Dharma's hands trembled slightly as he stepped through his first portal, the Sword of Creation pulsing with an energy that felt foreign in his grip. The camera follows him as the fabric of reality twists and bends around him. He emerges on the other side, standing on the surface of an alien planet. The sky is an eerie green, filled with swirling clouds and many moons. Towering structures of crystal rise from the ground, and strange creatures scurry below. The sensation of another presence in his mind—insistent, commanding—made him flinch.
Dharma approaches the capital city of the planet Zeryath, a sprawling metropolis of spires and glowing orbs. The Zeryathians, a race of insect-like beings with shimmering carapaces, gather in fear as he descends from the sky, his sword blazing with light.
A towering Zeryathian leader steps forward, his voice a guttural growl.
Zeryathian Leader:
"Intruder! You dare set foot on Zeryath? Leave, or be consumed by our wrath!"
Dharma (calm but commanding):
"I come not for war, but for order. Kneel before the will of Rudra, and your people will be spared.
The Zeryathians hiss in defiance. Their leader raises his claw, summoning a tidal wave of crystal shards that surge toward Dharma.
Rudra's Voice (in Dharma's mind): Just a demonstration. Show them what defiance means.
Dharma (murmuring): There must be another way. They haven't harmed anyone.
A sharp pain lanced through his skull, driving him to his knees. The sword in his hand glowed brighter, almost pulling his arm upward of its own accord.
Rudra's Voice: You are my Enforcer. You do not question. You deliver justice.
When Dharma rose, his eyes were clouded, his movements mechanical. With a single swing—far gentler than what Rudra demanded—he shattered the central crystals coming towards him and some of the spires of the colony. The inhabitants fled in terror, their harmonic cries of distress echoing across the barren landscape.
Dharma (hollow voice): Acknowledge Rudra as the supreme authority, and no further harm will come.
The elders gathered, their faces reflecting Dharma's troubled expression back at him as they bowed in submission. As he stepped back through the portal, Dharma caught his reflection in their eyes—a man he barely recognized.
Narrator: On Kaldar, a world of dense forests and ancient magic, Dharma faced his first true resistance. The Kaldari, spiritual beings who had recognized the taint of Rudra's influence, refused to yield.
High Priestess: "We sense the darkness that drives you. The one who sends you is no god of creation but of domination."
Dharma felt Rudra's rage building inside him, the sword growing heavier and hungrier.
Rudra's Voice: They question my divinity. Show them what happens to blasphemers.
Dharma: (through gritted teeth): Please. Surrender. I don't want to—
His plea was cut short as pain exploded behind his eyes. The sword moved of its own accord, cutting through the air with a whistling sound. A wave of energy rippled outward, setting the nearest trees ablaze. The Kaldari scattered, their screams piercing the smoky air.
Rudra's Voice: More. Burn it all.
Dharma (whispering, tears streaming): No. Not the innocent.
The sword pulsed again, sending another wave of destruction that toppled an ancient temple. Dharma managed to direct the energy away from the fleeing civilians, earning him another spike of pain that nearly rendered him unconscious.
When he finally stumbled back through the portal, his uniform was singed, his eyes bloodshot. In the silence of the void between worlds, he doubled over and vomited.
Dharma (whispering to the emptiness): "What am I becoming?"
August 27, 1998 A.D
Narrator: Each world grew easier. Each act of destruction left a smaller scar on his conscience. Rudra's voice became more constant, a perpetual companion that praised his efficiency and scorned his hesitation.
On Arvakis, the water world, Dharma no longer needed to be forced. He emerged from the portal with the sword already drawn, his eyes hard as he addressed the council of amphibious beings.
Dharma (voice steady): "I come in the name of Rudra, Master of All Creation. Your world now falls under his dominion. Resist, and face annihilation."
The Arvakian Chancellor, recognizing the danger, immediately prostrated himself.
Arvakian Chancellor: "Great Enforcer, we submit to Rudra's will. Spare our people, and we shall serve."
As the Arvakians bowed, Dharma felt a momentary rush of relief. No bloodshed today. No more weight added to his soul.
Rudra's Voice: Make an example of one city anyway. Fear is a more reliable motivator than mercy.
Dharma (replying internally): "No. They've surrendered. There's no need."
The pain came swiftly, but Dharma had learned to anticipate it. He weathered the storm, his outward appearance betraying nothing to the cowering aliens before him.
Rudra's Voice: You grow defiant, Enforcer. Remember who gave you that blade.
That night, alone in the void between missions, Dharma examined his reflection in the polished surface of the sword. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and lines had formed at the corners of his mouth—lines of grimness, of suppressed anguish. How long had he been at this? Time lost meaning between worlds.
Dharma(whispering to himself): "I was meant to protect. Not destroy."
The red world of Zentauri marked a turning point. The inhabitants—a warrior race that had conquered neighbouring planets—met Dharma with military force. Their weapons, advanced beyond Earth's technology, actually wounded him. As he knelt bleeding on their crimson soil, Rudra's presence surged within him.
