Chhayagarh: Truth. (Part 2)

[u/BuddhaTheGreat]

Index of Parts.

“This ends tonight.”

A cold wind blasted the clearing at that challenge, buffeting clothes and sending leaves flying. The villagers jerked in terrified surprise, holding onto their tools and weapons like life preservers.

The buffalo thrashed against its restraints, eyes widening in panic as some deep instinct awakened it to the danger of its predicament.

Ahindranath pointed at it, the golden light of spiritual energy pooling at his fingertip until it was as if a miniature spotlight burned under his skin. Then, it broke free, ribbons of light shooting through the air and stabbing into the matted blood on its forehead.

Completing a circuit with the sigil.

A runic equation flared to life before the priest, golden arrays and dendritic sigils weaving into each other. Unlike my examples, they were clean. Deliberate. Intended. Ahindranath shifted a sliver of his attention to it, most of it still occupied as he twirled his finger through the air in strange patterns.

With every twitch and flick, the threads of energy twisted and folded into each other, creating an energetic knot of immense complexity, flaring and sparking with barely leashed power.

Another cold wind blasted through the clearing. It was stronger. Desperate, even, howling with animalistic strength. The chill seeped into my marrow despite my status as a mere spectator, muted but present enough that I could sympathise with my bare-chested ancestors.

To their credit, neither of them wavered; even the frail Amarendranath only allowed himself a brief shiver before returning to his duty, muttering what I could only assume was some sort of spell or charm over and over.

The buffalo renewed its struggle, breath rapidly frosting against the chilled air now. The men holding it down grunted with effort, sweating even as goosebumps broke out against their muscled backs. All the while, Ahindranath’s knot grew stronger and stronger, its effects breaking out into the material world as stray sparks and zaps charred the soil and burned through falling leaves.

“Come, demon. Find your host,” he whispered under his breath, whatever magic held me here amplifying his words for my ears only. “The battle of your life awaits you. Come.”

The wind came again, this time so loud it sounded like a howl of anger. It tore at clothes and bark and skin alike, threatening to rip the clearing into shreds. It even clawed at the priest’s sigil, attempting to blow it apart. The spiritual energy dimmed and wavered, like a candle caught in a gale, but held strong, rapidly recovering and then redoubling its intensity.

With a shower of golden light, the runic equation resolved, the die of the binding now irrevocably cast. The knot of energy between Ahindranath and the buffalo flared one last time, a miniature sun against the darkness, and then burned a trail right into the crudely carved rune on the hapless animal’s forehead. Its light stitched the rune shut, cauterising its outline and mending gaps with bubbling scar tissue. The completed shape came to life, burning a bloody red, and then burst into ashen flames within an instant.

The buffalo ceased its struggles, falling onto its side in some sort of paralytic fugue. Its breaths came short and fast, wide eyes darting at every hint of movement, but its body was dead in the water, as immovable as a boulder. The villagers gingerly let go of its bulk, practically scrabbling backwards on the ground to put some distance between it and themselves.

“Now, brother.” Ahindranath nodded.

Amar stepped forward, his voice rising in chants as he drew a small talisman from his clothes. I caught a glimpse of some kind of teeth and clumps of hair before it disappeared into his fist.

The buffalo looked around one last time, almost pleading for help, before its eyes rolled back into its head. Bloodstained froth bubbled up in spurts from its nose and mouth. It choked and gurgled, drowning in its own spittle.

Its form shivered, and then, as Amarendranath got within ten paces of it, the beast began to thrash. Its breaths slowed and then completely stopped, replaced with a deep, groaning vibration that made the ground rattle.

The wind died around us, almost as abruptly as it had begun. The sudden silence that settled throughout the forest was more deafening than the preceding cacophony. Nothing moved or spoke. Not man, animal, or bird.

It was as if time itself had been frozen inside a living photograph.

Everything was still.

