The leader, a hulking figure clad in thick, yak-leather armor, emerged from the shadows, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
He raised a crudely fashioned club, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee.
But before he could strike, a blur of motion erupted from the darkness.
Varun, his eyes burning with a cold fury, had anticipated the leader's move. With a calculated maneuver, he veered his bicycle sharply, crashing head-on into the unsuspecting bandit.
The impact sent the leader sprawling, his grip on the club loosening.
In a single, fluid motion, Varun leaped from the bicycle, his body a coiled spring.
He landed with a grunt, his weight propelling him forward.
He grabbed the leader by the neck, hoisting him into the air with effortless ease.
Then, with a sickening crunch, he slammed the bandit's head onto the cobblestones, the impact shattering the skull.
The remaining bandits, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of Varun's attack, watched in horrified silence as their leader crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
The air, thick with the stench of blood and fear, was broken only by the heavy thud of the fallen bandit.
Varun, his face a mask of cold fury, stood over the corpse, his eyes scanning the remaining bandits.
They were a motley crew, their faces pale with terror.
They had faced many opponents, but none like this. This was a man possessed, a force of nature unleashed.
The silence was broken by a low growl, a sound that emanated from deep within Varun's chest.
It was a sound that spoke of years of pent-up rage, of a pain that had been festering within him for far too long.
The bandits, sensing the raw power emanating from him, began to back away, their eyes wide with fear.
They had encountered a force beyond their comprehension, a force that would not be denied.
-----------------------------
Varun's growl echoed through the ravaged village, a chilling promise of retribution.
He moved with terrifying speed and precision, a whirlwind of deadly force.
The bandits, their bravado shattered, were no match for his enhanced abilities and righteous fury.
He struck with brutal efficiency, each blow swift and decisive. The air filled with the sounds of their panicked cries and the sickening thud of their bodies hitting the ground.
Like he had done in that remote fortess, to the people who had kidnapped kajal.
He unleashed the same fury and smashed his hand in their mouth and tore down their tongue from the mouth itself.
The next scenes were the same,
The battle was short and brutal, a testament to Varun's overwhelming power.
Soon, the last bandit lay still, the village silent once more, save for the whisper of the wind through the shattered buildings.
Varun stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a cold fire.
He had delivered justice, but the sight of the senseless violence left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He saw no person alive at the village now, except those teens who were about to sold as slaves.
And the numbered men who had seen their wives being ravaged and their kids being killed or enslaved.
Those who had no more relatives in thier world, were no different than dead.
As varun saw no hope in those eyes, and he knew that, they will take their life either now or after he leaves the village.
Varun's gaze swept across the remaining villagers.
He saw the haunted look in their eyes, the lingering terror that clung to them like a shroud.
He saw the raw, desperate fear that drove some to the brink of self-destruction.
He witnessed the grim determination of the men, their faces etched with grief and rage, as they took up whatever makeshift weapons they could find.
He saw the women, some of their hands trembling and as their eyes gazed towards the body of their slayed children and husbands, thaought to commit suicide. while the rest had no courage to take their lifes..
And he saw the children, their faces pale and drawn, too young to fully comprehend the horrors they had witnessed, too terrified to even consider the finality of taking their own lives.
.-------------------------------------
With a heavy heart, Varun turned away from the scene of devastation. He mounted his bicycle, was about to leave, when suddenly a voice called out, "Wait, please wait!"
He turned back to see a woman standing amidst the ruins, her face pale but resolute.
She was a vision of ethereal beauty, her skin as fair as snow, her long, dark hair cascading down her back. Her attire was simple, the garb of a peasant, but it couldn't hide the grace and dignity that emanated from her.
"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Thank you for saving us."
Varun shrugged, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It was nothing," he replied gruffly. "I merely dealt with vermin."
"But you saved us," she insisted, her eyes filled with gratitude. "You saved our lives."
"It was necessary," he said curtly, eager to put the incident behind him. "If you'll excuse me..."
