The golden light of the pavilion had turned a sickly, bruised purple in Vyan’s eyes.
He stood trembling, his mind still trying to reconcile the “Dada” who had shared fruit with him with the monster now looming over him.
“Spirit,” Bak-asura hissed, his voice no longer frail but vibrating with a dark, resonant power.
“Leave us. Now.”
The Spirit hesitated, its indigo eyes flickering with a moment of silent pity as it looked at the boy who had just signed his life away.
But the laws of the Grotto were absolute.
It bowed to the new Master, let out a soft, mourning sigh, and vanished into the mist.
“Dada, you’re scaring—”
Vyan didn’t finish.
Bak-asura moved with a speed no Grade 1 could track.
A knee, hard as a boulder from the Sunscars, slammed into Vyan’s gut.
The force was catastrophic.
Vyan’s breath vanished instantly; saliva and a spray of copper-tasting blood erupted from his mouth.
He hit the floor on his knees, hands clutching his stomach, his mouth open in a silent, agonizing scream as his lungs fought for air that wouldn’t come.
Bak-asura watched him, his face twisted into a mask of pure, sadistic satisfaction.
He didn’t wait for the boy to recover.
He swung a heavy boot, kicking Vyan squarely in the cheek.
“You fucking brat,” Bak-asura spat, each word punctuated by a vicious kick to Vyan’s ribs.
“Do you know… how much… I wanted… to do this… from day one?”
“I apologize! I apologize!” Vyan wailed, his voice breaking as he withered on the ground.
He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for; he only knew that the world had turned into pain.
Pain forced the tears out with eyes becoming blood-red.
Bak-asura stopped, breathing hard, his eyes shining with a dark light.
“Spirit! Does this place have a cellar?”
The Spirit reappeared, its form dim.
“I greet the Master. There is a cold-chamber in the caves beneath the waterfall.”
“Take him there,” Bak-asura commanded.
“No food. No medicine. Let him rot in the dark for few weeks. If he dies, he was too weak to be of use. If he lives… we begin the true work.”
A month passed within the Gilded Horizon, but for Vyan, time had ceased to exist.
Deep within the damp, sunless cellar, a small figure lay on the stone-cold floor.
He was nearly naked, his body a map of purple bruises, jagged scabs, and yellowing welts.
To a stranger, he would look like a corpse tossed aside by a scavenger.
For the first two weeks, Bak-asura came every morning.
He didn’t speak.
He simply laughed—that dry, rasping laugh—as he broke Vyan’s body again and again.
Bak-asura only hit harder, sometimes reaching into Vyan’s chest to violently drain his Prana, leaving the boy’s Celestial Spindle gasping for energy.
By the third week, the morning beatings weren’t enough.
Bak-asura began returning at night with a heavy cane.
By the end of the month, the boy had stopped speaking.
He no longer asked “Why?” He no longer apologized.
When the door creaked open, he simply rolled onto his side and accepted the impact.
His twelve -and-a-half-year-old mind was broken, once filled with curiosity and dreams of a home, was now a fractured glass pane.
“If he survives this,” Bak-asura whispered to himself as he looked down at the shivering boy, “A perfect vessel… with a Celestial spindle.”
Next day,
The heavy iron door groaned open once more.
Bak-asura stepped in, a fresh cane in his hand and a wide, hungry smile on his face.
Thanks for reading!
Vyan’s journey into the dark heart of the Kaliyuga is accelerating, and the stakes have never been higher.
The path of power is ruthless, and a single misstep could change everything.
Can’t wait to see how the chaos unfolds?
You don’t have to wait for the schedule!
Chapter 32: The Phantom Filament Chapter 31: Prana Efficiency Chapter 30: The Geometry of Ascension …and many more!