India—a land once called Bharatvarsha in the ancient scrolls—had become a modern marvel. From the snowy peaks of the Himalayas to the golden shores of Kanyakumari, the country stood tall in what many believed to be a golden era.
Technology had soared beyond imagination. Science pushed the limits of the possible. And yet, amid satellites and skyscrapers, ancient traditions continued to breathe.
Temples rang with sacred chants that had echoed through centuries. Holy rivers still flowed with life, and the soil—rich and forgiving—bore not just crops, but the quiet blessings of a divine legacy.
India wasn't perfect. No country is. But it had something the world was beginning to forget—Hope.
A kind of hope that lived in the hearts of its people. That hope lit lamps on Diwali nights, echoed in lullabies sung by tired mothers, and smiled in the wrinkles of grandfathers telling stories under banyan trees.
But hope... is fragile.
It began with whispers.
Strange ones. Priests disappeared from sacred lands without a trace. In the jungles and hills, wild animals began howling at the moon—long, sorrowful cries that seemed to carry messages no one could understand. Carvings on temple walls, silent for generations, began to glow faintly under oil lamps, as if trying to warn the world of something long forgotten.
And then, in the ancient and nearly forgotten cave of Ujjain, a ritual—one that was never meant to be completed—was brought to life. A man whose name had been wiped from history performed it in secret.
And something opened.
Not just a crack in the air—A rift.
A Hell Gate.
What came out of it was no storm, no earthquake—But nightmares pulled from the roots of myth.
Rakshasas, Pisachas, Vetalas, Bhutas—creatures that once belonged to fireside tales and crumbling scriptures—crawled back into reality.
A thick black fog rolled out from the gate, creeping into nearby towns. Cities choked in a silence that felt too heavy to explain. Villages simply vanished, leaving behind only cracked slippers, fallen utensils, and echoes.
And Ujjain wasn't the only place.
Gates began to open like bleeding wounds across the land—At the Sun Temple of Konark.Inside the sacred caves of Amarnath.Among the haunted ruins of Chittorgarh.Deep within the tangled jungles of the Sundarbans.
The country of light, festivals, and forward movement had turned into a war zone.
A battle for survival.
As governments crumbled and armies proved helpless against the dark, new forces rose. Not from palaces or parliaments, but from the people themselves.
Some awakened to strange powers buried deep in their bloodlines.Some were chosen by divine relics.And others unlocked abilities through raw desperation and pain.
Together, they formed the last wall between humans and the horror pouring from the gates:The Demon Destroyer Association.The DDA.
They created a new system to understand this chaos—ranking these gifted ones from 1-star to 7-star Hunters, based on strength, skill, and connection to the divine.
The entire nation was now divided into threat zones.White Zones—barely safe.Red Zones—under constant attack.Black Zones—consumed, where nothing living remained.
The DDA operated from sacred sites—ancient forts now rebuilt with modern tech. Places where myth and machine worked side by side. They didn't just fight demons; they fought to keep India alive.
But while cameras followed heroes and newspapers printed stories of battles and victories...
Far away from the spotlight, in a broken street of Bhubaneswar...
Lived a boy.
Satya.
Fat. Quiet. Overlooked. Powerless.
The son of a cycle mechanic and a bedridden mother, Satya did what he could to survive. He worked small jobs—fixing tires, carrying sacks, sweeping stairs. His bones ached. His stomach often went to sleep empty. His heart learned early not to hope.
While others were being chosen—while teenagers discovered powers and joined training camps to become warriors—Satya stayed behind.
Others passed exams, entered elite academies, rose in ranks.
Some became 2-star Hunters. A few even touched 4-stars.They flew, they fought, they trained with mentors.
Satya?
He failed every entrance exam.
He was the one people laughed at in school.The one girls never looked at.The one relatives used as a punchline during weddings.
He didn't fight demons.He fought daily life.And life was winning.
But beyond the noise, beyond the choking clouds of fate...
Something watched.
And very soon, the boy who was nothing would be chosen—By everything.
When gods go silent…The pure-hearted awaken.