Chapter 1

12 AD Eastern India

He was running through the woods.

Fear, which would normally paralyze grown, able-bodied men, spurred him to run faster. His amber eyes, a silent testament to the nightmare he witnessed, are wide with terror. And rightly so, for he has encountered something so dark, so evil, that his juvenile mind shut down completely. He just ran.

He has heard of stories of monsters, and brave heroes who have slain them time and again. He brushed them off, for he beileved them to be just that: stories, fables created by men to guide future generations towards spiritual enlightenment. Only, this was no story, and he was definitely no hero.

As abnormal as his eyes were, it is nothing compared to that horror, that ... creature born of humankind's deepest nightmare, which is following him this very moment. That very though spurred him on.

If his mind wasn't seared with the images he witnessed and his ears filled with the sound of thundering blood, he would have noticed that the forest has gone completely silent. Gone are the sound of crickets, the hooting of owls or the rustling of the leaf canopy. The only sound being heard are his panicked breaths and footsteps filled with sheer panic.

As much as he wishes to turn around, he is afraid. Afraid that if he sees it, his legs will compeletely fail him. He has to outrun this nightmare at all cost. This nightmare, which can possibly destroy his world.

'No, that cannot happen. I have to get to Guruji' he thought. He had to get to him, to warn him of the impending danger beyond Nalanda Vihara. If only his Guruji knew that the horrors written in those scrolls are as real as the thundering in his ears.

Except that this monster was not born. It was made

Guruji awoke with a start. The bodhi tree, under which he usually sleeps, is quiet. Unsually so. Even the pleasant breeze which accompanies the perfect view of the stars, is absent tonight. It was as if the leaves were terrified of rustling. It was the silence of the dead, or, even worse, a portent of death.

He was worried for Charukesa, his favorite pupil. As a guru, he was forbidden to show favoritism to any single student, and today it was Charukesa's turn to get herbs from the Brahmyoni hills.

Guruji closed his eyes and willed his arrythmic heartbeat to stabilize. Meditation came to him naturally, as he had a good teacher. He was adept at focusing his inner self in a short span of time.

But tonight was different. it was as if the harmonics of the universe have been permanently destabilized, like the tides crashing on the seashore. He was disconnected from nature, and cant seem to synchronize with it.

Deeply disturbed, he opened his eyes to see Charukesa burst from the treeline.

Charukesa felt a glimmer of hope on seeing his guruji. But that was replaced with a stabbing sensation in his chest. He looked down to realize that a tendril of darkness has latched onto him, dragging him back into the woods.

Bile rose in his throat. He realized the futility of the situation. He will not make it. He will meet the same fate his terrified eyes had the misfortune of seeing. It was too late for him. But he will be damned if he let the same fate befall the others. But how to warn the guruji?

His unnatural amber irises, previously filled with fear, take on a steely appearance. He knows what to do. Struggling against the pitch black tendril, he takes a deep breath.

Guruji sat paralyzed in horror, watching the nightmare unfold in front of him. He was a scholar, helpless, unable to do anything. It seemed like Charukesa was being dragged back into the woods, unable to escape.

Only, instead of woods, there was pitch black behind him. It was not just a shadow, it was as if a portal to another universe opened up, but a universe devoid of light. It was a portal to death.

At that moment, their eyes met, his lips parted, and he, with his final breath shouted just one word. That one word which guruji recognized from the innumerable scrolls he studied. That one word, which destroyed any illusions about the authenticity and truthfulness about it's contents. That one word, which described the hellish sequence of events being played out in front of the old scholar's eyes.

ANDHAKASURA