Raghav called a taxi. The driver glanced back casually.
"Where to, sir?"
Raghav looked at Daisy—half-slumped against his shoulder, eyes glassy, still mumbling incoherently.
"Ram Nahar…" she slurred.
"Near the middle square," Raghav finished for her. "Let's go."
The taxi pulled away. Daisy kept leaning heavily on him, occasionally bursting into loud, off-key singing about how "my boss is the best boss in the world!" and how he "gave me a home and paid everything!" The watchman at her building gate jumped to attention, saluting the obviously drunk duo in confusion.
Raghav gave an apologetic nod.
"Sorry about the noise."
The watchman just stared—half-amused, half-concerned.
Daisy kept shouting directions the whole way up the stairs—her full address, floor number, how amazing her boss was, how he was "not a prick at all, actually very nice deep down"—until Raghav finally got her inside her flat.
She immediately demanded blackcurrant ice cream with strawberries.
"Now! Right now!"
"Shh—ice cream shops are closed, Dizzy. Calm down."
She pouted like a child.
"I have some in the fridge!"
Raghav sighed, located the tub, grabbed a spoon, and shoved a massive spoonful into her mouth before she could protest further.
She blinked—then smiled dreamily around the spoon.
He set the tub beside her on the couch, made sure she wouldn't choke, and bolted for the door.
"It's over," he muttered, closing it behind him.
The world shifted again.
"Shit—"
He was falling.
But this time he was ready.
He dove cleanly into the ocean instead of crashing—gills flaring instantly along his neck.
"Old trick now," he called out mentally. "You're getting predictable."
He pointed at his neck.
"See? Gills already out. I'm adapting."
Pitha-Ma's voice held faint amusement.
"Oh? Then you came here for your suit."
Raghav's face lit up underwater—eyes bright.
"It's a training program. Use the bracers. Transform. Defeat the enemies."
"Wait—what enemies? Who am I supposed to fight down here?"
A massive shadow loomed behind him.
"Maybe you should look back."
Raghav turned.
A colossal fish—Godzilla-sized—opened jaws wide enough to swallow buildings.
Next thing he knew—he was inside its mouth.
He woke up gasping on the familiar white table-bed.
"Looks like we have a long run ahead," Pitha-Ma said calmly.
Days That Followed
The cycle repeated relentlessly.
Fall. Fight. Fail. Get eaten. Wake up. Curse. Repeat.
Every time Raghav made even slight progress—dodging better, hiding smarter, outswimming for longer—the fish grew larger, faster, more relentless.
It was Edge of Tomorrow on loop—except no reset button, just endless drowning and digestion.
In the real world, life moved on quietly.
Raghav never brought up the drunken night with Daisy. Never teased her about it. He simply started treating her… better. A little more patient. A little less sharp. Quiet respect in small ways—asking her opinion on stories, thanking her properly, not snapping when she made small mistakes.
His public image—thanks to the Prime Minister's post—skyrocketed overnight. People who once trolled him now called him "rooted," "devoted," "one of us." The religious angle stuck. The stunt accusations faded.
Daisy and the news team tried to milk it—planned debates, soft interviews, charity tie-ins. But Raghav quietly let the wave crest and recede naturally. No press conference. No big statement. He let it die down organically.
The internet moved on to the next outrage.
But the dying didn't stop.
Deep Underwater – Final Attempt
Raghav entered the water once more.
This time he took a long, deliberate breath—even though gills made it unnecessary. He looked dead serious.
He raised one hand in a slow, deliberate wave—like greeting the ocean itself.
Inhaled water deeply.
Began circling his arms in wide, fluid arcs—round and round—bringing them together in front of his chest in a crossed-guard position.
A metallic clang echoed through the depths—like two ancient blades striking.
Silence.
Nothing happened.
"Pathetic," Raghav muttered to himself.
The serious mood cracked.
"If I fail level one like this… I'll feel exactly the same."
"How do I defeat a fish the size of a mountain?"
"Defeating him isn't the purpose," Pitha-Ma replied. "Transforming is."
"I know—but what am I doing wrong?"
Long silence.
"Come on, Master Oogway—say something."
"You have self-doubt. Deep down… you don't truly believe you can do this yourself."
Raghav pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Why can't I just get the suit like every other hero? That new Krish guy probably just flipped his jacket and boom—costume on."
"First—yes, he did. Second—no. Your suit isn't just armor. It's a symbol."
"Of what?"
"Belief."
The word hung in the water.
"That someone is protecting them."
"Without them even knowing I exist?"
