Chapter One: The Death Match Invitation
The battlefield reeked of blood and steel. Bodies littered the ground, their lifeless forms bathed in moonlight. A lone figure stood amidst the carnage, an axe in his hand, dripping with fresh blood. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the cries of the dead and the howl of a dog in the distance.
The man took one last look at the fallen before fading into the shadows.
Chapter Two: Shadows of the Village
Dogs barked behind the wooden fences of the village, their loyalty once pure, now a symbol of the Clan Vetala. The village lay blanketed in darkness, its peace a mere illusion.
"This village," a voice whispered, "is a battleground of abilities."
Eight clans ruled this land, each with powers passed down through generations. But among them, the Vetala stood alone—feared and revered. Their blood was a mystery, their loyalty, a weapon.
The following morning, the battlefield had been cleaned, but the air remained heavy with tension. Soldiers, overconfident and loud, mocked the silence that followed. Laughter echoed through the village center as Bhargava, known to all as Rama Parashu—the proud leader of the Vetala Clan—rested his axe against his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
From the crowd emerged a hooded girl, a stranger in a sea of familiarity. She approached Parashu with purpose and handed him a sealed letter.
"This is for you," she said. "An invitation... to your death match."
Parashu ripped the seal and scanned the parchment. It was the announcement for the annual village tournament—where the winner would rule for the next year.
He smirked. "Easy."
The stranger returned the smirk. "Don't forget—every father has a godfather."
She vanished into the crowd, leaving only questions behind.
Chapter Three: The Arena Awakens
By midday, the village gathered at the battle arena. Warriors lined the edges, weapons drawn, sharpening steel against stone. Tension hung thick in the air.
Parashu stepped into the center of the arena, calm, composed—as if victory were already his. Across from him stood the reigning village leader, a scarred and seasoned warrior.
Their eyes locked.
Chapter Four: The Legacy of Jamadagni
Years ago, a lone man had stood in the face of impossible odds. Jamadagni—Parashu's father—faced down a horde of a thousand with nothing but his resolve.
"Run!" he'd shouted to the villagers. "I'll hold them off!"
The enemy had hesitated.
"Is that... the One-Man Defense Army?" their leader had whispered. "We can't defeat him."
Fear took them. They fled.
And Jamadagni, bloodied but unbroken, had returned to his village, victorious. But not every story ends in glory.
Chapter Five: The Fall
In the present, Parashu moved first. One punch sent the village leader crashing to the ground. Parashu stood over him, laughing.
"A weakling like you... a leader?"
The elder coughed blood and smirked.
"People don't care who suffers. The winner is the real hero."
Power gathered in his hands—an ancient technique known only to a few: the Air Flesh Technique.
Before Parashu could react, the leader struck. Wind exploded through the arena. Parashu was hurled backward, breathless.
Gasping, he tried to stand.
"This... technique..."
The leader's eyes were cold. "You should've used it while I was down. Too late now."
With a final strike, Parashu collapsed.
Chapter Six: Ghosts of the Past
Somewhere far away, in a darkened cave, Jamadagni hung from chains. His body weak, breath shallow.
A hero... betrayed.
Chapter Seven: The Message
Parashu awoke later, staggering home in silence. At his doorstep lay a wooden box labeled: "SPECIAL GIFT BOX FOR PARASHU NO:01."
Inside—
A human hand.
Parashu froze.
A letter rested beneath it: "A leader who can't protect his own people doesn't deserve to rule."
Chapter Eight: The Stranger's Truth
That night, Parashu stood before his clan.
"Is everyone safe?" he asked.
"Yes," someone replied. "Everything's fine."
Parashu held up the letter.
"Then what is this?"
A voice rang out from the doorway. "Are you sure this is just a prank?"
The stranger stepped forward.
"That hand... it belonged to a warrior. Maybe one of ours."
Parashu's fists clenched. "How do I find out?"
"You need to master your bloodline," the stranger replied. "And that journey begins with your father."
Chapter Nine: Ashes and Blades
They traveled under the veil of night to the burnt ruins of Jamadagni's home. Ash clung to every stone, the remains of a past destroyed.
Parashu sifted through the rubble until his fingers brushed something cold. He unearthed an ancient, blood-stained sword.
"Just a sword..."
The stranger shook his head. "It was forged from your father's blood. It's your inheritance."
Parashu gripped the blade tighter.
"I need to train. I need to become stronger."
"Then let's begin," the stranger said.
They stood in silence, moonlight glinting off the blade. The forest around them stirred as if sensing the start of something fateful..