Rohan's knees buckled slightly as Tina's words sank in. The image of Avyaan—his beloved, his soulmate—bound and tortured, chained to the very heart of the celestial realm, was too much to bear. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled silently down his cheeks, cutting through the dust and ash on his face. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from fury. The thought of Avyaan in pain, alone and tormented, ignited something primal inside him. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, anger surging like wildfire through his veins.
Without a word, he stood up and reached for his sword, gripping it with white-knuckled resolve. The steel shimmered faintly, as if responding to the storm within him. Tina reached out instinctively, "Rohan—wait—" But he had already stepped into the open, eyes blazing with purpose. "No more waiting," he said, voice low and fierce. "I'm not letting him suffer another second." And with that, he raced toward the Celestial Hall, heart pounding, ready to face Asura himself—even if it meant walking through fire—to set Avyaan free.
Rohan stormed through the broken streets of the celestial realm like a force of nature, the weight of grief and rage fueling every step. Demons lurking in the shadows leapt at him, snarling—but they didn't stand a chance. With each swing of his Vajrastra, his divine blade crackled with blinding energy, cleaving through them like paper. One after another, they fell—burned, broken, or torn in two. He was unstoppable, his path a trail of fallen darkness. When a battalion of corrupted celestial guards tried to block his way near the gates of the Celestial Hall, Rohan didn't hesitate. With one mighty arc of his blade, he split them down the middle, their twisted armor clattering to the ground. His eyes burned with unrelenting fury, his heart pounding only one name—Avyaan.
He burst through the grand doors of the Celestial Hall, expecting a fight—but the silence was deafening. Asura was gone. The throne was empty. The hall, once radiant, now stood cold and hollow, stained with ash and blood. Panic flickered in Rohan's chest as he searched, his boots echoing across the marble floor. And then—he saw him.
Avyaan.
Tied to the central pillar where divine energy once flowed, now corrupted by black magic. His body hung limp, blood dripping from open wounds, bruises darkening his skin. His once-glowing aura was now faint, flickering like a dying flame. Rohan's sword clattered to the floor as he ran to him, heart shattering at the sight. "Avyaan…" he whispered, voice trembling, reaching up with shaking hands to touch him. "I'm here. I'm getting you out of this."
Rohan gently cut through the dark chains that bound Avyaan, each one sizzling and snapping with a hiss of corrupted energy. As the last chain fell, Avyaan collapsed into his arms—limp, cold, and barely breathing. Rohan gathered him carefully, cradling his beloved as if he were made of glass. Blood stained his robes, but he didn't care. He pressed his forehead to Avyaan's for a moment, whispering, "I've got you. I won't lose you. Not now."
With strength born of desperation, Rohan carried him out of the desolate Celestial Hall, through the still-burning remnants of the realm. Every step was a battle between hope and dread. When he finally reached the hidden shelter where Tina and the wounded King Sura lay, Tina rushed forward in horror at the sight.
Rohan laid Avyaan down gently, brushing strands of matted hair from his pale face. Without hesitation, he placed both hands over Avyaan's chest, summoning his inner light, calling forth every drop of healing power he had. A golden glow pulsed from his palms, washing over Avyaan's battered body, seeking the spark of his golden core—the source of his divine life force.
But what Rohan found brought his heart to a halt.
It wasn't dim.
It wasn't fading.
It was shattered.
His breath caught in his throat. The core—Avyaan's sacred golden core—was broken beyond repair. Every time Rohan tried to weave his light into it, it slipped through the cracks like water through a broken vessel. "No… no, please…" he whispered, his voice cracking as he kept trying, pushing past exhaustion, pouring everything he had into it. "Come back to me… please…"
But it was no use.
The healing glow dimmed.
The silence grew unbearable.
Rohan collapsed beside him, pulling Avyaan into his arms, holding him close—desperate to protect what little warmth remained in his body. His tears came freely now, hot and unstoppable, falling onto Avyaan's bloodied skin. And then he screamed—a cry so raw and full of anguish it shook the very stones beneath them. The sound of a soulmate broken by helplessness, t+he sound of love in pain.
