Prologue
"Rudra..."
"Rudra..."
A faint voice called out from the darkness. Nothing else existed—only the voice.
"Wake up, Rudra…"
It was a woman's voice. Tense. Urgent. Familiar.
THRUMMM...
A thunderous impact, like a massive boulder crashing to earth.
Rudra's eyes snapped open.
He was in bed. Still in his room. The chill of night clung to the wooden walls.
And standing beside him—face pale, breath short—was his mother.
She was the voice in the dark.
She looked afraid.
THRUMM...
The same booming sound again.
And then—
"Hooook... Hooookk..."
The sound echoed through the trees. Like enraged monkeys screaming...but far louder. As if the jungle itself was being torn apart by something massive.
Rudra sat up, uneasy.
"Get up. We need to leave," his mother said, voice sharp.
"What? Where? What's going on!?"
But she was already gone, vanishing down the hallway. Her voice called back:
"Just grab your jacket and your bag—hurry!"
Confused and shaken, Rudra obeyed. The dread in his chest was real.
He threw on his jacket, shouldered his pack, and rushed to the main gate.
His mother stood waiting.
She held a shovel in one hand... and a shotgun strapped to her back.
They left the house.
The night outside was brutal. Snow fell heavily, swirling in the freezing wind. Their home stood atop a lonely hill, surrounded by thick forest. The trees groaned and trembled—as if something enormous was moving among them.
His mother led the way, swiftly, silently.
"Wait—Mother," Rudra whispered, suddenly freezing mid-step. "I forgot the sword. The one Father gave me."
Before she could protest, the seventeen-year-old boy turned and bolted back toward the cabin's storage shed.
"No—Rudra, wait!" she called after him. But he was already gone.
The old wooden shed creaked as he threw open the door and stepped inside. Against one wall, resting in a simple stand, was the sword... long, worn, but lovingly kept.
He grabbed it.
THUM.
The ground shook.
Something... had landed. Just outside.
The tremor jolted him. The sword slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.
Rudra froze.
Slowly, carefully, he edged toward the half-open door and looked out.
White.
Snow everywhere.
And just meters away, half-hidden by the trees...
A massive body.
Pale. Stained. Bleeding.
A pool of red soaked into the snow beneath it.
It lay with its back turned to the shed. The skin was shredded, scarred as if it had just torn through a pack of wild beasts. One arm dangled, shattered and bent at unnatural angles.
Rudra's breath caught. He couldn't move.
This thing... shouldn't exist.
Suddenly—
WHUMP.
A snowball struck the door beside him.
He turned.
It was his mother.... waving, crouched, eyes wide. Her arms made quick, deliberate motions.
She was telling him: Stay low. Come. Now.
Rudra nodded, slung the sword across his back, and crouched.
He crept through the snow, heart pounding, careful not to make a sound. But the wind howled and the snowfall roared—nature itself hiding his steps.
The creature remained still.
At last, he reached her.
"You dumbass," she muttered, tapping his head. But her relief was unmistakable.
They turned and began to descend.
That's when he felt it.
A hot breeze across the back of his neck. In this freezing cold?
He blinked.
Suddenly...
His mother grabbed his collar and hurled him forward.
He crashed into the snow, stunned. Pain flared in his shoulder.
"Go!" she screamed. "Get help!"
What?
He turned
And saw it.
A face.
Looming. Half the size of his own body. Not a monkey.
A demon.
Fur matted. Eyes wild. Blood caked around its fangs.
BANG.
The mother fired.
Half its jaw disintegrated in a burst of flame and blood.
It shrieked. The forest shook.
"RUN!" she screamed again. "BRING HELP!"
Rudra couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. The scene before him was hell.
The beast raised its mangled arm—
BOOM.
Another shot. The limb exploded, flinging blackened bone across the snow.
"GO, RUDRA!"
He turned and ran.
Down the hill.
Through the snow.
Through the night.
Through the chaos.
His mind was empty.
His legs were on fire.
The only thought in his head:
"Don't stop. Just run."
Behind him, he heard one final, distant shot—
BANG...
At last
Rudra's senses began to return.
His heart still pounded like a war drum in his chest, but the blind panic started to fade.
And then it hit him.
His mother.
He had left her.
Left her to face that thing alone.
That monster. That demon. That nightmare.
His steps faltered. His breath caught in his throat.
Then—
"MOOOOOMMM!!"
The cry ripped from his lungs, raw and guttural. It echoed across the empty slopes.
But still he didn't stop.
His legs kept moving. The snow blurred around him as tears stung his eyes, hot against the cold wind.
