Kolkata – 15 years ago
Deep inside a narrow old house during Kali Puja…

Rain tapped on the window like an old memory.

The smell of incense, wet earth, and jaggery sweets floated in the room. Red sindoor was smeared across the idol of Maa Kali. Her tongue, blood red. Her sword, fierce. Her eyes… watching.

Little Ruhel, no more than eight, stood beside his dadi, staring at the flames flickering before the goddess.

“Dadi,” he asked softly, “Gods never make mistakes… right?”

His grandmother didn’t answer immediately. Her hands kept folding the flowers into a garland.

After a pause, she said,

“Beta… even gods are powerful, but they are not perfect.”
“Brahma once made a mistake while creating the world… and that mistake still breathes.”

Ruhel frowned. “But if he’s a god, how can he do something wrong?”

Dadi looked up. Her tired eyes met his.

“Because some mistakes don’t feel like mistakes until it's too late.”

15 years later
The world had ended. But Ruhel was still alive.

The streets of Kolkata were silent. Not peaceful — just dead.
Buildings stood like bones. Smoke rose from the cracks in the earth.
There were no gods now. Only ash, screams, and those things that used to be people.

Ruhel walked alone.

His black hoodie stuck to his skin, soaked in blood — not his own. His hands trembled, but not from fear. Fear had burned away months ago. Only survival remained.

He hadn’t spoken in days. No one was left to listen.

But deep inside him…
Something watched. Something ancient. Something awake.

Flashback: The Day It All Fell

The skies tore open — not with fire, but with teeth.
The dead began to walk.
Then the demons came — faces stitched together from pain.
Then something worse — creatures that didn’t follow physics. Aliens that felt like… errors.

The governments fell. Temples burned. People cried out to gods.

But the gods didn’t answer.

Because they couldn’t.

The Forgotten Pact

When Brahma made the world, he wrote rules into its bones.

One of them was this: “No god shall interfere directly with the world again.”

Because once… they did.
And the world almost shattered.

So now, in this apocalypse, gods couldn’t step in.

But they could choose.

And among the chaos, the chosen began to rise.

They were called Shakti-Viras — humans selected by a deity to act as their hand, their will.

They were not saints.
They were broken people with nothing left to lose.
They bled, fought, screamed, and still stood.

And the boy who once asked if gods made mistakes…
He became the one chosen by the goddess of destruction herself — Kali.

Back to Present

Ruhel stopped walking.

A temple. Half-burned. Forgotten. Hidden behind an old banyan tree.

The idol of Maa Kali lay cracked, broken at the feet.

But her eyes were still watching.

He dropped to his knees.

“If you’re real… If you’re really there… then use me. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

A drop of blood slid down his arm.
It landed on the stone.
The air shifted.

The temple began to vibrate — as if it remembered who it belonged to.

Ruhel’s spine arched. His vision turned black and red.
A third eye flared open on his back — shaped like Kali’s.

Pain.

But not human pain.

Divine pain.

A voice whispered inside his bones:

“You are not chosen to save the world.”
“You are chosen to survive it.”

Ruhel Kai was born that night.
Not as a warrior.
Not as a hero.
But as a survivor with a goddess in his shadow.

And he would go on to build the most dangerous clan the world had never expected —
The Kalinaya Clan.

“When gods couldn’t bleed, they chose us to do it for them.”