Shadowflame rising

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The villagers used to whisper about them like they were ghosts.

But ghosts don't burn down entire lands.

The Kara Army does.

They do not march like normal soldiers.

No drums. No banners. No warning.

They move like a plague—quiet, fast, and without mercy.

First comes the silence. Birds stop singing. Wind turns cold. Then, the ground trembles—not from footsteps, but from the sheer weight of something unnatural.

Then you see them.

Eyes glowing red behind dark masks. Armor made from bone, smoke, and metal. They do not speak. They do not scream. They just move—like shadows that kill.

No one knows who their leader really is.

Some say he made a deal with the underworld.

Some say he was once a holy man… who saw the gods and went mad.

But the truth is simple:

The Kara Army doesn't fight wars.

They erase villages.

They hunt bloodlines.

They want power born in pain.

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In the shrine, Master Vishma once warned:

"They're not just soldiers.

They're collectors of strength.

If you have power—they'll come for you.

If you resist—they'll destroy everything you love."

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When they attacked Parashu's mother's village, they didn't leave survivors.

They didn't even take bodies.

Because the Kara Army doesn't care about the living.

They care about what's inside them—the bloodline. The essence. The legacy.

They want warriors like Parashu.

They want those who are born with cursed gifts.

And they use dark rituals to twist those gifts into weapons.

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Even now… across distant lands, entire clans sleep uneasily.

Because when the Kara Army chooses a target—they never stop.

And now… they want Parashu.

Not just because he's Vetala.

But because they believe he's the last piece of something ancient.

Something they need… to awaken a force darker than death.

Chapter 2 : The Fire Behind His Eyes

The war room was silent. Smoke from the torches curled around the stone walls. Maps lay scattered on the table, marked with blood and ash.

Jalandhara stood tall in the center, his black armor cracked and scorched from the last battle. His eyes—red with fury—looked at every soldier in the room. No one dared to speak.

"The number of soldiers we lost…" His voice was calm, but it cracked like thunder. "It's a huge loss. One of the worst in years."

No one answered. Some looked down. Others clenched their fists.

He continued, "But don't worry. Even though we failed this time, we are not broken."

He took a long breath.

"Master Vishma, Daksha, Asura, and Parashu... They reminded me of him."

A silence fell deeper.

Jalandhara's voice dropped, heavy with memory.

"For the last time we tasted defeat… it was by the hands of one man."

"The Maharathi."

Now his eyes blazed.

"And this time—it took four to stop us. Just four."

He slammed his hand on the table. The echo rang like a war drum.

"We cannot let this happen again. I want all of them called—every hidden unit, every soul collector, everyone we kept in the dark. We need more souls. We need to recover our losses."

A murmur spread across the room.

"Do not forget who we are."

He stepped forward, voice rising with every word.

"We are the Kara Army. We do not fight for greed. We fight with purpose. Our mission is pure. And that's why… we cannot lose."

His eyes burned like fire.

His name was Jalandhara, the general of the Kara Army.

And that day, his rage lit a fire that would soon burn across every border.

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