The sound of intense scratching against the ground echoed through the room, growing louder with each step. A figure emerged from the shadows, his presence undeniable. His appearance was almost inhuman, something that defied all standards of human comprehension. His black, hollow eyes seemed to stare into the abyss itself, deep and endless. Those eyes radiated darkness at their peak, an inescapable void where one could lose themselves, never to return. Yet, in stark contrast to the darkness of his gaze, his skin was as white as snow, untouched by time, glowing faintly under the dim light.

Two enormous wings sprouted from his back, their tips scraping against the floor with a haunting sound. The wings were a contradiction—a mesmerizing mix of purity and something far darker. At first glance, they were pure white, gleaming softly like moonlit snow. But as the figure moved, the wings seemed to shift, their hue flickering between pale white and a silvery grey, as though they were alive, breathing in the very air around them.

With every movement, the wings adjusted, each feather subtly vibrating, as if responding to the figure's will. The feathers at the base of the wings were soft, delicate—shimmering in the low light, but the edges... the tips of the wings, those were something else. As the entity advanced, the edges of the wings darkened, flickering between obsidian black and ghostly silver, absorbing light as they moved, leaving an eerie trail of shadows behind.

The people in the room, all kneeling in fear, could only watch as the entity strode forward. Some of them trembled, beads of sweat forming on their foreheads, their bodies slick with the heat generated by their own fear. Others were silent, frozen, eyes wide with awe. But one thing was clear: this figure, this being, exuded absolute power. Every step it took sent a ripple through the air, an oppressive force that pushed them back without a single touch.

Rudra, kneeling among them, felt a shift within himself. His eyes widened, not in fear, but in fascination. For the first time in his life, he felt something stirring inside him—something new. A desire was being born. Not for survival, not for escape. It was a desire for power. The kind of power that would make everyone kneel before him. He couldn't resist it. The wings of the entity seemed to call to him, not with a voice, but with an unspoken promise of power beyond anything he had ever imagined.

The figure continued to move, his wings flaring out slightly, their feathers scraping the ground with a sound that seemed to tear through the very air. The wings were no longer just beautiful; they were ominous, each feather exuding a quiet, oppressive force. The feathers that were once white now gleamed with silver and black, a stark contrast to the purity they had once held.

Rudra's heart raced—not with fear, but with something else. Something deep within him stirred, responding to the power the entity emanated. This being was not merely a creature of the heavens. It was something far older, far more dangerous—something born from the very essence of power itself. The wings, with their shifting colors and impossible beauty, were a testament to that power. They were weapons, extensions of the entity's will, and Rudra could not look away.

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The entity stopped before the crowd, and the air grew thick with tension. No one dared to move, not even to breathe. The weight of the entity's presence pressed down on them like a thousand tons, suffocating, as if each breath they took would be their last.

Rudra remained silent, his blank expression unchanged. He didn't feel the fear that others did. He didn't feel the overwhelming pressure. What he felt was a stirring deep within—a curiosity, a desire to understand this power. He couldn't look away from those wings. The way they moved, the way they shifted in the air, made his body ache with a yearning he had never experienced before.

The entity continued walking carrying an air of finality. "What would this inferior in front of would call him ? An angel? A devil? Perhaps he is neither. Perhaps he is something far beyond your comprehension." The wings twitched as if in agreement with its own words, the feathers darkening, rippling with an unnatural energy.

Rudra's gaze flicked to the edges of the wings, where the black feathers now gleamed, shifting between silver and dark obsidian, reflecting a light that was not quite there. The wings, those magnificent, terrifying wings, were alive. Every feather was a testament to the entity's might, to its will. The very air around them seemed to bend, to crackle with power, as if the wings themselves were the embodiment of the world's laws, bending them to the entity's will as the time passed the entity passed the croud

Rudra's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a new figure—one who seemed as much a part of this strange, oppressive place as the entity itself. A man cloaked in black, his face obscured by a mask. His voice was cold, emotionless, and cutting.

"Attention, everyone," the man said, his voice carrying over the room, and for a moment, the air seemed to grow even thicker. "I am here to explain some things on the orders of my master. Don't ask questions. I am far too lazy to answer any of them."

The room remained still, the tension unbearable. No one dared to move, to speak. Every person in the room was at the mercy of these beings. There was no way to escape. No way to resist.

The man's eyes swept over the crowd before he continued, his voice now darker, more dangerous. "You have all been enslaved by us . If you try to resist… well, those devices on your necks will activate. You won't have the chance to do anything before they explode. Rudra was standing in the middle with his small figure unnoticed by the new figures

There was a brief silence. Then, he added, almost lazily, "Even without those devices, I could kill you all within a minute. Understand that."

The pressure in the room intensified, and Rudra's blank expression remained unchanged. His mind was racing, calculating. He wasn't afraid. Not anymore. This power, this entity, was something he could learn from. Something he could use.

The masked figure continued, his words dripping with indifference. "We will be training you to kill. To be the best. We'll give you weapons. Choose carefully. You'll need them."

At the far side of the room, a large section was designated for weapons. Rusty swords, blades, shields, and spears, all laid out in neat categories. But Rudra didn't need to look. He already knew what he needed. What he wanted.

"This is a test," the masked man said, his voice colder now. "Your weapon will be more than just a tool to kill. It need to be the answer to taking someone's life. Choose wisely."

After finishing what he has to say he vanished in an blink of an eye leaving only silence behind....