The scent of pine and incense clung to the mountain air as the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks of Munnar. In the yard of the old church where Section D had arrived, the silence was heavy—broken only by the rhythmic clinking of metal.

  Pari tightened the leather straps of his arm-guards. Beside him, Subha stood with her eyes closed, her breathing shallow as she centered her psychic energy. Vaishu adjusted her tactical vest, her fingers twitching with the nervous pulse of her Warp ability. Nearby, young Rohan checked the fit of his goggles, his small frame looking far too fragile for the storm that was coming.

  Meanwhile, Chandru remained back at Section D headquarters.

  He watched as the medicine lady prepared to leave.

  “Chandru, I’m heading home,” she said. “If anything urgent comes up, call me.”

  “Sure,” Chandru replied.

  “Stay within the perimeter,” she warned. “I’ve placed agarbatti—holy incense—around the wards. It will mask your scent. Make sure the new girl, Sona, doesn’t leave the premises.”

  “Noted,” Chandru said.

  She paused. “Where is Surya?”

  Chandru stiffened. He realized Surya was still at the temple. His eyes widened with sudden fear—he could be a target.

  “He’ll be back soon,” Chandru replied.

  The medicine lady studied him for a moment, then nodded and left.

  Once she had gone some distance, Chandru turned and walked into the hall. His gaze drifted to Sona, seated on a stone bench. She was idly polishing her nails with a dark file, her emerald eyes reflecting the encroaching shadows.

  At the old church—

  The bushes exploded outward.

  Grey, emaciated figures with glowing red eyes poured into the clearing. One. Five. Ten. The count climbed until twenty-three mixed-blood vampires circled them.

  “The count is too high,” Subha whispered, her Third Eye pulsing. “And Pari… the pure-blood isn’t here.”

  “A distraction,” Pari hissed as his arm-blades snapped into place with a metallic shink. “But we clear them first. Subha—shield. Now!”

  Subha thrust her hands outward. A translucent dome of shimmering psychic energy erupted, sealing the team inside. Outside, the vampires slammed into it, claws screeching against the mental barrier.

  “Listen to me,” Pari shouted over the din. “Rohan, you’re the key. Subha will rotate the shield anticlockwise to keep them off balance. She’ll open a slit for two seconds. You pause the first thing that moves. I’ll handle the rest.”

  Rohan’s hands trembled.

  “I… I can only hold them for two seconds, Pari. There are too many!”

  Pari reached out and tightened the cord of the boy’s mask.

  “That’s more than enough. Trust me.”

  “Rotating now!” Subha cried.

  The shield shifted. A narrow gap opened.

  Two vampires lunged, mouths wide.

  “Pause!” Rohan yelled.

  One vampire froze mid-air—a statue of grey flesh.

  In a blur the human eye couldn’t follow, Pari moved. His blades flashed like silver lightning, slicing through the frozen vampire, decapitating the second, and returning inside the shield before the two-second mark even passed.

  Subha snapped the barrier shut.

  “How… how can he move that fast?” Rohan gasped. “He doesn’t even have a Vessel’s power!”

  “That’s Mantisman,” Subha said, sweat beading on her brow. “He mastered eight cycles of Kalaripayattu before he was thirteen. He doesn’t need magic when he has perfect discipline.”

  They repeated the process—surgical and rhythmic.

  Slice. Rotate. Pause. Kill.

  Within twenty minutes, the churchyard was carpeted with dissolving ash.

  As Pari wiped his blades clean, a cold realization struck him.

  “We need to get back,” he said urgently. “If the pure-blood isn’t here… he’s at HQ. He knows about the moon.”

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  They turned to sprint toward the forest—

  And stopped.

  A tall, gaunt figure stepped out from behind a tombstone.

  Nathan.

  “Is he a vampire?” Vaishu asked.

  “No,” Subha whispered, her psychic senses screaming in warning.

  “That… is a Gravesage.”

  Before they could react, Nathan slammed his staff into the ground. The air rippled, and his form blurred—splitting and multiplying. One became two, two became four, until eight identical Nathans stood before them, sealing the path back to Section D HQ.

  Back at the headquarters, the air was unnervingly still. Inside the main hall, Sona watched Chandru as he stared out the window.

  Chandru stood up. He went into the side room and returned with his white mask.

  “Stay here,” he told Sona.

  He stepped outside and locked the door from the outside, his movements deliberate.

  Sona didn’t move to stop him. She remained on the sofa, still polishing her nails, her voice flat.

  “You shouldn’t go out there.”

  But as Chandru pulled on his white gloves and adjusted the cheap pygmy watch on his wrist—something Sona saw clearly through the window—a flash of memory struck her like a physical blow. A small child. The same watch. A man beside him, wearing the same black suit.

  “Don’t go!”

  Sona suddenly stood, her composure shattering. The boredom vanished from her voice, replaced by raw, desperate panic.

  “Chandru, don’t!”

  But the door was already shut.

  She rushed to the hall entrance and tried to force it open. It wouldn’t budge.

  As Chandru turned to leave the HQ, passing through the line of burning agarbatti, something froze him in place.

  Scrrrrch.

  A long fingernail dragged slowly across the iron gate.