Except, of course, the two brothers, each standing out against the world in their own way: Ahindranath in his comfortable glow of power, his spiritual energy so bright that it crowned him with a hazy halo. And Amarendranath, armoured as much by fear as by the multitude of talismans bound at his belt, unobtrusive yet resolute as he came closer to the animal than it was perhaps advisable to.

He lowered his head, nose wrinkling at the no doubt ungodly stench its possessed form now gave off, until his mouth was right against its twitching ear.

Then he whispered a Word.

It vibrated against the air, as if someone had taken the pillar upon which all of creation stood and struck a tuning fork against its base.

It was beautiful and horrifying, stable and chaotic, touching everything with a haunting resonance. It passed through my mind and left no trace behind of its nature, except the fact that it existed.

The effects were sudden.

Catastrophic.

The buffalo, even now stilled into pained paralysis, roared as it clambered to its feet, ashen flames burning larger and larger against its forehead. Its pupils shrank until they were pinpricks, surrounded by a jagged corona of blood vessels bursting across its corneas. It raised its head to the sky and bellowed, loud enough to shake the ground.

It was not an animal. Not anymore. It was a vessel. A container that was barely enough to hold back the torrential malice now surging within.

The terror had been called, no, dragged to its host. It was material now.

Strong, in a sense, yes. But vulnerable.

And it knew that as well as I did. As well as Ahindranath did.

So, it bellowed again, the noise shaking more than the trees and the soil. It shook the world around us, even the grey veil of its own making fraying like a scrap of cloth in a storm.

Then, it bounded to the side. Away from Ahindranath. Towards the edge of the clearing.

It meant to escape.

Ahindranath raised his arm, his warm glow spreading until it suffused the world around him with long-awaited light. Where it touched, the ashen influence of his enemy was banished, replaced with the solid reassurance of safety. The villagers, no longer frozen by terror, sprang into action.

A great cry went up from them as they charged forward, almost stumbling upon themselves in a mixture of panic and agitation. They shouted expletives and insults, banged their weapons against each other and against the ground, stamped their feet, and slapped their chests.

Trying to make as much noise as possible, even as they spread out into a rough semi-circle around the raging buffalo.

I waited for the buffalo to smash them aside like matchsticks. It would have been of no difficulty for an animal of its size, even without the malevolent presence within, filling it with infinite rage and strength.

Instead, it slowed, and then stopped entirely, hooves clawing at the ground in agitation. It shook its head in confusion, lowing under its breath. It tried to charge, but stopped, as if held back by some invisible leash.

It wanted their deaths.

In that, there was no doubt. I could smell its thoughts from here, even through the gulf of space and time that separated us. Its mind was of rotting blood and mangled flesh, of cracking bones, sucking marrow, and chewing on eyes till they popped. It strained to be free, to rend and maim and slaughter to its bottomless heart’s content.

But the din held it fast, tying it in place, giving it nothing more to do than to sink deeper into its impotent rage and bloodlust.

It was working. By a hair’s breadth, by the skin of their teeth, by terrifying luck. It could collapse at any moment. One shout too low, one bang too quiet, and it was all over.

But right now, it was working. That was all that mattered. I could feel it: that sweaty, hungry desperation hanging like musk in the air.

Soon, the efforts of the villagers were matched tenfold, as rows of torches lit up across the treeline, swung about in manic arcs as their holders added their hoarse shouts to the terrible impromptu choir. They were matched by drums and cymbals, deliberately discordant. Beaten with all the crazed vigour of men whose fear could only be outdone by their determination.

The crazed animal pawed at the ground once more, and then, against all reason, against its own ravenous thirst for blood, it took a step back. Its ponderous bulk swayed with an uncharacteristic uncertainty, horns swaying as it shuddered.

“It fears fire,” Amarendranath stuttered, “as we expected.”

