As the Life-Siphoning Scimitar’s rain of darkness wore down the shimmering array, Raktabija’s lips curled into a wicked smile. The monastery marked an important step in his campaign to conquer Bhu-loka and spread darkness. It was one of the last bastions of hope in a world devoid of gods.

The monastery groaned under the weight of the dark power unleashed, the roof collapsing in a roar of splintering wood and stone. His army poured into the ruins like a swarm of shadows, searching for the monks who had dared resist. Chaos reigned below as demons overturned sacred statues, gutted the sacred hallways, and revelled in the destruction. But Raktabija hovered above it all, cross-legged in the air, his eyes closed in quiet meditation, untouched by the destruction he had wrought.

He listened to the sounds of his army tearing through the monastery, the scraping of scimitars against stone, the frantic searching. They should have found the monks by now, and dragged their cowering forms before him to be obliterated. His scimitar still hummed with the dark energy of the array it had consumed, but something tugged at the edges of his thoughts.

Where are they?

Memories of the past crept in unbidden—memories of the last time he had faced this place. The divine sword, it's searing light, the pain, the way his clones had been torn apart one by one. His invincibility had meant nothing then, and even now, he couldn't shake the sting of that defeat.

But this time would be different. It had to be different.

Raktabija exhaled, trying to bury the flicker of doubt gnawing at him. He needed control. His scimitar pulsed at his side, feeding on his restlessness. Finally, the heavy sound of footsteps approaching drew him from his thoughts. Chaayasura, his loyal general, staggered forward and dropped to his knees, trembling.

"My lord," Chaayasura began, his voice quivering. "The troops... we have searched every corner of the monastery. The halls, the inner sanctum, the chambers."

Raktabija’s eyes snapped open, glowing with quiet fury. He remained still, his voice low and dangerous. "And?"

Chaayasura bowed deeper, forehead nearly touching the ground. "It is empty, my lord. The monks are gone."

For a brief moment, there was silence. Raktabija’s expression darkened as he slowly descended from the air, his feet touching the rubble-strewn ground. His scimitar glinted in the dim light, casting a menacing shadow as it swayed at his side.

"Gone?" The word was like venom on his tongue. His hand tightened around the hilt of the scimitar, the dark energy within it flaring. He stepped toward Chaayasura, each movement deliberate, like a predator circling its prey.

Chaayasura flinched, eyes wide with terror. "W-We thought... we believed the array would be their final defence. But there is no trace of them here, my lord. We do not know how—"

"You thought?" Raktabija’s voice was a low growl, seething with barely contained rage. His scimitar pulsed, the very air vibrating with dark energy. "You assumed victory was assured? That my patience could be tested again by your incompetence?"

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"My lord, please—"

With blinding speed, Raktabija’s hand shot out, gripping Chaayasura by the throat. He lifted him effortlessly into the air, holding him aloft like a rag doll. Chaayasura’s breath caught in his throat, his hands clawing desperately at Raktabija’s iron grip.

"You disappoint me," Raktabija hissed, his red eyes narrowing as he stared into his general's quivering face. "Perhaps the monks are more clever than I anticipated. Or perhaps... you and the demon army are simply growing weak."

Chaayasura gasped, his face paling as he dangled helplessly, but before Raktabija could squeeze harder, a dark cloud began to form in the center of the hall. The air around it crackled with power, and thick black smoke swirled and condensed into the shape of a mirror, its surface as dark as obsidian.

Raktabija's grip loosened, letting Chaayasura drop to the ground in a heap. He straightened, his expression hardening as he turned to face the mirror.

"Lady Visha’ra," he said, bowing his head slightly as her figure emerged in the reflective surface. Her cold, piercing eyes regarded him with thinly veiled displeasure.

"Raktabija," she said, her voice like silk laced with ice. "I see you’ve broken the array."

"The monastery is ours, my lady," Raktabija replied, his tone measured. "But the monks have... temporarily evaded capture."

Visha'ra’s eyes narrowed, her expression chilling. "Temporarily? You told me this would be swift. That no one would be able to stand against us.”

Raktabija’s jaw clenched. "The array was stronger than expected. It required my Life-Siphoning Scimitar to bring it down."

"And yet, no monks." Her voice was cutting, her displeasure palpable even through the dark smoke of the mirror. "Tell me, Raktabija, how do you explain this failure?"

A flicker of frustration crossed his features, but he kept his composure. "The monks did not escape on their own. There is something else at play. I believe the Cardinal Relic of the East may be protecting them."

Lady Visha'ra’s lips curled into a scowl.

"The Cardinal Relic?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "Are you certain?"

Raktabija nodded, his eyes darkening.

"It would explain the strength of the array," He said. "Even now, I can sense nothing, no trace of cosmic energy, but relics have ways of masking their presence."

Lady Visha'ra leaned closer, her expression dangerous.

"If the relic is indeed involved, it could impede everything we’ve worked for. The relics must not fall into Atisha’s hands. They are the last thing standing between us and the spread of eternal darkness."

Raktabija’s hand flexed on the hilt of his scimitar, his frustration growing.

"I will find it. The monks cannot hide forever. They will be flushed out, and when they are, the relic will be ours."

"See that it is." Lady Visha’ra’s gaze pierced through him, her voice a deadly whisper. "Do not underestimate the relics, Raktabija. Or Atisha. If she reclaims even one of them, it could unravel our plans."

Raktabija’s eyes flared red, the thought of General Atisha infuriating him. He had waited too long, suffered too much to allow the wielder of the relic to interfere again.

"I will crush her before she can make her move," he said with determination.

"Do not fail me," Lady Visha’ra warned, her image beginning to fade. "The darkness must spread, and the relics are the key to ensuring it. Find them at once.”

“Aye, my lady,” Raktabija bowed.

As the mirror dissolved into smoke, Raktabija stood still for a moment, his rage simmering just below the surface. He turned to Chaayasura, who was still trembling on the ground.

"Send the troops to search the cliffs and the surrounding forests," Raktabija ordered, his voice low and menacing. "Find the monks. And if you fail again, Chaayasura..." His eyes burned with cold fury.

Raktabija did not have to complete his sentence, Chaayasura scrambled to his feet, nodding vigorously as he rushed off to carry out the order. Raktabija turned back to the ruined monastery, the cold wind swirling through the open roof.