Varun stumbled out of the fortress, his movements slow and deliberate.
He thought back to what happened just now.
10 minute ago:
'Why?'he whispered, his voice a low, guttural growl. 'Why did you kill my child?'.
Looking at the bloodthirsty eyes of the man standing fore to him, **Stench of pee** The man peed himself.
The man, sensing the chilling intent in Varun's eyes, knew his fate was sealed.
In a desperate act, he reached for a small, ornate dagger hidden within his robes.
He intended to end his own life, to escape the inevitable torment at Varun's hands.
With a swift motion, he brought the dagger to his throat, ready to slit his own veins.
However, Varun, his senses heightened, anticipated the move. He reacted with inhuman speed, his hand shooting out to intercept the dagger.
The man's wrist snapped under Varun's grip, the dagger clattering to the floor.
But Varun had underestimated the man's resolve. In a final, desperate act, the man bit down hard on his own tongue, his eyes bulging with a mixture of terror and defiance.
A dark red liquid oozed from his mouth, staining his lips and chin.
Varun, watching him killing himslef by biting his tongue off.
He slumped to the ground. A wave of desolate emptiness washed over Varun.
The man, the architect of his suffering, had denied him even the meager satisfaction of vengeance.
By biting off his own tongue, he had chosen a swift, brutal end, escaping the agonizing retribution Varun had intended.
Varun stared at the lifeless body, the crimson stain spreading across the man's face, and a hollow ache settled in his chest.
It wasn't just the man's death; it was the theft of his rage, the denial of his right to inflict the same pain that had been inflicted upon him.
He had been robbed of his vengeance, his grief twisted into a bitter, impotent fury.
He felt a profound sense of failure. He couldn't avenge Kajal, couldn't avenge the unborn child ripped from him.
The man's self-destruction was a final, mocking act of defiance, a cruel reminder of Varun's helplessness.
The justice he craved, the retribution he needed to claw his way out of despair, was now forever out of reach.
The man had taken that, too, with him into the silence of death.
-----------------------------
Author's POV
The ground beneath his feet was slick with blood, a crimson mirror reflecting the carnage within.
The air was thick with the stench of iron and death, a grim testament to the violence he had unleashed.
As he walked away from the fortress, the sky began to weep, a torrential rain mirroring the tears that streamed down his face.
The rain washed away the bloodstains, blurring the lines between the crimson earth and the grey sky.
It seemed as if nature itself was mourning the loss, the heavens weeping for the innocent lives lost and the darkness that had consumed Varun's soul.
He walked on, a ghost in the rain, his footsteps echoing in the desolate landscape, the weight of his actions heavy upon his shoulders.
He didn't know where he was going, didn't know what he would do. All he knew was that he had to find a way to move on, to find some semblance of peace in a world that had been irrevocably shattered.
The weight of his grief, the guilt of his actions, and the loss of Kajal and their unborn child pressed down upon him, threatening to crush him.
Yet, amidst the despair, a flicker of resolve ignited within him.
He would find a way to honor their memory, to use his abilities to make a difference, to create a world where such tragedies would never occur again.
As the rain continued to fall, washing away the blood and the memories,
Varun continued to walk, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a lone figure against the backdrop of a storm-swept sky.
His journey was far from over, his path uncertain, but he knew one thing for sure: he would never be the same again.
Unbeknownst to him, Daivik was observing his actions and contemplating the changes.