothing!"

The surviving Echo Hunters galloped harder, feathers still falling, bones still reaching—but hope was now a sound in the distance:

The approaching train.

"We move now!" Ghanashyam roared. "Toward the train! Get inside—protect Yug and Sarla at all costs!"

A deep mechanical groan echoed through the trees—the train was nearby, still in motion.

As the group charged forward, Echo Hunter Dhanush paused, his sword glowing faintly with inscriptions. He slammed the blade into the dirt and chanted an ancient mantra taught to him in the mountain monasteries. The sword shimmered, then he swung it in a wide arc. A wave of divine energy exploded from the blade, cleaving through the skeletal hands. Bone shattered. The ground pulsed and hissed as the cursed limbs recoiled or crumbled into ash.

"Go!" Dhanush shouted. "I'll cover the rear!"

The galloping horses reached the train tracks just as the locomotive began to pass. One Echo Hunter timed his jump perfectly, leaping onto the train's rear platform. He grabbed the limp bodies of Yug and Sarla, still unconscious, and laid them gently onto the seats inside.

One by one, Echo Hunters leaped aboard—some still swinging weapons at the pursuing hands, others pulling comrades up. The remaining horses whinnied in panic but stayed firm until the last Echo Hunter was safely inside.

At the doorway, Ghanashyam turned back, eyes heavy.

He bowed toward the horses. "Thank you, brave souls... You carried us through hell."

The doors slid shut behind him as the train thundered onward—toward the headquarters, toward sanctuary.

Darkness wrapped Yug like a second skin.

In the void of his mind, there was no train. No blood. No village. Only silence.

And then, a voice. Smooth. Familiar. Wrong.

"You finally speak."

Yug turned—there was no ground beneath his feet, only swirling black mist. Before him stood a shape cloaked in obsidian smoke. Its eyes burned like dim embers in a dying hearth.

"Who are you?" Yug asked. "Why did you tear my soul apart?"

The Shadow smiled.

"I saved you."

"I cut your soul into 500 pieces because your flesh was no longer enough to contain your pain. Only through shattering could you survive."

"Survive?!" Yug's voice rose with fury. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for you! Leave my body—I don't need your help!"

The Shadow cocked its head, amused.

"But you called me. The moment your axe struck the cursed tree. You cracked the seal—

the same seal carved by ancient monks to bind me when I was... corrupted."

Yug's breath caught in his throat.

"That tree…"

"Yes." The Shadow's voice turned solemn, almost reverent.

"That tree was not just wood. It was prison. And you freed me."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Intent is irrelevant. We are bound now. You live because I wrapped your dying spirit in shadow. And I will continue to protect you—because in your rage, I see a mirror."

Yug stepped back, heart pounding.

And then—

Light.

Cold air.

The rhythmic clack-clack of metal on rails.

Yug's eyes flew open.

The world rushed back.

He lay on a train seat, drenched in sweat. His limbs ached, but his body was whole. Across from him, his mother Sarla slumped unconscious, her head resting against the window.

He blinked. For a moment, he thought the shadow still clung to him—but it was just the train's dim lantern-light.

"Sarla—" he rasped, reaching for her. "Mother—wake up."

Before he could shake her shoulder, Ghanashyam's heavy hand rested on his own.

"You're safe," the Echo Hunter said quietly. His voice was tired, but steady. "You were maimed by a Brahmarākṣasa... but we got you out. Your village—" he paused, jaw tightening, "—it's gone. Burned by a host of Asuras."

Yug's chest tightened.

Ghanashyam continued. "We're headed to our headquarters now. You'll be examined for Echo Corruption. We must make sure the Brahmarākṣasa hasn't infected your soul."

At that moment, Sarla stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open, confused. Then widened in recognition.

"Yug—?"

"I'm here," Yug whispered, tears at the edge of his voice.

Sarla reached out and pulled him into a trembling embrace. "You're alive," she wept. "You're alive…"

Outside, the train carved through jagged mountains, its silhouette a lone serpent of steel cutting across an ocean of green.

Misty trees blurred past, tall and unmoving. The forest watched in silence.

And at the very front of the train—

Where the engine screamed against rusted tracks—

Stood a figure.

Mahāsarva.

He was motionless, balanced on the moving engine in a nightmarish yogic pose. One leg lifted behind his head, hands joined in prayer, face tilted toward the heavens.

Eyes wide. Unblinking.

Bones cracked and reformed with every breath.

His corrupted wings folded tightly across his back, like crows resting before slaughter.

The journey wasn't over.

It had only begun.