Half an hour.
He ran for half an hour without rest.
Until finally
There it was.
The Cave.
The Cave of the Ancients.
A place only spoken of in whispers. carved into stone like the mouth of a sleeping god.
Rudra stumbled inside, gasping, choking, half-collapsing with every step.
Darkness wrapped around him like cold silk. His breath fogged in the chill air.
His boots echoed across ancient stones.
"Hello!?" he shouted. "Please! Anyone!"
Silence.
The cave was empty.
He looked around—desperately, wildly—for any sign of life. A lantern. A mark. A voice.
Nothing.
Just shadows. Just echoes.
His knees hit the stone.
He dropped to the floor, sword clattering beside him.
His fingers clenched the dirt. His body shook.
This was supposed to be it...
The safe place. The sanctuary. The last hope...
Gone.
Reality crashed down on him like an avalanche.
And the cave fell silent.
Just the wind, howling through the mouth of the mountain.
Rudra broke.
Beneath the frozen stone arches of the Cave of the Ancients, his tears soaked into earth that had not known warmth in a thousand years.
He was broken... He couldn't even make a sound.
But then—
A pulse. A flicker.
Resolve.
His fingers clenched. His spine straightened.
No more weeping.
No more running.
Rudra rose like a flame reborn, and turned to face the snow-swept path. The sword on his back... the old one gifted by his father gleamed faintly in the dark. Its runes whispered as if remembering blood.
He returned.
Climbing through the frostbitten silence, heart hammering like a war drum. His breath burned his throat, but he pushed on.
And then.... he heard it.
Laughter.
Voices. Cheering. Clapping.
"She did it! She killed it!"
"Great Maya lives!"
"A true warrior! Slayer of the Beast!"
Maya...
His mother's name rang like a bell in his heart.
Rudra's steps turned to a sprint. Hope, wild and blazing, surged within him.
He burst through the trees...
And saw hell.
The Beast.
Still alive.
Still feasting.
Its fur was stained crimson. Its horns curved like crescent moons.
Its jaw....
Tearing through a human arm.
At its feet
Shredded robes. Entrails. The glint of a familiar necklace.
Her necklace.
Rudra froze.
His body forgot how to breathe.
His knees trembled.
The world spun around him, but his eyes held still locked on the creature.
But,
A memory.
His mother, smiling, pressing warm bread into his hands.
"Eat, Rudra. Grow strong."
And now her hands were gone.
No more.
If I don't end this... then who will?
He screamed.
A war cry, primal and thunderous.
He charged, blade drawn.
The demon turned.... but too late.
Rudra's sword, slashed deep into its chest.
The monster howled a sound that split the sky.
And the battle began.
Steel and claw. Flame and snow.
The forest became a battlefield of gods.
They fought through the night.
Rudra's blood painted the snow.
The demon's roars shattered trees.
But he did not stop.
Even when its shattered face the same one his mother blew apart began to regrow, he stood firm.
"So you don't die...." Rudra spat, breathing hard.
His heart ached... But his will strengthen.
He waited for the right moment.
And when the beast lunged—
He moved.
One clean strike.
The blade sang.
The head flew.
And with it—the night fell silent.
Rudra stood among the wreckage. Snow drifted gently now, like ash from the heavens.
His eyes carried the commitment and dread. He knew what he must do inorder to stop the demon from rising again.
He dragged the beast's corpse to the house—his house.
He lit the fire.
Flames roared to life. They swallowed the beast whole.
The smoke rose into the sky like a funeral pyre for a fallen god.
But even as the flesh burned, the skull would not yield.
It would not burn.
So Rudra took it. And in silence, he dug.
With bare hands, frozen fingers, and bleeding palms, he dug into the earth.
He buried the skull deep beneath the roots of an old, gnarled tree.
He turned.
Took one step down the mountain.
Then another.
And then—darkness claimed him.
A dream. A vision.
Flames danced. Bones cracked.
And the skull...
Smiled.
Rudra woke.
Gasping. Drenched in sweat.
Stone walls surrounded him. The scent of incense drifted through the air.
"You live," a soft voice said.
A woman stood near him, cloaked in gray robes woven with silver thread.
"You've been in the cave for three days. The fever nearly claimed you."
Rudra looked at his hands. At the old sword beside him.
He stood.
Gathered his things.
Fastened his coat.
The woman asked, "Where will you go now?"
He paused at the threshold of the cave.
Snow fell softly outside, painting the world in silence.
Rudra looked into the pale sky.
And whispered,
"To kill the dead"
As he vanished into the snow.... He murmured...
"They are coming"