Daoist40

THIS BOOK IS MAINLY FOCUSED ON HINDU MYTHOLOGY BUT WE WILL ALSO DWELL INTO OTHER MYTHOLOGIES AS WE PROGRESS
IT IS A BLEND OF MYTHOLOGIES
AND DUNGEONS

HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT READ


Year: 2035.

Ten years ago, the skies cracked.


Not with thunder, nor warplanes—

but with rifts.

These weren’t just visual anomalies. They were gateways—interdimensional portals that Earth’s scientists quickly termed “Dungeons.”

Dungeons or portals as the world now called them, appeared across the Earth without warning. Each one was a fracture between dimensions—some leading to mythological realms long forgotten, others to alien landscapes so hostile they devoured entire scouting teams.

At first, the world panicked, assuming them to be nuclear tests, alien invasions, or natural disasters. But these dungeons didn’t behave like anything known to physics. Satellite footage showed each portal surrounded by a zone of atmospheric distortion. Inside them? Entire landscapes alien to our Earth—some mythological, others monstrous and unknowable.


Some dungeons contained creatures straight out of ancient scripture—Nāgas from Vedic texts, harpies from Greco-Roman mythology, or obscure gods who had long since been forgotten by mankind. Other rifts revealed biomes more suited to nightmares: acidic jungles, ice worlds that bent gravity, or structures pulsing with intelligence.



In the first month alone, five major cities fell.
Beijing, Lagos, São Paulo, Istanbul, and Philadelphia—gone, overrun by creatures we didn’t understand, coming through dungeons we couldn’t close.


Then came the second anomaly. A global surge in human neural activity.

Scientists identified it as a quantum shift in consciousness. Spiritual leaders called it divine selection. Journalists labeled it “The Great Filter.” But the name that stuck was:
Awakening.

Roughly 20% of humanity developed access to an invisible “System”—a personal interface only they could see. It gave them abilities, status screens, and skills that turned ordinary people into weapons.

The rest of the world? Still human. Still fragile. Still dying.



Roughly 20% of the global population began to exhibit System access—an invisible interface only visible to the user. This System showed stats, combat abilities, class upgrades, and most importantly, potential.

It wasn’t random.
Those who Awakened were typically 18 or older, and many had undergone moments of extreme stress, trauma, or proximity to a dungeon. Some said the System chose warriors. Others claimed it selected reincarnated souls or bloodlines tied to forgotten mythologies.

Now, the world lives in a tense balance. Hunters ranked from F to SSS defend the Earth from dungeon incursions. And deep within this chaos…

In some cities, Awakened rule like kings. In others, governments remain intact, barely holding together.

Technology also evolved:
Mana-reactive alloys replaced steel.
Smart-glass visors sync with System interfaces.
Dungeon-gathered artifacts are now global trade commodities.

And deep in the shadows…
Some dungeons don’t close and breaks happen.
Some awakeners don’t follow the rules.
And some individuals… aren’t just chosen.

They’re remembered.

And in the midst of this fragile new era—
a man named Arvan will learn that the voice in his head…
is not madness.
It is a memory.
A throne. A war.
And a name: Rāvaṇa.

A storm begins to stir.

The Eleventh Head

The city was buzzing long before the first sirens screamed.

News had already leaked — an unauthorized Hunter had survived a Catastrophic class dungeon. Alone. Unregistered. Unranked.

By the time Arvan stepped out of the dungeon's flickering gate, the cameras had arrived.

He ignored the chaos. The flashing lights. The foreign agents in sleek black coats whispering into crystal-clear earpieces. The Home Guild security forces aiming rifles they knew wouldn't matter. And Reina Vārsha standing above them all, on the raised platform of the Hunter Bureau, her divine eyes locked on him like judgment incarnate.

He walked through it all, each step slow. Measured. Dangerous.

His hoodie was torn, soaked in blood both his and not. His hands still smoked from the lingering burn of that infernal place — the Temple of Trials, as the system had finally named it before collapsing in a cascade of glitched code.

His status screen flickered behind his eyes.

[Title: Fragment of the Ten-Headed One]

[Warning: Core Personality Stabilization Breach — Critical]

He blinked and the screen vanished.

HUNTER ADMINISTRATION BUREAU – HIGH TOWER BALCONY – NIGHT

Reina didn't breathe. Not properly. Not since he stepped out of that gate.

She had seen many Hunters crawl from dungeons, victorious and broken, but never like this. Never with that kind of presence.

Something older. Like a king returning from exile.

"Is this… what divinity smells like?" she whispered, her golden irises narrowing.

Behind her, Rigved's footsteps echoed faintly. "You feel it too?"

"The dungeon logs are scrambled. No record of what was inside. No monsters reported, no loot extracted, no traceable mana flows," he said, voice cold. "But our system flagged something ancient. Something wrong."

Rigved crossed his arms. "The system doesn't lie. Whatever he touched in there—it wasn't from this world. Not just that. It predates the Awakening."

Reina's eyes returned to Arvan, who now stood still at the gates, looking up.

And then… he looked straight at her.

Like a predator recognizing another. Her heartbeat skipped.

"No idea," a deep, amused voice whispered inside Arvan's skull.

"Why does she keep looking at me like that?"

He didn't laugh, but a half-smile twitched across his lips. For once, it wasn't Arvan smiling. It was Him.

FOREIGN GUILD ZONE – TEMPORARY CAMPS – NIGHT

Across the street, cloaked in magical obscurity, three foreign guilds watched through mana-fed monitors.

From the shadows of a South Korean high-tech camp, a woman with a visor leaned forward. "Get me a contact. That's no F-rank. We need him on our side."

In a dimly lit European guild tent, a man with scarred cheeks chewed on a bone and said in perfect Hindi, "That… is the war incarnate himself. Send him an offer. No—send him a challenge."

And across the seas, in a luxuriously adorned Eastern camp, a monk in saffron robes whispered a name that hadn't been spoken aloud in centuries.

CHAPTER 22 – RAVANA WALKS AGAIN