"Aren't you the one who said it would become 'just a job' if you did it for reward?"
Raghav smirked despite himself.
"Using my own words against me. Fine. Then tell me—why can't I show my powers openly? Why hide?"
Another long pause.
"Think of the chaos if people learned the gods are real—that they walked among us once."
"Catastrophe."
"That's putting it lightly. Wars. New crusades. This time—no gods to fight our battles."
"I don't know about gods. But I'll fight my own."
"What happens when you face more than one enemy, friend?"
"I'll fight them with my friends."
"Your ego won't allow that."
"True."
Raghav took a battle stance—fluid, ready.
"But what's wrong with trying?"
He shot forward—swimming faster than ever.
The massive fish followed—glowing brighter the deeper they went.
Raghav dove—sharper turns, tighter corners. The fish stayed locked on.
Deeper. Sunlight faded. Pressure built.
The fish began to glow—blue, eerie, lighting the abyss.
Raghav sensed a narrow cave entrance—perfect to hide.
He darted inside.
The fish passed—its massive glowing body briefly illuminating the cave mouth.
Raghav exhaled in relief.
Then the glow turned back.
The fish shrank—rapidly—slipping into the cave after him.
Now it chased him through narrow tunnels—relentless.
Raghav dodged rocks, twisted through tight passages.
No way out.
"Give me a hint! Anything!"
"You just need motivation."
"Why do I need different things every time for one simple transformation? Why? Why?"
"Not my fault you embody modern man—careless and wobbly."
A boulder crashed down. Raghav dodged.
"Not the time for jabs! Hint—now!"
"Respect, moron. Or your ego won't allow it."
Raghav opened his mouth to retort—
Then stopped.
Realization hit like cold water.
"I'm an idiot."
He halted in a wide underwater cavern.
Turned.
Pointed one hand toward the charging fish—eyes closed.
He waited.
No attack came.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The colossal fish hovered—head lowered—almost… submissive.
Raghav reached out slowly.
Patted its massive head.
The fish glowed—steady heartbeat pulses.
"Who… who are you?"
The fish opened ancient eyes.
Then it began to shrink—rapidly—until it was the size of a small goldfish, radiant gold-blue.
The water rippled.
The tiny fish swam to Raghav's neck—touched skin.
A tingling warmth spread.
A glowing fish tattoo appeared on the side of his neck.
His right bracer flared blue.
A fish symbol engraved itself on the left bracer.
Both bracers pulsed.
Instinct took over.
He brought them together—boxing-guard position.
A metallic clang—louder than before.
All sound stopped.
A ripple-wave exploded outward—then reversed—rushing back into his chest.
The blue suit formed around him—sleek, powerful, alive.
The cavern shook violently.
Outside World – Simultaneous Tremors
In Jagannath Puri Temple, the head priest steadied the aarti lamp as the ground trembled.
He froze—heard a heartbeat not his own.
Turned toward the deities.
A single tear fell.
"Prabhu…"
He dropped to his knees—grabbed the sacred shankha—and blew.
A pure, piercing sound filled the air—victory, declaration, beginning.
In Dwarka, temple bells rang without hands touching them.
Cows lowed joyfully. Birds sang. Monkeys chattered. Elephants trumpeted and stamped.
Priests blew shankhas in unison.
In the Himalayas, stranded climbers huddled against a blizzard—hopeless.
The tremor hit.
One slipped off the cliff.
They screamed—then heard his voice calling up.
They looked down.
He pointed—toward Kedarnath.
A faint torch-like light glowed at the temple peak—impossible in winter.
A shankha sound echoed from the supposedly closed shrine.
In Rameshwaram, 87 priests stood on the seashore—exactly the number of Maharakshaks before this one.
A ten-year-old boy with a long ponytail joined them—88th.
All blew shankhas together.
A sound of purity. A declaration of war. A promise that Dharma had chosen its warrior.
Drishyam Complex
The tremor shook the reconstruction site.
Daisy—holding a framed photo of her dog—caught it before it fell.
Downstairs, Maya stumbled—screamed—clutched her ears.
Black bile rose in her throat.
She vomited—jet black—into the sink.
Turned on the tap.
The mixture smoked—acidic.
She rinsed—looked in the mirror.
Her reflection stared back—eyes darker than before.
She dialed a number.
"Gather everyone. We need to talk. This disturbance is not normal. We can't take chances. We don't want to repeat the past. We need Bhakshaka—as soon as possible."
Pause. Listening.
"End is inevitable."
"End is the truth."