By evening, the hospital no longer looked like a place meant for healing.
Entire sections remained sealed behind police tape while workers cleaned bloodstains from floors and walls, and patients sat wrapped in blankets with shaved heads, missing eyebrows, or patchy, bleeding scalps while reporters screamed questions outside the entrance gates.
Doctors struggled to explain anything rational, while one old man kept yelling at the nurses, “My chest hair disappeared too!
Explain scientifically!” Nobody could.
A young nurse cried quietly in the washroom while staring at her bald reflection, while another patient demanded compensation because half his beard had vanished permanently.
The hospital administration finally settled on one official explanation: “Mass chemical contamination causing aggressive hair loss.”
Even the reporters repeating it looked unconvinced.
Outside, police officers stopped civilians from recording videos while confiscating phones containing clear footage of floating hair.
Inside one hallway, two constables quietly discussed the situation.
“You believe this chemical story?”
“No.”
“Then?”
The older constable glanced nervously toward the sealed ward.
“…I believe I’m retiring early.”
Meanwhile, Vikram stood near the damaged corridor, rubbing his sore neck while searching for King.
The broken hospital section still carried marks from their fight—cracked walls, bent railings, and bloodstains—but King himself was gone.
Vikram frowned harder as he looked around.
“I literally left him unconscious here.”
Power stood beside him invisibly.
“He recovered quickly.”
“That guy fights like unpaid hospital bills.”
Vikram checked the nearby corridors again, but there was nothing: no blood trail, no body, only destruction remained.
Power’s expression stayed thoughtful as she explained, “Wrath amplified his physical condition significantly.”
Vikram sighed tiredly.
“Amazing.
The homicidal martial artist also has transformation modes.”
His entire body still ached from the fight, and every punch from King had felt like being hit with construction equipment.
Nearby nurses whispered as they passed him.
“That’s the boy from earlier.”
“He fought that psycho.”
“How are they both alive?”
Honestly, Vikram also wanted answers.
Eventually, he returned to Sadhna’s ward.
Unlike the earlier chaos, the room now felt strangely quiet, with several police officers guarding outside while doctors monitored her condition nervously through glass panels.
Inside, Sadhna sat silently on the hospital bed wearing fresh clothes provided by the nurses.
Her hair now rested shorter around her shoulders after much of it had been damaged during the mana overflow, and somehow she looked smaller—more human and less terrifying.
Vikram awkwardly entered halfway before stopping.
Sadhna looked up immediately.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she quietly asked, “Are you bleeding because of me?”
Vikram touched the bandage near his cheek.
“Mostly because of the other lunatic.”
A faint, confused expression crossed her face.
“The angry guy?”
“Yeah.
Red-eye karate psychopath.”
Despite everything, Sadhna almost smiled slightly.
Almost.
Then silence returned.
Vikram scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
“So… you okay?”
The question sounded stupid immediately after leaving his mouth.
Sadhna stared at him blankly.
“My parents died.”
“…Right.
Sorry.”
Fantastic conversation skills.
She lowered her eyes quietly.
“I hurt people too.”
Vikram sat carefully in the chair beside her bed.
“Technically, your hair hurt people.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Yeah, I realized halfway through saying it.”
Sadhna looked toward the window silently as rain tapped softly against the glass.
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
Neither did Vikram fully.
But before he could answer, the ward door opened.
A man entered quietly, wearing plain clothes despite the unmistakable presence of authority surrounding him.
SP Samradh was tall, young, and sharp-eyed, with a completely calm expression as two officers followed behind him carrying files.
The atmosphere inside the room changed instantly.
Detached.
Controlled.
Dangerously observant.
Samradh looked first at Sadhna, then at Vikram, with his gaze lingering slightly longer on Vikram’s bruised face.
“You two caused significant damage,” he said calmly.
Neither answered.
Samradh pulled a chair silently and sat before them.
His voice never rose.
That somehow made him more intimidating.
Sadhna hugged herself slightly.
“I don’t know what happened.”
Samradh looked directly into her eyes for several seconds, then nodded once.
“You genuinely don’t.”
He shifted his attention toward Vikram now.
“But you know more.”
Vikram immediately regretted existing.
Samradh folded his hands together calmly.
“Hospital witnesses describe impossible events.”
No answer.
“A man punching through walls.”
Silence.
“Hair moving independently.”
Still silence.
“People surviving injuries they should not survive.”
Vikram exhaled slowly.
Power stood nearby, watching carefully.
Finally, Vikram spoke carefully.
“…More incidents like this are going to happen.”
The room became quieter.
Samradh’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“That sounds less like a guess and more like information.”
Vikram stayed quiet.
Samradh leaned slightly forward.
“Who are you?”
“A guy having a terrible week.”
“Full name.”
Vikram hesitated briefly before answering.
“Vikram Aditya Trimul.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Samradh froze.
