“Run as hard as you can!”

The desperate voice cut through the silence, urging Kriday to escape from the looming death behind him. His body, battered and barely conscious, struggled to respond. His breath came in ragged gasps as he turned his head slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice’s owner, but his vision blurred under the toll of blood loss and exhaustion. The world around him felt like a shifting haze, his senses dulled except for the deafening pounding of his own heart.

It was dawn, the sun’s first rays attempting to pierce through the thick canopy, casting flickering golden reflections onto the flowing stream nearby. The water glistened like molten light, untouched by the chaos unfolding in its presence. The forest was dense, its trees providing some resistance against the behemoth chasing him, Raigon. The beast’s massive build struggled to maneuver through the tightly packed trunks, but its raw power still gave it an undeniable advantage over the frail human it pursued. Kriday, with what little strength he had left, forced his body into a sprint, his survival instincts finally igniting.

But it wasn’t enough.

His legs faltered, his body betrayed him, and he tumbled forward, crashing onto the damp forest floor. A sharp pain shot through his chest, but before he could even register it, the beast lunged. Its fangs, dripping with saliva, aimed straight for his neck, an efficient, fatal strike. In a desperate last stand, Kriday lashed out with his right leg, aiming for its face. The attack was weak. Raigon barely flinched before clamping its powerful jaws around Kriday’s left leg with bone-crushing force.

A sickening crunch echoed through the air. Agony unlike anything he had ever known consumed him, and his screams choked in his throat. His body no longer responded. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t even move. His vision darkened as death wrapped its cold fingers around him.

His life didn’t flash before his eyes, not at first. Instead, he saw Dhrithra, his ever-protective guardian, the one who had always shielded him from harm. He was the sheltered one, the one who had never needed to fight. A lifetime of academic excellence, of careful protection, had left him unprepared for a moment like this. He had never been strong enough to stand on his own. So why was he still resisting now? What was the point?

Then, another voice, one not of despair, but of defiance. The same voice that had warned him earlier rang in his head, forcing him to remember the frustration that had simmered within him for years. The feeling of helplessness, of being weak, of being nothing more than a burden.

No.

With a surge of newfound determination, Kriday ignored the pain and used his free right leg to target the beast’s eyes. His foot struck its glowing red orb, and the Raigon flinched, releasing his leg with a deep, guttural snarl. A second of reprieve, that was all he needed. But before Kriday could capitalize on it, the beast recovered and lunged again, jaws wide open for a final, merciless strike.

A flash of steel.

A dagger buried itself into the Raigon’s right eye with precise force. A roar of pain erupted from the beast as it recoiled, the thick black blood of its kind gushing from the wound. The mysterious figure who had been warning Kriday stepped into view, his hooded form now fully visible. Without hesitation, he ripped the dagger from the beast’s eye socket and took a low, battle-ready stance, one unmistakably belonging to Thekkan Kalari, the Southern style of Kalarippayattu.

The Raigon shrieked in agony, its massive frame thrashing wildly, but the warrior remained unfazed. With swift, calculated movements, they targeted the beast’s tendons, slashing deep with a series of rapid strikes. Each cut was precise, designed not to kill but to cripple. Unable to sustain its weight, the Raigon stumbled back, writhing in pain before retreating into the forest. The monstrous entity disappeared beyond the stream, leaving behind the scent of blood and torn earth.

The battle was over.

The hooded warrior exhaled deeply before turning towards Kriday, who was already unconscious. His body was riddled with injuries, deep bite wounds on his right leg, bullet wounds still oozing from earlier. The sheer extent of his wounds made it clear: he shouldn’t have survived this long.

The warrior knelt beside him, tearing strips from their own cloak to bind the worst of his injuries. As they worked, his gaze lingered on Kriday’s face. A strange expression flickered across their eyes; recognition? Confusion? Surprise? It was as if he had seen a ghost.

“How?…” he murmured under his breath.

With careful movements, he secured Kriday onto his back, crossing the remaining fabric into diagonal knots for support. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the depths of the unknown realm, carrying the unconscious Kriday. 