As Rohan held Avyaan in his arms, his body trembling with grief, the last of his healing energy spilled out like a golden tide, pooling around them both. He hadn't noticed that the rhythm of Avyaan's breath had shifted—no longer shallow and fading, but steady… faint, yet alive.
Tina, kneeling nearby, leaned in as a flicker of hope sparked in her chest. Carefully, she reached out and wiped the blood from Avyaan's face, her touch gentle, almost reverent. "His breathing…" she whispered, glancing at Rohan. "It's stable…"
But Rohan didn't respond.
The gut-wrenching sobs that had filled the chamber only moments ago had stopped. Tina turned slowly toward him—and froze.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Rohan's head was bowed, his eyes half-lidded, almost vacant. But more than that, there was a strange energy radiating from him—an aura unlike anything Tina had seen in her thousand years of service under the heavens. It wasn't just celestial. It wasn't just divine. It was ancient. Untouched. Raw and unfamiliar. The air around him shimmered faintly, as though reality itself wasn't sure how to contain him anymore.
"Rohan…" Tina whispered cautiously, rising to her feet. "Can you hear me?"
He didn't move. The glow around him pulsed, a halo of golden fire interwoven with streaks of silver and deep violet—colors that didn't belong to any known celestial order.
Tina took a step back, her heart pounding. "This… this isn't normal," she murmured to herself. "This energy… I've never felt anything like it—not even from the kings."
And in that moment, realization struck her like lightning.
Something inside Rohan—something long dormant—had begun to stir.
Something the world had forgotten… or perhaps feared to remember.
The strange energy around Rohan surged like a rising tide, rippling through the air as his body slowly lifted from the ground. His eyes, once filled with pain, now glowed with an ethereal light—calm, distant, and filled with a power beyond mortal comprehension. Without a word, he rose higher, the wind swirling violently around him, responding to the awakening force within.
Tina shielded her eyes from the gusts, staring up in awe and disbelief. "Rohan…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What are you becoming…?"
Rohan's gaze turned toward the sky—toward the Celestial Hall.
And he moved.
Faster than thought, faster than sound, he flew like a streak of living light, cutting through the clouds, the air parting around him like a curtain. The shattered realm blurred beneath him as he soared, a god reborn in the shell of a grieving man.
As he approached the Celestial Hall, his eyes locked on a familiar, sinister figure.
There stood Asura—the Demon God—perched atop the ruined throne like a vulture on a corpse. His aura was thick with corruption, and around him stood a legion of elite demons, cloaked in fire and shadow. He barked orders with fury, "Find him! I want Avyaan brought to me alive or in pieces!"
But then he paused.
The air shifted. The sky dimmed.
He turned—and saw Rohan.
Floating mid-air, surrounded by a golden storm, Rohan's presence alone bent the atmosphere. His aura pulsed like a heartbeat, waves of divine force spreading outward.
Asura narrowed his eyes, a flicker of unease breaking through his arrogance. "What is this…?" he growled.
Before he could react further, his elite demons launched toward Rohan in a coordinated assault—fanged, clawed, monstrous beings, each one powerful enough to tear through armies.
But Rohan didn't flinch.
He lifted one hand. No weapon. No chant.
Just a single, fluid motion.
He swirled his hand once through the air—and reality itself seemed to tear open. A ring of pure energy rippled outward from his palm, silent at first… and then devastating. The demons froze mid-air, as if caught in an invisible grip—before being torn apart. Shredded into countless glowing fragments, they disintegrated in a flash of golden fire.
There were no ashes.
No screams.
Only silence. Rohan's voice cut through the quiet like thunder. "You wanted to break him… Now face what that unleashed."
