Vikram shot up from his seat, panic written all over his face.
He pointed at himself, almost stumbling forward as he half-knelt in front of her.
"Me?" he said, voice shaking. "I'm not some kind of savior. I can't even save my own grades."
His breathing grew uneven.
"I'm pathetic… I blocked all my friends. I can't even talk to the people I grew up with anymore."
His fists tightened.
"I ruin everything."
For a moment—silence.
Then Power stepped forward.
She gently pushed him back onto the seat and cupped his face, forcing him to look at her.
"Listen to me," she said softly.
Her eyes didn't waver.
"I know this is too much. But if we do nothing… everyone will suffer."
Her tone hardened slightly.
"For centuries, no one was chosen as the Supreme King."
A pause.
"But now… everything has changed."
Vikram frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Power's gaze darkened.
"Kali has made his move."
She spoke each word slowly.
"He has chosen… the Supreme Dictator Mudra."
Vikram blinked.
"…What's that?"
"A corrupted version of your power," she replied.
"One created to serve him."
Her voice turned colder.
"A king who doesn't protect… but controls. One who eliminates anyone connected to gods… or demons."
Vikram pulled away.
"I don't care," he said immediately.
He stood up, shaking his head.
"I just want to live my life. Help my parents. That's it."
His voice cracked slightly.
"I'm not from some big city life. I drink water from a well. I don't belong in all this."
He looked at her firmly.
"Find someone else."
Power didn't move.
But something in her expression changed.
Her voice lost its softness.
"Thousands of sages died chanting mantras… just so someone like you could be born."
Each word struck heavier than the last.
"Gods were banished… for interfering in this era… just to help humanity."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"To help you."
A beat.
"And you're refusing?"
Before Vikram could respond—
She pushed him.
The world shattered.
Vikram fell—
—not through air, but through existence itself.
Darkness gave way to something vast.
Endless.
He floated.
His breath caught in his throat.
Before him…
The Cosmic Egg.
Fourteen realms stretched across existence like layered sheets of reality.
Above—heavens glowing.
Below—dark, endless depths.
At the center—
Earth.
And rising from it—
Mount Meru.
Touching the heavens themselves.
Violet gates separated each realm, blazing like cosmic fire.
Vikram stared in awe.
"…What… is this…"
Then he noticed it.
A barrier.
Wrapped around Earth.
Black.
Crimson.
Like a cage.
Golden energy tried to enter—
—but was blocked.
Power's voice echoed around him.
"This… is the current state of existence."
Her tone was calm.
But heavy.
"You see how vast everything is?"
A pause.
"And you're worried about your grades."
Vikram clenched his fists.
Her voice sharpened.
"They will come for you eventually."
Another pause.
"So why not move first?"
The darkness shifted.
A shadow.
A presence.
"The Supreme Dictator."
"If you defeat him before he grows… everything ends there."
Her voice softened again.
"You walk away."
"You keep your life."
"You keep your powers."
Silence.
Vikram wiped sweat from his forehead.
His heart was still racing.
"…So if I defeat him…"
He swallowed.
"I can go back to normal?"
Power folded her arms, watching him carefully.
"Yes."
A small nod.
"So… will you accept it?"
Vikram stood still.
Thinking.
Then—
"…Fine."
He exhaled.
"Where is the Mudra?"
Power smiled faintly.
"Look."
Darkness swallowed him again.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
Then—
Light.
A golden silhouette.
A girl.
Approaching him.
Graceful.
Divine.
She reached out—
—and held his hand.
CRACK.
Far beyond—
The crimson barrier around Earth…
fractured.
Vikram's eyes snapped open.
He was back.
In his hotel room.
His breath came in sharp bursts.
"…What the hell…"
He looked around.
Everything was normal.
Silent.
Still.
Then—
He looked at his hand.
A golden coin.
His fingers trembled slightly as he turned it.
One side—
His Kundali.
The other—
BMV
All in capital letters.
Vikram clenched his fist.
"…So it's real."
His eyes hardened.
"The game has started."
Somewhere in Dharavi…
A young man walked through the narrow lanes.
Black jeans. Black T-shirt.
Calm.
Too calm.
He stepped into a small stall and sat down casually.
A boy approached him.
"What do you want?"
"Tea," the man said flatly. "And one samosa."
The boy returned quickly.
But as he placed the cup—
A few drops spilled.
Onto the man's shoes.
Silence.
The boy forced a smile.
"Sorry, bro—"
The man stood up.
And punched him.
Hard.
The boy collapsed instantly.
The shopkeeper rushed forward.
"Hey! What are you doing—?!"
The man picked up a ceramic cup—
—and smashed it into his face.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Ceramic shards dug into flesh.
Blood sprayed.
The shopkeeper dropped.
Unconscious.
The boy trembled under the table, crying.
People gathered outside.
Phones out.
Recording.
The man dragged the boy out by his hair.
Tied him to the table.
The boy screamed.
"Please! Someone help me!"
No one moved.
The man dipped a mug into boiling oil.
Steam rose.
His expression didn't change.
"My shoes cost four hundred and fifty rupees."
He grabbed the boy's jaw.
And poured.
The scream—
cut short.
The body convulsed.
Then slowed.
Police sirens.
Officers rushed in.
They tackled him.
Beat him.
Dragged him away.
Police Station
Blood covered his face.
Yet he stood straight.
Unshaken.
A senior officer stepped forward.
"What's your name?"
The man lifted his head slowly.
His lips curled.
"…King."
The officer leaned closer.
"What did you—"
In an instant—
King grabbed him.
Slammed his head.
Again.
Again.
Until it stopped moving.
Dead.
Silence.
Then chaos.
Officers charged.
But King moved like something inhuman.
Fast.
Precise.
Unstoppable.
Gunshots rang out—
He dodged.
Closed distance.
Killed.
One by one.
A rod pierced a skull.
A bullet meant for him hit another officer.
Screams turned to silence.
Within minutes—
The station became a graveyard.
King sat down.
Breathing heavily.
Then he looked at the lockup.
Criminals stared at him.
Terrified.
Hopeful.
He walked closer.
"You're Anna's men, right?"
One nodded nervously.
King smiled.
"Good."
He raised his hand.
A black-crimson Mudra formed.
Burning.
Alive.
A voice echoed in his mind.
Ancient.
Amused.
"I grant you power."
"Berserk."
Energy surged through him.
His body trembled with strength.
King turned away.
And set the station ablaze.
Flames rose behind him as he walked out.
Unbothered.
Unstoppable.
His smile widened.
"Supreme King…"
His eyes gleamed with madness.
"I'm coming."