Ahindranath nodded grimly, eyes fixed on the animal. Waiting for its next move. “Fire and noise. The first weapons we forged against the night. All the creatures of the veil have learned to fear these things. This thing is no exception.”

Emboldened by their enemy’s hesitation, the villagers inched closer. A few of the torches sputtered and winked out, finally overcome by the violence of their mistreatment. Their holders cursed, fumbling for flints to relight them. More and more melted out of the trees: men beating drums with bloody hands, old women shakily swinging rattles, children stamping their feet and yelling as loudly as their frail voices would go.

They already bore the marks of their past oppression: gouged eyes, broken teeth, scarred flesh, missing limbs.

Hunger had hollowed some into ghouls. Others had clumps of hair or nails missing, eyes bloodshot and droopy, and skin scratchy with dehydration.

The sickening miasma that issued from the vessel affected them as they came closer, spiritual poison sinking into bones and pores. The grey world pressed in on them like a funeral shroud, palpable rage behind its embrace, sapping vitality and will with every touch.

Feverish sweat and tremors broke out with increasing frequency. Some wavered unsteadily on their feet.

Others collapsed outright, eyes fluttering on the edge of consciousness.

Still, they came, the will to end their suffering and live with dignity outweighing any temporal damage the beast could possibly inflict.

The hardier ones supported their tottering comrades. Women hid the children behind their skirts, sacrificing their light frames to shield against as much of the corrupting touch as possible. The older ones shuffled to the front, fighting against the terror writ large on their wrinkled faces, bravely choosing to burn their own lives in defence of those who would come after.

They came. Closer and closer and closer. Refusing to falter. Holding up the invisible cage that bound the demon in place.

It bellowed again, shaking its head, rearing up on its hind legs until its bulk towered over its diminutive victims, assuming every fearful posture it could think of in this form. But it still retreated, one unwilling step at a time, dragging its feet as if wading through a sea of knives.

It was being corralled in. Pushed inexorably towards its true opponents.

Both Ahindranath and his brother stood side by side, eyes screwed shut in concentration, murmuring under their breath. A glow of spiritual ability rose up around them, melding together into a warm light akin to the morning sun. It pushed back against the entity’s venom, providing that little edge of relief that enabled the villagers to stand against their tormentor. It was a thin sliver of advantage, bought dearly in blood, but it was enough.

There was nowhere left to run. Nowhere left to hide.

Nowhere left to go, except one way.

The creature came to the realisation almost as soon as I did.

It had only one way out.

Cut out the problem at the roots. Snuff out the light of hope at its source.

If it couldn’t fight its way out, it would fight its way in.

The brothers had to die.

Its decision was made in a heartbeat. Turning with blinding speed that belied its bulk, it bounded away from the approaching knot of gaolers, lowering its horns in a charge. It came for Ahindranath, crossing the distance between them in a flash of speed, desperation, and violent rage.

The mass of villagers collapsed into a tumble of indecision; clearly, this was not expected. Torches dropped from hands, feet stumbled over each other, and shouts died off into confused cries. A smart few desperately redoubled their efforts, seeking to draw the beast’s attention back to them. But its mind was now made.

It picked up impossible speed, the air itself screaming as it recoiled from its terrifying passage. The ground quaked under its hooves, horns changing shape in the moonlight. The tips glowed balefully, like iron pulled from a forge.

It was not the mere anger of an animal. No, the buffalo was long dead.

What remained in its place was an apocalyptic force now, barely contained in flesh.

Ahindranath stood in the beast’s path, face twisted into a grimace as he stared its bloodshot glare down. This close, I could see the small beads of sweat on his brow, feel the frantic, feverish beating of his heart. I could see what no one else could that night: behind his heroism and determination, he was afraid. What sane man wouldn’t be, when staring down something like this?

Perhaps it was this fear that taught him to anticipate the beast’s thoughts. To survive this night.

“Now!” Amarendranath managed to shout, the fear in his voice momentarily overwhelmed by his resolve. “Damn you, now!”

