Just outside the office gates, a small crowd had gathered. In the center, several people were mocking a young boy who looked disheveled and frightened. They were laughing at his misery, calling him a "freak," and the boy sat in the dirt, his eyes vacant as if he were waiting for death to claim him.
As Rudra watched the scene, a sudden, violent throb struck his brain. His vision blurred, and the modern street was replaced by the jagged, red-sky memories of 3000 BC.
The Memory of the Cursed Child
In his past life memory, Rudra saw himself as a young boy named Prasad. He wasn't a King then; he was a child born with a dark aura. He saw his own brothers and sisters—his own blood—pointing fingers at him.
"Demon!" they screamed, throwing stones. "You are not our brother! You are a curse from the pits!"
Little Prasad was crying, his heart breaking as he ran to his mother. He sought comfort, but her eyes were filled with a cold, terrifying regret. She looked at him and whispered, "I must have done something horrific in my past life for a monster like you to be born from my womb."
She didn't hug him. Instead, she tried to suppress his spirit, killing his childhood joy until he was nothing but a shell of rage. The memory shifted to a dark woman in Hell, the same one he had seen earlier, laughing as his innocence died.
Return to the Present: Srinu's Savior
Rudra's breath became heavy. A black, suffocating aura began to leak from his body, cracking the pavement beneath his feet. His three wives—Isha, Keerthi, and Shanthi—immediately felt his agony. They moved to touch him, but he stepped forward toward the crowd.
"STOP!" Rudra's voice boomed like a thunderclap, vibrating through the buildings.
The crowd froze. The laughter died instantly as they felt the terrifying pressure of a True King. Rudra walked through them, his eyes glowing with a mixture of 15% Demon Power and raw, human pain. He reached the boy in the dirt.
The boy flinched, expecting a blow. But Rudra knelt in the mud, ignoring his expensive suit and his regal status. He placed a hand on the boy's trembling shoulder.
"Calm down," Rudra said, his voice dropping to a gentle, broken whisper. "You are not what they say you are. You are not a demon."
The boy looked up, his eyes wide with shock. Rudra's touch felt like a warm shield against the world.
"What is your name?" Rudra asked.
"My... my name is Srinu," the boy stammered, his voice small.
"Srinu," Rudra repeated, looking him dead in the eye. "Don't let their words kill your soul. You are alive, and that is enough."
Srinu felt a strange energy flow into him—a bit of Shanthi's peace and Rudra's strength. He stood up, wiped the dirt from his face, and bowed. "Thank you... thank you, sir."
Srinu turned and walked away, his head held high for the first time in years. Rudra stood up slowly, the memories of his mother's rejection still stinging his heart. He looked at his wives, who were watching him with deep concern. He realized that while he had the power of a God and a Demon, the scars of being a "hated child" would never truly leave him.
"Let's go home," Rudra said quietly. "Tomorrow, the war begins."The contract had begun. It was Isha's night, but there was no romance in the air, only a suffocating grief. Rudra collapsed onto the bed, his body trembling. He didn't look like a God-Slayer or a Demon King; he looked like the abandoned boy from the mud.
He pulled Isha into a tight, desperate hug and began to cry. The tears he had suppressed for centuries—through deaths, rebirths, and hellfire—finally poured out. He told her everything: the stinging words of his past-life mother, the stones thrown by his siblings, and the hollow emptiness he felt when even his own blood called him a monster.
"Isha... I am tired," Rudra sobbed into her shoulder. "I can face an army of millions. I can tear through the circles of Hell with 15% of my power. But I cannot defeat these feelings. Every time I close my eyes, I hear them calling me a demon. It's not me against the world anymore, Isha... it's Me vs. Me."
Isha held him, her heart aching for the man the world feared but never understood. "You are not alone, Rudra. Your past is a ghost, but we are your reality."
Shanthi, sensing the spiritual disturbance, entered the room. Her divine aura cast a soft golden glow over the weeping King. She didn't offer pity. Instead, she spoke with the firm authority of a Goddess. "Stop crying, Rudra. A King's tears are rain for his enemies' gardens. You feel bad because you are trying to separate yourself from your pain. Embrace it. Let it become the fuel for your divinity."