Not visibly dramatic, but enough.
His eyes widened very slightly before returning to normal almost instantly.
Still, Vikram noticed.
Power noticed too.
Interesting.
Samradh slowly leaned backward again and remained silent for several moments before finally standing up calmly.
“We’ll continue this conversation another time.”
Vikram frowned slightly.
“That’s it?”
Samradh ignored the question completely and instead looked toward the officers outside the room.
“Place security around this ward.
Nobody enters without clearance.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samradh glanced once more toward Vikram.
“If another incident happens…”
His tone remained calm.
“…inform me before the city burns.”
Then he walked out.
No explanation.
No accusations.
Just quiet authority.
Vikram stared after him, confused.
“Why did he react weirdly to my name?”
Power remained thoughtful.
“Unknown.”
Inside another part of Mumbai, King sat alone inside his ruined apartment, drinking directly from a whiskey bottle while blood still stained his knuckles.
The room remained dark except for city lights leaking through broken windows, and his jaw still hurt from Vikram’s punch.
That irritated him more than losing consciousness.
Then laughter echoed inside his mind.
Not one voice.
Seven.
Different tones.
Different personalities.
All mocking him.
Wrath laughed the loudest.
“You got beaten by an amateur.”
Greed snickered.
“Embarrassing investment.”
Envy hissed softly.
“The Supreme fool.”
Pride sounded disgusted.
“Pathetic.” Find the original chapter at g.com.
King slammed the bottle against the wall violently, causing glass to explode across the room.
“Shut up.”
Lust chuckled lazily.
“Temper tantrum.”
Sloth yawned dramatically.
“I expected disappointment, but this feels excessive.”
Gluttony laughed deeply.
“At least he punches well.”
King rubbed his forehead angrily.
“One fight.”
“One loss,” Pride corrected immediately.
Wrath snarled inside his mind.
“You let him choke you unconscious.”
King’s eyes glowed faintly red again.
“Because the hair girl interfered.”
“Excuses,” Envy whispered.
The apartment darkened slightly as all seven sins laughed together, and King genuinely looked homicidal.
Then finally, Kali’s colder voice emerged above the chaos.
“Enough.”
Silence followed instantly.
Kali continued calmly.
“It is time for another sin.”
King leaned back while breathing heavily, and his smile slowly returned.
Now that sounded interesting.
Much later that night, Vikram sat alone inside his room, staring at the bronze Mudra resting in his palm.
The crown above the letters BMV glowed faintly beneath the moonlight, while his body still ached from today’s insanity: hospital destruction, supernatural hair storms, a psychopath named King, and SP Samradh acting strangely after hearing his name.
Everything felt increasingly impossible.
Power’s voice entered his mind quietly.
“Ready?”
Vikram sighed.
“Not even slightly.”
The Mudra glowed brighter.
Reality folded.
Suddenly, the world vanished beneath his feet.
Vikram reappeared inside Mayasabha once again.
Massive golden halls stretched endlessly beneath floating lanterns while rivers flowed through marble floors, reflecting impossible stars overhead.
Power stood waiting near the throne chamber entrance.
Tonight, she wore her usual royal attire once more.
Crimson silk layered with gold embroidery flowed around her elegantly while a jeweled crown rested above her neatly braided hair, and her sharp eyes watched him calmly as always.
“Welcome back,” she said.
Vikram looked around tiredly.
“This place somehow keeps becoming more stressful.”
Power ignored the complaint.
“It is time for another test.”
Vikram immediately groaned.
“Can I get one normal week before mystical character development?”
“No.”
She stepped closer slightly.
“If you pass this trial, you gain another ability.”
That part caught his attention.
“…Useful ability?”
“Potentially.”
Vikram narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“That answer felt manipulative.”
Power raised one finger calmly.
“Remember one thing carefully.”
The atmosphere around them shifted slightly.
“This trial is not about brute force.”
The great doors of Mayasabha slowly opened behind her.
“It is about virtue.”
Before Vikram could ask further, the world changed instantly.
The palace vanished.
Cold rain slammed against his face violently while thunder exploded overhead.
Vikram stumbled forward, suddenly standing aboard a massive wooden ship trapped in the middle of a terrifying storm.
Waves crashed against the vessel hard enough to shake the entire deck while sailors screamed and pulled ropes desperately, and lightning illuminated black oceans stretching endlessly in every direction.
Vikram looked down at himself.
Different clothes.
Rough sailor garments soaked completely from rainwater.
“What the—”
CRACK.
A whip slammed painfully across his back.
“MOVE YOUR ASS, BOY!”
Vikram spun around instantly.
A massive captain stood behind him, gripping the whip furiously while rain poured down his scarred face.
“You wanna die in this storm?!” the captain roared.
Another wave smashed against the ship violently.
And somewhere far beneath the ocean, something enormous moved.