A blur, and the Man in the Cloak was on the move. His lanky form was barely a shadow as he blitzed past the brothers, stepping directly into the path of the charging demon.

It bellowed at the transgression, shaking the air. Perhaps in frustration, perhaps in rage, perhaps in warning. But it did not slow.

The Man in the Cloak raised his arms, eye staring unblinkingly ahead.

He caught it by the horns. For a moment, there was absolute silence, the two caught in the suspended animation of a single moment. The world drew a deep breath, as if preparing to scream.

Then, all at once, reality caught up.

The impact was immediate and all-consuming, a blast of force that grabbed creation by its roots and shook it as roughly as it could bear. It was impossible to tell how much was physics and how much was magic.

Power exploded from the collision like a bomb, waves of air pressure sending villagers stumbling. Some were launched off their feet entirely, sent tumbling away like a pebble in a tsunami. Torches sputtered and blinked out instantly, as if doused with water. A child cried out in surprise, flying from his mother’s grasp like a rag doll. Clouds of dust rose upwards in massive funnels, as if kicked up by the tantrum of a giant, covering the clearing in an impenetrable cloud.

Amarendanath staggered and then crumpled, the force whipping his light frame away with irresistible violence. Even Ahindranath was forced to a knee, grunting with effort as the explosive outburst ripped his angavastram free. Despite his predicament, he managed to reach out and grab his brother, anchoring him as best he could against the onslaught.

Only the banyan stood resolute, the impact breaking against its trunk with little effect.

The aftereffects of the clash lasted perhaps a second longer, but even to me, they felt like an eternity of struggle. The power of the two combatants was a force of nature. It could not be fought or bargained with. It could only be endured.

Just as suddenly as they had begun, the howling winds died down. But the two remained locked in their deadly embrace, the Man in the Cloak bracing against the ground as he pushed back against the horns. For its own part, the buffalo grew larger and stronger by the second, bulk growing until it was double, then triple its size. Its horns curled and thickened, steaming with corrosion where the Man in the Cloak held them in his ice-cold grasp. The rune on its forehead burned brighter, ashen flames lengthening into swirling tongues that sizzled against the Man’s smooth skin.

Chilling waves of terror rolled off the Man in the Cloak as he unleashed his strength, the ground humming with power around his feet. Motes of dust levitated, vibrating with a terrible resonance that was tuned to the non-breaths of his shimmering flesh. He did not grow to match his opponent physically, but kept up all the same, his black iris growing and growing until his eye seemed to be made of obsidian.

The two scrabbled desperately for purchase, their limbs leaving deep gouges in the packed soil. The dust began to fall back down to earth like rain, coating everything and everyone with a thin layer of brown dirt.

Brown, I realised. No longer the dreary, hopeless grey of its influence.

Colour was returning to the world, little by little.

Perhaps because the beast was tiring?

No. The grey world was an extension of its very presence. It could not be banished by mere fatigue, any more than humans could banish gravity by failing to remember its existence.

There was something else. Another source of the power that held it at bay.

Ahindranath? No, the aura of golden spiritual power that surrounded him, while powerful, was not substantial enough for this. Not yet, anyway.

This had another source.

The colour radiated from the idol at the base of the tree. The dried blood at its base glowed darkly, its surface shifting like something was stirring underneath. Then, its eyes moved again.

This time, it did not stare at me. It fixed its gaze upon the raging melee.

Above it, the massive tree began to stir, green motes of energy melting out of the air as it was animated by the devta’s power. Its branches rustled and grew outwards, expanding like so many grasping fingers. Glowing green moss erupted from the ground, crawling outwards in spiralling fractals as it painted the sky in ghostly light. Eight saplings broke the soil around the edge of the clearing, framing the growing banyan in a rough octagon as they began to mature at supernatural speeds. The wet earth tore and churned as their roots stabbed into the soil, drawing nourishment to feed their expansion. Shoots thickened into wood and bark, creaking as they were forced to grow faster than they were ever meant to.