Asura's eyes blazed with fury as he watched his most powerful demons reduced to dust in the blink of an eye. The air around him rippled with rage. "You dare…" he growled, voice low and venomous. "You dare show me fear, mortal?"
With a roar that cracked the sky, Asura drew his monstrous blade—Hellfang, a jagged weapon forged in the depths of the underworld, pulsing with cursed fire. Its very presence warped the space around it, leaking tendrils of black smoke that hissed against the sacred air of the realm. And then, in a blur, he moved—his form vanishing into a streak of crimson light, charging toward Rohan with the speed of a lightning bolt.
But Rohan didn't move.
He didn't even blink.
At the very last moment—just as Hellfang came within inches of cleaving him in two—Rohan raised a single hand and caught the blade.
Caught it.
The impact should have shattered mountains. The shockwave tore through the sky, sending clouds scattering like broken glass. But Rohan remained perfectly still, holding Asura's weapon in his bare hand. Sparks flew. Energy cracked. The blade trembled against his grip as if it were afraid.
Asura's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible…"
Rohan looked up slowly, his voice calm and cold. "You've drawn blood from gods, shattered realms, and tried to break my soul. But you made one mistake…" His grip tightened on the blade, and dark veins of golden light began to crawl up the sword's edge, corroding it. "You touched him."
With a sudden pulse of power, Rohan unleashed a shockwave that sent Asura flying backward, crashing through the walls of the Celestial Hall, leaving a massive crater in the ground. Dust and debris filled the air, but Rohan hovered untouched, glowing brighter by the second—like a rising star on the edge of divinity.
He slowly floated forward, voice like thunder on the horizon. "This ends now, Asura."
Rohan surged forward like a meteor, a streak of golden light crashing through the sky. In the blink of an eye, he reached the crater where Asura had been hurled—his feet touching down with a force that sent ripples through the shattered marble beneath him. Smoke swirled around him, and the air sizzled with residual power.
But the crater was empty.
Rohan's eyes narrowed. His senses sharpened, scanning the ruins for even the faintest flicker of demonic presence. Nothing. Just silence and dust.
And then—a sound.
A low, mocking laughter echoed through the air.
Rohan turned just in time to see Asura above him, wings spread wide, his twisted form silhouetted against the storm-dark sky. "You're powerful, I'll give you that," Asura sneered, voice laced with venom. "But you've let grief blind you."
Before Rohan could react, Asura vanished again in a flash—behind him this time. Rohan spun around, but not fast enough. With a savage roar, Asura slashed downward with Hellfang, the cursed blade now burning hotter than ever.
The strike landed.
Rohan was sent hurtling through the air, his body smashing through pillars and walls like a comet of light crashing through stone. He hit the ground hard, disappearing beneath a pile of shattered debris.
The earth trembled.
Dust rose into the sky.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—there was silence.
Asura hovered above, breathing heavily, a twisted grin forming on his face. "Even with all that new power," he taunted, "you're still just a broken soul with a pretty light show."
As Asura floated above the debris, his wings beating against the storm-heavy skies, a flicker of light shimmered through the dust. It moved like a streak of lightning—sharp, purposeful, and furious.
Vajrastra.
The divine weapon, Rohan's sacred sword, rose from the ruin with a will of its own, drawn by the bond it shared with its master. It spun through the air with radiant force, a beam of golden fire, and lunged toward Asura like a vengeful spirit.
Caught off guard, Asura narrowed his eyes and quickly threw Hellfang into the air to intercept the strike. The two blades collided with a deafening clang that cracked the sky, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. Sparks burst in every direction as the clash of divine and cursed steel lit up the clouds above like a second sun.
But while Asura was locked in the clash, too focused on the sword in front of him—he didn't see what was coming from below.
The wind shifted.
The light surged.
And then—
Rohan burst from the debris in a golden flash, eyes burning with divine fury, his robes torn and blood streaking his skin, but his resolve unshaken. He moved with impossible speed—faster than before, faster than sight. In a single instant, he crossed the distance, his figure a blur of wrath and righteousness.
