The Competition of Claims ended without celebration.
There were no cheers, no victors' banners, no triumphant processions. Instead, the academies sealed their gates, lowered their flags, and gathered behind closed doors.
Within the Mahā-Sabha Griha (Grand Council Hall), representatives from five great Gurukuls sat in a circular formation. Elders, war-masters, spiritual scholars, and living legends occupied the stone seats carved with ancient sigils of Dharma (Cosmic Order).
At the head table sat Professor Mādhav.
He had not changed his posture, yet his presence alone anchored the room. His calm smile was absent today—replaced by something sharper, older, and infinitely heavier.
"The events of the competition," Mādhav said, his voice steady, "have confirmed what the scriptures warned us of."
He raised his hand, and a projection formed—cities marked in red, ancient fault lines glowing beneath the land.
"The Asuric influence (Demonic Corruption) is rising again. Not scattered. Not dormant. But organized."
A murmur spread.
An elder from the Eastern Gurukul spoke grimly. "The boy—Karnik Daanav—he carried a fragment."
"Yes," Mādhav replied. "A fragment of an Asura Raja (Asura Lord) long thought sealed beyond time."
Silence fell like a shroud.
Another war-master clenched his fist. "Then this is no longer a matter of academies. This is war."
Mādhav's eyes hardened.
"No," he corrected. "This is Yuddha with restraint (War bound by Dharma)."
After hours of debate, argument, and grim realization, a decision was made.
An Alliance of Gurukuls would be formed.
Shared intelligence.
Joint response forces.
And most importantly—preparation for a future where students would no longer be sheltered.
Far from the council chamber, the students returned to their dormitories.
Aarav sat cross-legged on the stone floor of his room, lightning circulating through his Nāḍīs (Spiritual Channels) in controlled cycles. The competition had stripped illusions away. Power was no longer theory. Enemies were no longer distant myths.
Kunal trained until his muscles screamed, weapon spirit roaring with renewed hunger.
Ananya refined her Ether manipulation with surgical precision, her mind sharper than ever.
And beside Aarav, curled quietly near his shoulder, was Nandi—small, silent, watchful.
"They will not wait," Nandi said softly. "The Asuras never do."
Aarav opened his eyes. "Neither will I."
Far away—beyond wards, beyond civilization—Karnik Daanav screamed.
Dark energy churned as his wounds knitted themselves together, flesh reshaping under the command of the fragment embedded within him. Around him, Dāsa-Asuras (Devil Slaves) knelt—warriors, beasts, and corrupted humans bound by fear and blood oaths.
Karnik rose slowly.
His aura no longer flickered.
It burned.
"I want the world to feel my anger," he said coldly. "Burn cities. Break temples. Feed until the skies choke on ash."
The devils roared in approval.
"But Haridwar," Karnik continued, eyes narrowing, "is mine."
The fragment whispered.
"There is something there… something owed."
Three days passed.
By the fourth dawn, Karnik stood whole—perfect, lethal, unrestrained.
Haridwar awakened to chaos.
Himani was helping her neighbors—lifting rubble, guiding the injured—when the sky cracked.
BOOOOOOOM
The sound tore through the city like divine thunder twisted into mockery. Buildings collapsed. Streets split open. Screams followed.
Devils poured in.
They slaughtered without hesitation—claws ripping flesh, jaws tearing through bone. Police resistance crumbled. Brave civilians fell one by one.
Laughter echoed—deep, cruel, inhuman.
Karnik arrived like a shadow given form.
Then he saw her.
A woman in her forties, wounded yet standing, fighting devils with bare hands and broken tools. Fear did not touch her eyes.
Interest sparked.
"How amusing," Karnik murmured. "You fight like a Kṣatriya (Warrior), yet smell of no lineage."
He gestured.
Dark energy wrapped around Himani—not to kill, but to bind.
The fragment stirred.
"Ask her."
Karnik leaned closer. "Does your family belong to that lineage—the one hidden from the world?"
Himani said nothing.
She stared at him with quiet contempt.
Rage surged.
With a flick of his hand, dark energy struck her Hṛdaya (Spiritual Core). Pain wracked her body as she collapsed.
The fragment whispered again.
"Ask for the object."
"If you give me what your family guards," Karnik snarled, "you live."
His gaze drifted—and stopped.
A photo frame lay cracked nearby.
A family.
A man.
A woman.
A son.
A daughter.
Recognition slammed into him like lightning.
A slow, vicious smirk formed.
"So this is how fate mocks me," he whispered. "You are his mother."
Himani remained silent.
That sealed it.
Darkness surged.
The devils withdrew soon after—leaving fire, blood, and silence behind.
An hour earlier.
The Alliance received reports.
Multiple cities.
Uttarakhand.
Neighboring states.
Large-scale devil incursions.
Aarav's heart seized.
"Haridwar," he whispered.
He called his father.
Veer answered, breathless. "We're in Dehradun. Riya's admission—your mother stayed home."
The world tilted.
Aarav told him everything.
Then he ran.
He burst into Mādhav's dormitory. "I need to go home."
Mādhav looked at him—really looked.
Then nodded once.
"Go," he said. "But remember—this path has no turning back."
Aarav didn't hesitate.
With Kunal.
With Ananya.
With Nandi.
They moved—faster than fear, faster than doubt.
Toward Haridwar.
Toward blood.
Toward the moment Aarav's destiny would stop being distant—and become personal.