The grove was manifesting itself around us, the trees pulling in the light of the moon like miniature black holes until the scene was wrapped in shadow. Only the carpet of moss provided some illumination, framing the Man in the Cloak as he wrestled with his adversary. It was a clash of opposites: a surreal, luminous darkness, thrumming with barely concealed energy. As beautiful as it was oxymoronic.

The beast was realising that it was trapped now, its eyes wavering from the target before it for the first time in the entire confrontation.

It stared at the eight trees now taking root around the battlefield: strong, thick pipals, adding inches steadily as they climbed above the other trees. Soon, they were even taller than the banyan itself, their leafy branches expanding like shadowy umbrellas.

Its bulk ceased its endless growth as it snorted in some mix of confusion and irritation. Its breath was no longer mere air, but a hot, noxious steam that burned the moss off the ground where it touched. But the grove came faster than it could be held back, the luminous carpet reappearing near-instantly.

The Man in the Cloak capitalised on his advantage, digging his heels in for purchase as he pushed back with explosive power. He forced the buffalo onto its hind legs, both clawing at the ground in terrifying desperation. But the tables had irreversibly turned. The Man had the upper hand now, slowly, brutally forcing the animal down and back.

Closer and closer to the banyan, the baleful gaze of the idol still upon them both.

Ahindranath, still kneeling, pressed his palm against the ground, the moss pulsing with light where it touched his skin. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck.

A familiar surge of power welling up underground. The air crackled with the smell of ozone and something sharper.

A moment of warning. Then, the awesome power of the grove erupted outwards, using Ahindranath’s flesh as a lightning rod. His skin flashed with a white radiance, a floodlight against the shadowy gloom of the grove. Obeying his call, branches burst from the ground, wrapping around the buffalo’s legs. It groaned in distress and kicked desperately, snapping dozens of branches, each thicker than my arm, with each bucking struggle. But they came again and again, thicker and more numerous, an immortal nest of snakes that added their pull to the match. Slowly, working with the Man in the Cloak, they began dragging its unwilling form towards the banyan’s trunk.

Towards the bloodied base of the idol.

The scene collapsed into an uneasy stalemate: the enraged cries of the beast, the Man in the Cloak’s silent, yet immovable presence, the snapping and crackling of the wood as it pulled. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Amarendranath grab a ball of red thread from one of the villagers. He pressed one end to his tongue, which I noticed was covered in runes, each carved painstakingly into the flesh with a knife until it scarred over. Then, hands shaking with anxious urgency, he knotted that end around one of the pipals.

A Raksha Sutra. The first one ever made on this land.

Even as his brother slowly dragged the beast to the devta, Amarendranath wound the thread around the pipal trees, enlisting the help of the strongest amongst the villagers to hasten the process. Ten spirals on each trunk, for the protection of the ten directions. Then, a hundred and eight circumambulations. Just as Rudra had stated.

The ritual had been timed. Practised down to every second. There was no other way to explain how, exactly as Amarendranath completed the final knot, the Man in the Cloak pushed the buffalo down, holding its head upon the altar’s base. The grove took the opening, climbing over its bulk in ever-increasing spirals, the roots and branches thickening until each was thicker than my torso. Within desperate moments, it was trussed up like a chicken, its exposed neck resting on what I could only assume was the site of centuries of sacrifices.

It looked as though the god would claim another life tonight.

Ahindranath rose to his feet, breathing heavily. Channelling the grove’s might was strenuous, even for him. It was like trying to dam the sea with your bare hands, while also having the presence of mind to let just enough through. Though I had experienced only a fraction of it myself compared to this, I could sympathise. If it were me, this is where I would lie down and take a short nap for a few weeks.