The Voice from the Deep
Rudra tried to calm his breathing and close his eyes, but as he slipped toward sleep, he didn't find rest. He found a Void.
Inside the darkness of his subconscious, a voice resonated—cold, ancient, and eerily familiar.
"This pain... I have felt it for over 1000 years, Rudra."
Rudra turned around in his dreamscape and froze. Standing before him was a figure that looked exactly like him, but draped in the tattered, blood-stained robes of ancient times. His eyes were pits of violet fire, overflowing with a millennium of sorrow.
"Who are you?" Rudra demanded, his voice echoing in the void.
The figure stepped forward. "I am the part of you that never healed. I am the boy your mother hated. I am the 'Prasad' who was left to die in 3000 BC. You have lived many lives, but I have carried the burden of this demon-label for a thousand years. You cannot defeat the enemy until you accept that I am the one who gives you strength."
Rudra looked at his mirror image. He realized that his power didn't come from a curse or a gift—it came from this internal suffering. He reached out, and for a moment, the two Rudras shared the same heartbeat.
"Rest now," the inner Prasad whispered. "Tomorrow, we show them what a 'Demon' can truly do."
Rudra finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, guarded by his wives. The modern world was quiet, but within Rudra, the human, the demon, and the goddess were finally beginning to fuse into one unst
oppable force.From the darkness, a high-ranking demon emerged, its skin peeling and its eyes glowing with green fire. "Welcome, King of nothing," it hissed, baring jagged fangs. "You walk into your grave—"
Rudra didn't even let the creature finish. His eyes didn't even flicker. "Die," he uttered.
A shockwave of pure Antham energy exploded from his lips. The demon didn't just fall; it disintegrated into microscopic ash before its scream could even leave its throat. Rudra kept walking, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic.
He led them through "Special Roots"—ancient, underground pathways that pulsed like the veins of a living beast. These roots were the conduits of the Earth's spiritual energy, now corrupted by the mine.
The Ghost of 3000 BC: The Black Hound
Suddenly, a low, guttural growl echoed through the tunnel. Out of the shadows stepped a massive, pitch-black dog with eyes like burning coals. This wasn't a normal demon; this was the Spectral Hound that had protected Rudra (Prasad) in his past life. In 3000 BC, this dog was his only friend when his family turned their backs on him.
The dog stood in front of Rudra, its fur bristling. Then, without warning, it lunged.
"Rudra, look out!" Keerthi screamed, her Fire Blade igniting.
But Rudra didn't flinch. Just as the beast's jaws were about to close around his throat, a shadow materialized behind Rudra. It was his Bhairava Form. The spectral manifestation of Bhairava raised a hand, stopping the dog in mid-air with a force that cracked the ground.
The dog froze, looked into Rudra's eyes, and felt the soul of its old master. The aggression vanished instantly. The beast whimpered and sat down, bowing its head in total submission.
Isha, Keerthi, and Shanthi stood frozen in terrified fear. They weren't afraid of the dog—they were afraid of the aura Rudra was emitting. It was a cold, absolute power they had never seen. Even Shanthi, the Goddess, felt a chill run down her spine.
The Path to the Leader
"Where is your master?" Rudra asked the dog, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together. "Take me to the one who thinks he can own the souls of the innocent."
The dog stood up and began to lead them deeper into the maze of roots. As they reached a vast, open chamber filled with glowing soul-jars, Rudra reached into the air. Space itself tore open as he summoned the Bama Kali Sword—a weapon forged from the darkest corners of the abyss and blessed by the goddess of destruction.
He didn't just hold the sword; he let the 15% power flow into the blade, turning it into a shimmering edge of violet death. He swung the sword once, just to test the air, and the wind pressure alone sliced a nearby rock formation in half.
At the end of the hall, sitting on a throne of bone, the Demon Leader finally appeared. He looked at Rudra, then at the three wives, and finally at the Bama Kali sword. For the first time in eons, the leader felt the cold breath of the 'End.'
"So," the Leader whispered, standing up. "The King has brought his harem to watch him die."
Rudra's grip tightened on the hilt. "No," he replied, his voice echoing through the mine. "They are here to watch me erase you
from existence."