Asura's instincts screamed—but it was too late.
Rohan charged, his fist glowing with celestial energy, and slammed into Asura's chest with bone-crushing force. The impact cracked the armor around Asura's heart and sent him flying backward, spiraling through the sky like a meteor struck by lightning.
"You shouldn't have come for him," Rohan growled, his voice low and trembling with wrath. "You shouldn't have touched what was mine."
Asura crashed into a distant tower, the structure collapsing beneath him. For a moment, there was silence once more—but now the battlefield crackled with tension, divine power thick in the air.
The battle between Rohan and Asura raged on for days—an unending storm of divine light clashing with infernal darkness. Celestial skies bled with fire, and the stars themselves trembled as their power tore through the heavens. Every strike shattered the land below; every clash of sword and energy sent shockwaves cascading down into the mortal realm, where earthquakes, storms, and unnatural tides marked the wrath of gods in war.
Neither gave way.
Rohan fought with the fury of love, loss, and vengeance, his soul burning brighter with every passing moment. Asura, fueled by ancient hatred and unholy power, refused to yield, even as his body bore the scars of countless blows.
But Rohan began to tire. The toll of days of battle was evident in the flicker of his aura, the tremble in his stance—no matter how deep his resolve ran.
Asura saw his opening.
With a cruel smirk, he stepped back and whispered a forbidden chant in the language of the void. Dark tendrils of energy coiled from his hands, swirling into a horrific spell that tore open the veil between realms. From within that shadow, he conjured a puppet—not just any illusion, but a grotesque mimicry of Avyaan.
The puppet bled.
It trembled.
Chains of cursed energy held it aloft, and its eyes—Avyaan's eyes—looked at Rohan with fear and pain.
"No," Rohan breathed, his heart dropping.
"Look at him!" Asura laughed maniacally, raising the puppet higher. "Your precious soulmate—suffering again. You failed him once. You'll fail him again!"
Rohan stood frozen, his hands trembling. The image was too real. Too cruel. The sight of Avyaan chained, bleeding, and crying out crushed something deep inside him.
And then Asura raised Hellfang once more—aimed directly at the puppet's heart.
"Watch him die again, Rohan."
Time slowed.
Rohan's breath hitched.
The past, the love, the pain, the promise—they all surged forward like a tidal wave.
As Asura's blade hovered over the puppet's heart, Rohan's entire world tilted.
His breath caught in his throat, and in that frozen moment, time unraveled inside him.
Images—memories long buried—came flooding back like a dam shattered by grief.
He saw himself once more, younger, burning with longing and hope, entering the Celestial Realm for the first time. He had come searching… not for war, not for power, but for Avyaan. Drawn by a bond neither time nor realm could break.
He had wandered the golden corridors, asked questions no one would answer, dared to reach for a truth that frightened the divine.
And then—the accusations.
A stolen relic. A false charge. Celestial guards with unreadable faces. Avyaan, caught in the storm, torn between his loyalty to the realm and the pull of a love he wasn't allowed to name.
Rohan remembered the betrayal in their eyes.
The rage that had boiled inside him.
He had fought. He had screamed. The celestial realm had cracked under the weight of his fury. Towers fell. Skies split.
And then—The blade.
Avyaan's blade piercing his back. The only wound that had ever truly hurt.
Not because of the pain—but because of the hand that delivered it.
Avyaan...
Rohan's body trembled, and he dropped from the sky, crashing onto the broken earth like a fallen star. Dust rose around him as he fell to his knees, clutching his head, his breath ragged.
The memories clawed at him—raw, vicious, and unrelenting. His power flickered wildly around him, rising and falling with the storm inside his heart.
Above, Asura grinned triumphantly. "Ah… there it is. The moment your strength unravels. You remember now, don't you? That he was the one who betrayed you."
Rohan barely heard him.
His world had collapsed inward—memories, truth, love, heartbreak… all spiraling into chaos.