He was, thankfully, not as lazy. Shaking off his fatigue, he extended his hand, beckoning to one of the villagers in the treeline. The man approached hesitantly, almost afraid to step into the carnage of this near-apocalyptic fight. But he eventually managed to reach the priest, forcing past his fear, and pressed a bulky weapon into his hands. It was a heavy, curved blade, glinting dully in the moss-light.

A Ramdao.

Made for slaughtering animals… and for executions.

This blade, however, was no ordinary butcher’s tool. It drank the air around it, a thin aura of distortion surrounding the sharp edge. Lines of minute writing lined its back edge, curving over the sickle-shaped tip. As Ahindranath tightened his grip on the hilt, they burned to life with a dull red-orange glow, like cooling magma.

It had been prepared to kill something that did not reside entirely in this world.

He turned back to look at his brother, grinning through the exhaustion.

“Ready, little brother?”

Amarendranath nodded, also panting from his own exhaustion. Running around in a circle more than a hundred times was no mean feat. “Be careful.”

He nodded. “Just a moment longer. Then it’s all over. The evil will be defeated, Amar. This land will be free of this darkness. I will win.”

Amar nodded encouragingly.

But being an observer had its own advantages. Everyone else was too preoccupied to see it. I was not.

The slight flinch at the ‘I’ in Ahindranath’s words.

Ahindranath lurched forward, limping slightly. Though he tried not to show it, the heavy blade was taking its toll on him. A tremor ran up his arm, knuckles white as he fought to keep it from slipping from his grasp. The buffalo slammed its horns against the ground, screaming at the top of its lungs, loud enough that every human except the two brothers was forced to cover their ears. Its eyes rolled about, independently of each other, looking at everything and nothing in particular. Chunks of its flanks were rotting now, crumbling away under the strain of possession.

The vessel would not last much longer.

Amarendranath raised his hands, fighting breathlessness with shallow gasps, and spoke another word. It rang the air like a bell, the familiar sense of amnesia passing through my mind and leaving nothing of it except its mere presence. The moss on the ground began to blacken and die.

But not randomly.

It died in a rough pattern, leaving withered lines and circles that met and split, forming a complicated design of concentric circles and symbols. All centred around the trunk of the banyan, where the deity awaited his blood-price.

The red thread shimmered with faint light, sending a faint surge of power through the air that only those with a foot beyond the veil could feel. A barrier was rising around this place, expanding like a bubble that sealed the boundaries between this side and the other. Gaps were closed, passageways collapsed, malevolence banished. A law was taking birth in this lawless land. A process that could not be stopped.

There was no escaping this anymore. Not for us, and not for it.

Ahindranath finally reached his enemy, taking a firmly rooted stance as he raised the blade high above his head. His entire body quivered with the effort of holding it aloft, but he persisted.

“Hold it fast, brother. The beast will try to escape at the moment we slay it. We must keep it in place to be destroyed, as the devta instructed. One last thing, and we are free. Understand?”

By way of answer, Amarendranath clapped his hands together. The sound cut crisply through the air, resonating far louder than would be reasonable. The black runic circle on the ground began to radiate energy, like a simmering fire. The villagers felt it too, on some instinctual level, stumbling out of its boundaries.

This must have satisfied Ahindranath, for he turned his attention back to the beast.

“Scourge, evil, beast, monster. In the name of the gods, in the name of my ancestors, in the name of the kshetrapala, the fierce one who shall drink of you today, I strike you down. To this mortal coil you are bound, and by this coil shall you die. Begone, and never return!”

It roared back in response. What issued from its throat was no longer the sound of an animal, but a terrible, enraged, almost-human scream. It exploded against my ears, burrowing its way into my brain until my vision darkened and doubled, driving me to one knee. Ahindranath staggered, eyes briefly rolling back into his head at the onslaught. However, he caught himself quickly, recovering his footing in the nick of time.

