The Man Behind the Fire
The battlefield of Borivali lay in ruins.
Kaalrath's molten form writhed within Li Wei's Soul Bind, his roars shaking into silence. And as the threads of memory pulled tighter, visions surged outward—not just for the demon, but for all who watched.
The flames dimmed. The night sky flickered.
And suddenly, everyone saw not a demon—
But a man.
---
Two Centuries Ago – Konkan Coast, ~1820
His name was Raghav Joshi.
Born to a humble family of farmers and soldiers, he grew under the salt air of the Konkan coast. His hands tilled the earth by day, and by night they held a spear at the village gates.
He was known not for strength, but for loyalty. When raiders struck, Raghav fought first. When neighbors starved, he gave away his share.
And in the small hut he called home, two faces gave him purpose:
Meera, his wife, whose laughter outshone the monsoon rains.
Anand, his son, barely five, whose tiny hands always clung to his father's.
Life was not easy. But it was theirs.
---
The Famine
The year of the famine changed everything.
Crops failed. The skies withheld rain. The British sahibs demanded grain taxes even as fields lay barren. The warehouses filled with food—but none for the poor.
Raghav's unit was stationed at a small fort inland. His commander's order was clear: guard the granaries at all costs.
When he begged for rations for his family, the commander spat, "The sahibs pay us to guard their grain, not feed your brats. Obey, or hang."
So he obeyed.
He stood guard over stacks of rice while his wife wasted away in their hut. He listened to Anand's coughs grow weaker, day by day.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their hollow faces. Every time he tightened his grip on his spear, his guilt grew heavier.
---
The Breaking Point
The night Anand died, Raghav broke.
He rushed from the fort, heart pounding, a stolen sack of grain on his back. By the time he reached his hut, it was too late.
Anand lay still, his mother's arms around him. Meera's eyes were vacant, her lips cracked from thirst. She looked up at Raghav—not in anger, not even in sorrow—just emptiness.
And then she exhaled one last time.
The sack fell from Raghav's hands. His knees hit the floor. The cries that tore from his throat were not of a warrior, but of a man shattered.
When dawn came, soldiers dragged him back to the fort. For theft, for desertion, he was branded across the chest, chained, beaten.
The commander sneered, "Your family starved because you were weak. Blame yourself, not the sahibs."
Something inside Raghav broke forever.
---
The Curse
That night, chained to the fort walls, Raghav lifted his bloodied face to the silent sky.
He screamed until his throat tore.
"Where were you when my son begged for food? Where were you when my wife died in my arms?!"
He spat blood into the dirt.
"If gods exist, they are cowards. If divinity is silence, then let hell speak!"
And hell answered.
---
The Voice of the Abyss
A whisper coiled through his mind, darker than night, colder than death.
"Your pain… your wrath… they are wasted on prayers. Give them to me."
Raghav's breath froze. "Who… are you?"
"I am the truth that gods fear. The fire that never dies. Your grief, your rage, your betrayal—I will make them eternal. Take my hand, and you will never be weak again."
The chains snapped as molten cracks spread across his skin. His flesh burned, yet he did not scream.
He welcomed the fire.
---
The Demon's Birth
His body melted into magma, his bones hardening into jagged horns. Wings erupted from his back, each feather a burning ember. His human eyes dissolved, replaced by molten orbs that saw only wrath.
The soldiers who chained him tried to flee. With one sweep of his claw, the fort burned. Their screams fed his flames.
The warehouses burst open, grain turning to ash. And with it, the last remnants of Raghav Joshi were consumed.
What remained was Kaalrath, the Scorched General.
For two centuries, he carried only one truth:
If the world lets innocents burn, then let the world burn first.
---
Return to the Present
The vision shattered.
Borivali burned again, but now everyone watching saw not just a demon—but the man he once was.
Kaalrath's molten body convulsed, his roar breaking.
"Why… why did they have to die…?"
For a fleeting instant, his voice was not that of a demon, but of a father.
Li Wei's Soul threads tightened, glowing like dawn. His voice was soft, yet absolute.
"Because this world forgets. But memory… does not. Rest, Raghav Joshi. Your fire ends here."
The light engulfed the Scorched General. His molten body cracked apart, dissolving into sparks that rained gently over the city.
For the first time in centuries, he was silent.