He turned to leave, but his hand was suddenly grasped by a firm, surprisingly strong hand. Varun's patience, already strained by the events of the day, began to fray. He turned to face the woman, his eyes flashing with a warning.
The woman, her voice soft but insistent, pleaded with Varun to rest. "Please," she said, her eyes filled with a weary gratitude, "stay the night.
You've helped us more than anyone ever has. Allow us to repay your kindness, even in this small way."
Varun, though skeptical, conceded. He was weary, his body aching from the relentless journey and the brutal fight.
He agreed to stay, choosing a house that bore the least evidence of the carnage.
He bathed in the cool, clear water of the village well, the simple act washing away some of the grime and horror of the day.
He ate his meager rations, the woman silently keeping him company, her presence a quiet, watchful shadow.
As he prepared to retire for the night, a soft knock echoed through the room.
He opened the door to find the woman standing there, her face pale in the dim light.
He gestured her in, his gaze drawn to the scene outside the window, the ravaged village bathed in the pale moonlight.
-------------------------------------------
"Why have you come?" he asked, his voice low.
"I know this is presumptuous," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "but... can you take me away from this place?"
Varun turned to her, his brow furrowed. "Why?"
"After what happened here," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "everyone has lost hope. They will... they will take their lives. I cannot stay."
"That is their choice," Varun said, his voice hard. "It has nothing to do with me."
"I... I am willing to help you," she pleaded, her eyes filled with desperation. "I can be of service."
"I need no help," Varun retorted, his voice dismissive. "I am sufficient."
"Then... then I will be your servant," she said, her voice breaking. "Just take me away. I am afraid. The bandits might return, searching for their lost comrades. I cannot stay here alone."
"That is still not my problem," Varun said, his voice cold. He turned away, his patience wearing thin.
The woman began to sob, her tears silent and desperate. "I don't want to die," she cried, her voice choked with emotion. "I lost my father, my mother, my husband... I have no one."
Varun's mind reeled. The raw grief in her voice, the desperate plea for survival, echoed the pain he had tried so hard to bury.
He saw the lifeless face of Kajal, the burning ruins of his own village. The memory, usually a distant ache, flared with a sudden, searing intensity.
He, without turning his back, with his eyes little softened, a flicker of compassion in their depths. "Alright," he said, his voice heavy. "You can come with me."
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with relief.
"You will ride on my bicycle," he said, his voice firm. "We leave at dawn. Be ready."
The woman nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. As the night deepened, a fragile truce settled over the ravaged village, a temporary respite before the journey ahead.
-----------------------------
Varun lay on the makeshift bed, his body weary, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
He stared at the ceiling, the rough-hewn beams a stark contrast to the opulent palaces he had once known.
The events of the night replayed in his mind, the brutal massacre, the woman's desperate plea, and his own unexpected agreement.
He pondered his decision, the unexpected softening of his resolve. "Why did I agree?" he murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper. "I am not that weak to fall for their sad face."
He replayed the woman's tear-streaked face, the raw grief in her voice, the desperate plea for survival.
It was then that the image of Kajal surfaced, her lifeless eyes, the burning ruins of his village. The memory, usually a distant ache, flared with a sudden, searing intensity.
"Perhaps," he thought, his gaze drifting to the window, where the pale moonlight cast long, eerie shadows, 'It was not weakness itself.. but the memory of a loss..' he paused 'That I couldn't endure again.'.
He sighed, the weight of the night's events settling heavily upon him.
He had agreed to take her with him, a decision that could complicate his already perilous journey. But he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
"What will happen?" he wondered, his voice barely audible. "What will become of her? What will become of me?"
He closed his eyes, the weariness of the day finally claiming him. "Fate," he whispered, a hint of resignation in his voice. "We will leave it to fate."
He drifted into a restless sleep, the images of the ravaged village and the woman's tearful face mingling with the haunting memory of Kajal.
The night was long, and the journey ahead uncertain, but for now, he allowed the darkness to claim him, trusting that fate would guide his path.