The air was thick with the remnants of an unseen battle. Somewhere in the dense woodland, the groans of a wounded beast echoed like a war cry lost to the wind. The very earth trembled beneath the weight of something colossal retreating into the unknown. The entourage of warriors, clad in dark olive uniforms and fitted with the sleek yet formidable 'Perpetual Gear,' stood motionless for a brief second, silent sentinels absorbing the unexpected sounds piercing the early dawn.

A stout man, his body sculpted by years of battle, stood at the helm of the unit. His sharp eyes, glistening under the moon's fading glow, narrowed as he turned his head slightly. His expression, unreadable yet heavy with purpose, bore the weight of command. The stars on his epaulette distinguished him from the others, a mark of authority that none dared challenge.

“Something interesting is going on,” he murmured, barely audible, his voice dripping with intrigue.

A moment later, he shifted his weight, double-tapping his boots. A sharp churr resounded as the 'Perpetual Gear' strapped to his calves hissed to life. Within seconds, the flattened extensions beneath his heels adjusted, their intricate mechanisms calculating the rough terrain ahead. His body, once grounded, now glided over the uneven earth with breathtaking grace, accelerating as if weightless.

The rest of his unit remained behind, their gazes following him as he became a blur against the twilight landscape.

“You carry on with the regular rounds. I will chase it,” he ordered, his voice steady and firm. “If I am not back here in another fifteen, come retrieve me.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Among the ranks, Raghuvendra, second in command, watched, his lips curling slightly in admiration. His eyes traced the fluid motion of his superior, every movement precise, every step calculated.

“It is always beautiful to watch the Commander glide using them,” he remarked, his voice brimming with respect. “No one in the entire ‘Shambhala’ does it better.”

The others just agreed, a silent agreement , their expressions a mix of awe and certainty.

The Commander’s speed was immeasurable. The ‘Perpetual Gear’ was a marvel of engineering, but in his hands, or rather, beneath his feet, it was an art form. While others could run, he flew. While others navigated, he conquered. The forest blurred around him, the distant cries of the beast growing louder.

His hunt had begun.

The warrior pushed himself to his limits, his breath ragged as he carried Kriday through the uneven terrain. Every muscle in his body burned from exhaustion, but his instincts screamed that he could not afford to slow down. There was a presence closing in on him, fast, precise, and relentless. Whoever it was, they were not ordinary. He had felt this kind of pursuit before, but this time, he was not alone. The dead weight of Kriday on his back was making escape all the more difficult.

His feet pounded against the damp soil, weaving through the towering trees. The dense foliage above barely let any moonlight through, and the only sound accompanying him was the whisper of leaves dancing in the wind, until the distant hum of something mechanical echoed through the trees. He clenched his jaw. The ‘perpetual gear’, an elite army’s tool of unparalleled speed and agility. That meant his pursuer was no ordinary soldier; they were trained for this, and they were closing in.

He altered his course, darting between the thick trunks, taking sharp turns in a desperate attempt to shake them off. The air around him grew heavier, a subtle pressure forming as he pushed beyond his limits. His heart pounded against his ribs, the cold air slicing through his lungs. The path he followed was now leading them out of the forest, the shadows giving way to the eerie glow of the open land ahead.

And then—

He skidded to a halt.

A steep descent stretched out before him, a near-vertical slope of jagged rocks and loose gravel. His breathing was labored, his body trembling from exertion. Carrying Kriday down such a path was suicide. The decision needed to be made in an instant.

His hand moved swiftly to his waist, pulling out an object hidden beneath the folds of his cloak. A mask—deep red, adorned with war-ridden markings. The fearsome visage of Begtse, the Buddhist god of war. He clenched the mask in his right fist, his eyes flickering with a silent prayer. If battle was inevitable, he would fight as the avatar of the wrathful protector.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he unstrapped Kriday from his back, setting him down carefully against a rock. His breathing steadied, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. A stillness settled over him as he placed the mask over his face, the red blending into the darkness of the night. His identity, his very existence, was now hidden behind the spirit of a warrior.

He lunges towards the forest again. Sprinting as fast as he can.In the periphery of his vision, a figure emerged. The army personnel had arrived.