Pralaya stood at the heart of the junkyard — a graveyard of twisted metal and forgotten machines. The air was thick with the scent of rust and oil, and the ground crunched beneath his bare feet — broken glass, shattered circuits, and fragments of things that had long lost their purpose. Yet amid this desolation, Pralaya stood perfectly still. His breathing slowed, his eyes closing as he reached inward.
The hum of the junkyard faded until all that remained was the quiet thrum of his own existence — and the pulse of his karmic energy, waiting to be unleashed. It coiled inside him like a caged beast, heavy and burning, just waiting for a moment of release.
When his eyes opened, they gleamed with a strange, cold light. He raised his hand slowly, his fingers curling as if grasping something invisible. The air shifted. A sudden gust swept through the junkyard, and the scattered debris around him began to tremble.
And then — he moved.
In a blink, he was gone from where he had stood, the ground exploding in his wake. The next instant, he was twenty feet away, his hand buried wrist-deep in the side of a rusted steel tower. The entire structure groaned under the impact, cracks spiderwebbing outward before it collapsed with a deafening crash. But Pralaya wasn't there anymore.
He had already moved again.
He danced through the wreckage with terrifying speed, his movements fluid and inhuman. One second, he was on the ground, the next he was above it, perched on a crumbling girder like a phantom. He leapt — and the girder snapped like a twig beneath the force. Midair, his palm struck out, and a wave of karmic energy burst forth.
A hundred yards away, an entire wall of scrap metal exploded outward, shards flying in every direction. But as the deadly shrapnel rained toward him, Pralaya simply raised a finger — and the air itself seemed to ripple and shift around him. The metal froze in place, suspended for a heartbeat, before it fell harmlessly to the ground.
Pralaya stared at his hand, eyes wide with disbelief. A slow, excited grin spread across his face.
"I… I can't believe I just did that," he whispered.
The power — it was intoxicating.
But he wanted more.
His mind flashed back to the man in black — the one who had slain the cursed spirit with terrifying ease. That sword technique… the final attack that had cut through the monster like it was nothing. Could he replicate that?
Pralaya bent down and picked up a rusted steel rod. He closed his eyes, remembering the man's movements. They had been so sharp, so precise — a perfect blend of grace and destruction.
He took a breath.
The air around him seemed to still.
Karmic energy surged within him like a rushing wave, coiling around his limbs, sharpening his senses. He moved —
And then everything went wrong.
The moment his body shifted, his karmic energy turned against him. It shot inward, folding back on itself like a snake biting its own tail. The pain was instant and absolute.
It felt like his entire body was on fire from the inside out.
Pralaya's veins pulsed violently, his muscles seizing as the energy ran rampant through him. A strangled cry escaped his throat, and he dropped to his knees, the steel rod clattering to the ground. Blood splattered the dirt as he coughed, his body convulsing with every pulse of pain.
His vision blurred. His heartbeat roared in his ears. Every breath was agony.
It felt endless.
For seven long minutes, Pralaya writhed on the ground, his body completely at the mercy of the energy that had once felt so powerful — so exhilarating. And now it was tearing him apart.
When the pain finally began to subside, he lay there, trembling and drenched in sweat. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. Every inch of him ached. He couldn't move.
But the world had no intention of letting him rest.
A deafening explosion shattered the stillness. The ground quaked beneath him, and Pralaya's eyes snapped open. He turned his head toward the source of the blast — a thick plume of black smoke rising in the distance.
His home.
"No…" Pralaya whispered, his voice raw.
Ignoring the pain in his body, he forced himself to his feet. His legs shook beneath him, but he stayed upright. He grabbed his few belongings and began running, every step sending fresh waves of agony through his limbs.
But he didn't stop.
Please be okay…
The thought repeated in his mind like a prayer. Despite everything his parents had done — the coldness, the cruelty — they were still his family. And family was all he had.
As he reached the slums near his home, chaos consumed the streets. People ran in every direction, their faces twisted with fear and confusion. The air was filled with screams and the acrid scent of burning.
Pralaya grabbed a man who was fleeing past him. "What happened?!" he demanded.
"I don't know!" the man shouted, his eyes wild. "An explosion — and then things just started… breaking! Like there was something there, but no one could see it!"
The man shoved Pralaya aside and kept running.
Pralaya hit the ground hard, his body screaming in protest. But his mind latched onto the man's words.
An explosion. Invisible destruction.
"Śūnyayoma…" Pralaya whispered, his blood running cold.
But why wasn't anyone able to see it?
He pushed the thought aside and forced himself back up, sprinting toward his home.
When he finally reached the area, he froze.
The scene before him was pure horror.
Bodies lay scattered across the ground — some crushed, some burned beyond recognition. Houses had collapsed into smoldering ruins. The air reeked of blood and smoke and something far worse.
And then — his vision shifted.
For a heartbeat, he was somewhere else. The same twisted, distorted world he had seen when the cursed spirit had taken hold of him. The same darkness, the same ruin.
When his vision snapped back to reality, the two were indistinguishable.
The smell of burning flesh hit him like a physical blow, and his stomach twisted violently. He doubled over, barely managing to keep from vomiting.
But there was no time for weakness.
He forced himself to stand, his eyes locked on the inferno ahead. The place he called home — the only home he had ever known — was being reduced to ash.
And whatever was responsible for this nightmare… was still here.