  It was Heera.

  He stood at the entrance of the HQ.

  “MOONMASK!”

  The voice boomed from the darkness, dripping with mockery.

  Chandru instinctively stepped backward, planning to retreat inside.

  “Since you rejected my duel, I was so disappointed,” Heera shouted, his laughter echoing.

  “What happened? Why are you stepping back like a coward? Come and play the game!”

  Chandru’s jaw tightened.

  “Are you afraid?” Heera asked.

  Chandru stopped stepping back.

  He stepped into the courtyard.

  Heera’s eyes glowed with sadistic glee.

  “You are bold, Moonmask,” Heera smirked. “I know you are weak tonight. The stars told me. You are foolish to leave the safety of your incense.”

  Chandru didn’t waste words.

  He lunged forward and threw a punch toward Heera’s jaw—a strike that should have shattered bone. But tonight, his muscles felt heavy, his speed sluggish.

  Heera didn’t even dodge.

  He took the hit, his head barely snapping back. He turned his face toward Chandru and laughed.

  “Your punch is weightless today, worm. Now, take mine.”

  Heera moved with the true, terrifying speed of a Pure-blood. A fist slammed into Chandru’s chest, sending him skidding across the dirt. Chandru tried to roll, attempting to use the defensive techniques Pari had taught him—but without his lunar energy, his body simply couldn’t keep up with the demand.

  He barely escaped the next flurry of attacks. Realizing that striking back was useless, Chandru focused entirely on dodging. On surviving.

  Then he ran—bolting toward the corridor. Heera chased him, his laughter echoing through the hall. “I love this chase of death!”

  Chandru smashed through a window, glass exploding outward as he landed inside a small, sealed room.

  Heera pushed the door open casually, his eyes scanning the space. The air was thick with ash; the smell of agarbatti was overpowering.

  “You think this incense can hurt a Pure-blood?” Heera sneered, stepping into the haze. “It only affects weaker Mythics.”

  As he spoke, the pile of ash shifted.

  Heera punched straight through it, certain he had caught Chandru.

  It was a decoy.

  Chandru lunged from the shadows behind him—but the vampire’s senses were too sharp. Heera twisted, swung, and missed. When he struck again, Chandru hurled himself behind a heavy metal door inside the room.

  The impact was cataclysmic.

  The force blasted Chandru along with the door, hurling both through the veranda.

  “You are not glowing,” Heera mocked, stepping over the debris. “It’s sad that you won’t glow with light on the last day of your life.”

  Chandru struggled to his feet, trembling, exhausted. He looked at Heera and said quietly,

  “You’re right. I can’t glow… but I can spark. Don’t you know why we didn’t fix a wooden door for this room like the others?”

  The words struck Heera like a warning.

  He turned—and saw Chandru strike a wooden matchstick against the wall, dropping it into a massive mound of agarbatti powder.

  Heera looked down.

  The powder was at his feet.

  He realized too late. Chandru’s plan was never the incense’s scent—it was its fuel.

  As Heera tried to move, the flames erupted.

  

  The room exploded in a pillar of orange heat.

  Chandru slammed his foot against the fallen metal door on the veranda, using it as a shield as the fire roared over him.

  A heavy silence followed. No sign of movement. No sign of life. Chandru breathed heavily, his lungs burning, and slowly turned back toward the HQ.

  Then, a jagged laughter echoed from the center of the burning room.

  Before he could even turn, a power-blow crashed into his abdomen. The air tore from his lungs in a red mist as he was hurled backward, his body slamming into the iron gate of the HQ with a sickening thud.

  To his horror, the charred, blackened silhouette of Heera stepped out of the flames, already regenerating. The fire had scorched him, but now the flesh was knitting itself back together with a wet, hissing sound. In the dim light, Chandru could see the vampire’s cells multiplying at an impossible rate, erasing the burns until only pale, perfect skin remained.

  “It’s over, Moonmask,” Heera said, stepping into the porch light, claws extending for the kill.

  “I’ll bring your head back to the Council as a trophy.”

  Suddenly, the air temperature spiked.

  A blur of orange light descended from the roof of the HQ. Before Heera could even turn his head, a fist cloaked in white-hot flame collided with his cheek.

  BOOM.

  The impact sounded like a hammer hitting an anvil. Heera was sent flying, his body tumbling through the air until he crashed into the stone fountain at the edge of the yard.

  "Aah! Who the hell are you?" Heera roared, scrambling to his feet, clutching his face. "That... that actually hurts!"

  Surya stood in front of the fallen Chandru. His eyes were no longer those of the clumsy student who couldn't hit a cotton bag. They were serious, glowing with a deep, internal heat. He didn't look like a boy; he looked like a guardian.

  Chandru looked up, his vision blurred. He gasped as he saw Heera’s face. The mark where Surya had hit him was scorched—a deep, blackened bruise that was not healing. The supernatural regeneration of a Pure-blood was failing to fix the damage.

  Surya stepped forward, his fists beginning to smoke.

  "It would be interesting now," Heera hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and newfound fear.

  Surya didn't answer. He just lowered his stance, the "Soul Strike" ready in his veins. The No Moon had taken their master, but it had finally awakened the sun.