The silence pressed in from all sides, wrapping around him like a cold shroud. His mind raced to make sense of what had just transpired, but the haunting words of the malevolent presence refused to be silenced.
"You don't think I will give everything for free, do you?"
The intent behind those words lingered in the air, a dark promise etched into the marrow of his soul. The broken glass embedded in his skin served as a physical reminder of the disturbance that now permeated his being. Yet beneath the pain, something deeper stirred — an unease that ran far beyond the physical.
Vikram sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands clutching his knees as he sifted through the shattered fragments of understanding. The paranormal encounter had left an indelible mark on his psyche, and a single question gnawed at the edges of his sanity:
What had that entity ever given him except pain?
His fingers drifted across his chest, half-expecting to feel remnants of the otherworldly encounter. To his astonishment, his body felt… whole. Rejuvenated. Strength coursed through his limbs, replacing the bone-deep fatigue that had clung to him for months. He flexed his fingers, feeling the energy beneath his skin. His heart, once sluggish and labored, now beat with a steadiness that defied reason.
Confusion twisted through him, cold and sharp. He remembered the diagnosis — advanced-stage heart cancer. Terminal. A death sentence. And yet, here he sat, alive and whole, his body vibrant with newfound strength.
Vikram's hand drifted to his chest, his heartbeat strong beneath his palm. How? The contradiction screamed at him, the clash of certainty and impossibility echoing in his skull.
Frustration flared. He smacked himself on the side of his head. Focus. His mind was circling useless questions when the truth was out there, waiting to be unraveled. The arcane act of removing his heart — the glyphs, the runes, the blood — all of it carried a deeper meaning.
And he would find it.
Vikram pushed himself to his feet, his limbs steady despite the storm within him. His mind was a chaotic whirlwind, but his body… his body was strong. That alone was terrifying. He needed a distraction — something mundane, something real.
The hiss of a soda can cut through the quiet as Vikram poured himself a glass of cold Coke. The sound of the bubbles fizzing and popping filled the silence like static. He took a sip, the chilled sweetness washing over his tongue. A grounding sensation.
Then, it happened.
The glass trembled in his hand. A thin ripple spread across the surface of the Coke.
Vikram's eyes narrowed. His gaze flicked toward the window. Kerala wasn't known for earthquakes — not like this. Setting the glass down, he stepped toward the window and pushed aside the curtain.
Outside, people had stopped. Stopped walking. Stopped talking. Every head was tilted toward the sky. Vikram followed their gaze, and his breath hitched in his throat.
A woman screamed.
Vikram agreed with her.
High above the city, a figure descended from the heavens. A statue. A massive, alabaster figure reminiscent of Mother Mary — but wrong. The statue had no face, only a smooth, featureless surface where her features should have been.
Her arms were outstretched in a gesture of welcome.
Welcoming them to what?
A cold weight settled in Vikram's chest. The events in his room — the entity, the rejuvenation — now seemed to echo on a grand scale. Whatever had happened to him was part of something larger, something monstrous.
The statue continued its slow descent, casting an ethereal glow across the city. Light pooled over the buildings, soft yet unnatural. It seeped into the streets, illuminating the frightened faces of the gathered crowd.
Vikram's pulse quickened as the colossal figure came to a sudden stop mid-air. An unnatural stillness fell over the city. Then, the light began to change — from pale white to golden warmth.
The glow expanded, tendrils of light slipping down toward the ground. One brushed against Vikram's arm, and his breath caught. It was warm. Comforting. It wrapped around him, seeping into his skin. A mother's touch — gentle, soothing. It filled the cracks in his soul, easing the storm within him.
Vikram's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his body loosening under the weight of that embrace. It was intoxicating. His heart, once tainted by disease, now pulsed with renewed strength beneath the light's touch.
Then instinct flared — sharp and primal.
His eyes snapped open. He wrenched his arm away from the light, stumbling back. His breath came fast, heart hammering. His body screamed to surrender to the warmth — but his mind knew better. This was wrong.
No comfort came without cost.
His jaw tightened as he set his priorities.
First, survive.Then…