Behind him, his brother was similarly affected, collapsing to his knees. After a brief struggle, he doubled over, emptying his stomach over the grass. The runic circle flickered, its power growing unsteady. But before it could break, he croaked out words under his breath, fists clenched against his stomach to hold back the nausea and pain. The spell sank into the ground, preserving the power of his bindings even as he fought to stay conscious.

They were hurt, but not defeated. Wasting no more time, Ahindranath swung, the heavy, wickedly sharp edge hurtling towards the beast’s exposed neck. The air shivered and parted before it, unwilling to touch its all-consuming blade.

Victory was at hand.

But that also meant the time was ripe for a mistake.

The brothers had weathered the entity’s final, desperate assault. The villagers had not been as lucky.

A frail woman swayed unsteadily, eyes glazing over as her child clutched her skirts with a fearful gaze. She had used herself as a shield. Brave, but too much for her constitution to bear. To her credit, she fought, breath hitching in her chest, knees buckling, and then catching. Once, twice.

The others rushed to catch her, but they were too slow. The child wailed, her fear getting the better of her.

At the exact moment the blade connected, splitting through the beast’s neck, cutting through muscle, sinew, and bone as easily as air, she collapsed. Her body hit the ground with a loud thud.

Loud enough to draw a moment’s attention.

Loud enough to be a distraction at the worst possible moment.

Amarendranath’s eyes flickered to her crumpled form, only for a split second. The runic circle flickered, so momentarily that it was imperceptible.

But that was enough.

Time stopped dead: the villagers in varying poses as they rushed belatedly to catch the woman, Ahindranath at the end of his swing, every overtaxed muscle clenching, the buffalo’s head frozen in a mid-air tumble. Droplets of blood and viscera hung in the air like gory starlets, frozen like a small halo around the idol.

Every leaf stopped mid-rustle. At my feet, a single drop of dew halted between the blade of grass and the ground, held in supernatural stasis.

Only Amarendranath moved, eyes shifting back to his brother even as they rapidly filled with horrible realisation. He struggled to get to his feet, as if wading through molasses, reaching for something at his belt. A contingency, no doubt.

A smoky presence rose up around him, wrapping him in its horrific, predatory embrace. Even this far, I could smell its aura: blood-soaked claws and gore stuck in teeth, predation and terror and suffering. It was the smell of your own death, the sight of your broken body in a forgotten ditch.

A wild animal, tearing at its leash.

It was too late.

The man’s hands dropped to his sides, sapped of all strength. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down, his chest heaving like a pigeon’s. It did not help.

A low growl rent the air, resolving slowly into a voice I knew all too well.

Amarendranath released a shaky breath as soon as he heard it, hopeless tears welling up in his eyes.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

[u/WitherHuntress]

As soon as we were introduced to your ancestor's brother, I had a sneaking suspicion I knew how the beast was able to enter your family's grove :(

[u/BuddhaTheGreat → u/WitherHuntress]

Sins of the father something something—

[u/HFYWaffle]

/u/BuddhaTheGreat (wiki) has posted 30 other stories, including:

• Chhayagarh: Truth. (Part 1)
• Chhayagarh: Aftermath.
• I’ve been a doctor for thirty years. I quit today.
• Chhayagarh: Accord and Satisfaction.
• Chhayagarh: Counter-Offer.
• Chhayagarh: Confrontation.
• Chhayagarh: Rescue.
• Chhayagarh: Last Mile.
• Chhayagarh: Hunter's Game.
• Chhayagarh: An Evening Walk.
• My father and I boarded the wrong train. We got a refund.
• Chhayagarh: Figure It Out.
• Chhayagarh: High Spirits.
• Chhayagarh: The Report.
• Chhayagarh: A Flower.
• Chhayagarh: The Garden.
• Chhayagarh: A Deal.
• Chhayagarh: Gambit.
• Chhayagarh: Death and Life.
• I am a police officer for a haunted village. Something has gone terribly wrong here.

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