Rudra's Voice(booms): They dare harm my Wielder?! Show them true power!
The sword blazed with blinding light, and Dharma felt his control slipping away entirely. With a roar that was not entirely his own, he unleashed the weapon's full potential as the colossal cosmic storm is unleashed from its depths.
Dharma(loudly): Tomoe! Answer my call!!!!
The resulting devastation was beyond anything he had caused before. Mountains crumbled. Oceans boiled. The planet's very atmosphere began to tear apart.As millions died around him, Dharma watched through eyes that no longer felt like his own. A part of him screamed in horror, but that voice grew fainter, buried beneath layers of Rudra's influence.
When it was over, he stood alone on a dead world. No surrender. No survivors. Just ash and silence.
Rudra's Voice: Perfect. Now you understand your purpose.
Dharma stared at his hands—clean despite the genocide they had just committed. He felt hollow, scraped out as if something essential had been torn from him.
Dharma (mechanical response): "Yes. I understand."
But in the deepest corner of his mind, locked away where even Rudra could not sense it, something stirred. A seed of rebellion, watered by the blood of innocents, taking root in the fertile soil of regret.
Narrator:
Though he carried out Rudra's will with precision, the burden of his actions weighed heavily on him. For each world he visited, the line between justice and tyranny blurred further.
On a desert planet, he faces a legion of armoured warriors with cold precision, his sword cutting through their ranks without emotion. Each slash released waves of lightning that decimated the enemy. He no longer saw them as people, but as obstacles to be removed.
On a gaseous planet, he battled an Ascendant-like being who controlled the winds. Their fight tore through the atmosphere, but Dharma prevailed with mechanical efficiency. No words were exchanged. No mercy was offered.
On a mechanical world ruled by AI overlords, he plunged his blade into the central core, releasing a surge of power that wiped out the planet's systems. As robots fell lifeless around him, he felt nothing. Or pretended not to.
In the void of space, standing on the shattered remains of what had once been a moon, Dharma finally allowed himself to feel. Away from Rudra's watchful gaze, he stared at the stars, his face breaking from its stoic mask. His eyes, once bright with purpose, now revealed a deep, bottomless sadness.
Dharma (voice cracking with disuse): "How many more? How many lives must I take to bring peace?"
The question hung in the emptiness, unanswered. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Dharma allowed himself to weep—silent tears that floated away in the vacuum, evidence of humanity not quite extinguished.
Unbeknownst to Dharma, Rudra watched from the Primordial Plane, his fiery eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he observed his perfect weapon through the Orb of the Universe.
Rudra (laughing): "Ah, my enforcer. So noble at first. So resistant. And now look at you—my perfect instrument of order."
Narrator(grim):
While Dharma's journey across the stars brought other worlds under Rudra's dominion, his homeworld descended into madness. For among those who had once sworn to protect, a dangerous philosophy had taken root.
September 13,2000 A.D
The screen shifts to Earth, the cradle of humanity. The once-thriving world is now plunged into chaos. Fires rage in major cities, Sentinel Squads engage in brutal skirmishes, and the streets are littered with the bodies of Normies and Ascendants alike. The camera moves through a city, where explosions light up the skyline. A rogue group of Sentinels, their faces cold and detached as they mow down fleeing civilians with unrestrained power. One of them, a former member of the American Sentinel Squad, speaks with a chilling calm as flames erupt from his hands:
Rogue Ascendant Leader:
If there's nothing left to protect, there's no need for Sentinels. Let the weak perish. Let the world burn. We are gods among men.
His followers cheer as they raze another building to the ground. The camera pans to pockets of resistance—scattered ISS forces fighting desperately to hold the line. An exhausted ISS soldier shouts into a comm device as alarms blare in the background:
ISS Soldier (panicked):
Command! This is Delta Squad! We're surrounded in here! Civilians are being slaughtered—we can't hold much longer!
The camera cuts to the ISS command centre in New Delhi. Monitors flash red with urgent alerts, each screen displaying live feeds of battles and atrocities from across the globe. Sirens wail incessantly, and soldiers rush between stations, their faces etched with despair. A senior officer slams his fist on a console, his voice shaking with frustration:
ISS Officer:
"They're everywhere! The rogue Sentinels have united. They're targeting the Normies and ISS forces alike. We're spread too thin—we can't fight this on every front!"
The camera cuts to the night sky, where a familiar glowing portal tears through the fabric of reality. Dharma emerges, stepping onto the streets. His eyes widen as he surveys the destruction —entire districts reduced to rubble, the air thick with smoke, and the cries of the dying echoing through the chaos.
His body stiffens, his jaw tightening as his gaze falls on a line of Normie civilians being executed by rogue Ascendants. He grips the Sword of Creation, its blade flickering with suppressed power.
Dharma (quiet, to himself):
This... this isn't war. This is annihilation.