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- Mysore -
- August 10, 1936 -
It was a day like any other for Aryan as he moved like a whisper through the devastated streets of Mysore. The British had once again sent troops to suppress the growing resistance, burning hos and attempting to execute suspected revolutionaries in broad daylight. However, Aryan wouldn't let them succeed.
By the ti he arrived, so damage had already been done, but at least no innocent lives had been lost. Now, the survivors huddled in the ruins, their faces hollow with grief, mourning the destruction of their hos and livelihoods.
He knelt beside an Injured man, his body broken from a soldier's rifle butt. With a touch, Aryan manipulated life and bio-energies, knitting flesh and bone, easing the man's pain. A mother clutched her child, watching in awe, as if unsure whether to believe in the miracle unfolding before her.
Then suddenly, the world twisted.
The air rippled, thickened—as if the universe itself had inhaled and forgotten to exhale. Shadows stretched unnaturally, warping as an unseen force pressed against reality itself.
Then, a voice.
"Maheshvara..."
It wasn't spoken—it simply was. It vibrated through the very fabric of existence, its weight pressing into Aryan's mind like unseen hands. It was just calling for him or more specifically his moniker 'Maheshvara'.
Aryan's eyes sharpened. Soone—or sothing—had called for him in a way that bent reality itself. That alone was reason enough to be wary. Yet, in this chaotic world of gods, demons, and eldritch entities lurking behind the veil of existence, ignoring such a call wasn't an option, but he decided to be cautious and prepared to imdiately use his saved up MPs and his system to escape if the situation was bad enough. However, he wouldn't let an unknown force run unchecked.
Without hesitation, he activated Shadow Movent.
Darkness swallowed him whole, and in the next instant, he stepped into Ujjain.
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- Ujjain, Central Provinces -
- August 10, 1936 -
The air was thick with fear. Hundreds of people—n, won, and even children—were herded together, forced to witness the nightmare before them. A gallows lood at the center of the square, nooses swaying in an unnatural wind. British officers, rifles clutched tightly, stood rigid, their unease barely concealed.
At the heart of it all, he stood.
Aryan's gaze locked onto the figure draped in a crimson coat, his sharp features betraying amusent. Shadows writhed around him as if they were alive, twisting and coiling unnaturally. The smirk on his lips wasn't that of a man—it was sothing far older, sothing that had watched empires rise and fall like passing seasons.
Not wasting a second, Aryan activated Analysis.
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Na: ??? (phisto)
Race: Devil
Title: Hell Lord
Age: ∞
Power Level: Tier 5 (Tier 6)
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Aryan's brows furrowed. The garbled na wasn't a good sign. This being's true essence defied direct identification. But the brackets told him what he needed to know—phisto.
A na he recognized very well from the Marvel comics and movies of his previous life. He imdiately recalled what sort of character he was. A manipulator. A dealmaker. A ruler of one of Hell's domains, thriving on the suffering of mortals.
He realised, the people here weren't just victims of the British anymore.
They were bait.
phisto's smirk widened.
"Ah... so you ca." His voice dripped with satisfaction. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ignore my invitation."
Aryan didn't respond imdiately. His gaze swept over the scene—revolutionaries bound and bloodied, kneeling in the dirt, British soldiers standing in fearful and uneasy silence, as if realizing they were no longer the ones in control.
A Tier 6 being—even one considerably weakened to Tier 5 as according to his analysis, outside his own dinsion—ant one thing.
If phisto wanted to fight, then he had to give his all, even using so of his trump cards.
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Aryan remained still, his mind racing through possibilities, with more calmness. If phisto had really co for a fight, he wouldn't have wasted ti talking. A direct ambush, a reality-warping assault, or even manipulating the British soldiers into attacking first—any of these would have been a better strategy if his goal was to engage in battle. Yet, here he was, standing with that smug, knowing grin.
No, this wasn't about a fight.
He wanted sothing.
A deal.
It was in his nature. phisto was a scher, a tempter of souls, not a brute who sought battle without purpose. Aryan had seen enough stories to recognize his type—he didn't force his power onto others unless necessary. Instead, he offered them a choice, a poisoned one, wrapped in the illusion of opportunity.
And then there was another possibility—he was interested in Aryan himself.
As a reincarnated individual, Aryan wasn't exactly a hidden anomaly. He had altered history, created things that shouldn't exist, and had been far from subtle in his actions. There was no doubt that many beings—whether gods, demons, or cosmic entities—had already taken note of him.
If phisto was here, it ant he had been watching for a while.
Aryan's eyes didn't waver as he finally spoke.
"phisto."
The single word echoed in the eerie silence of the square.
phisto's smirk faltered—just for a fraction of a second. Then, his eyes glead with sothing new. Interest.
"Oh?" He tilted his head, amusent creeping back onto his face. "Now that is intriguing. You knew my na the mont you saw ."
The way he said it was telling. He hadn't introduced himself. And yet, Aryan had identified him without hesitation. That alone was enough to intrigue a being like phisto.
He took a slow step forward, boots clicking against the stone pavent.
"That ans one of two things," phisto mused. "Either you've encountered my kind before—highly unlikely, given the... limited scope of this world's understanding of Hell." His red eyes glead. "Or... you are a very special case."
Aryan didn't react, but phisto was watching closely.
"Void-touched," the devil continued, as if savoring the words. "I have been searching for you for quite so ti now, Maheshvara. A year, in fact."
So he had been monitoring him for that long. That ant phisto had likely been piecing together information about him, searching for weaknesses, waiting for an opportunity.
"I can already guess, you are a reincarnated soul with knowledge beyond his ti. Yet, you are clever enough to alter the world, strong enough to make others notice." phisto's grin widened. "And intelligent enough to recognize on sight. All of that makes you a very interesting specin."
Aryan knew exactly what that ant.
phisto loved tricking intelligent people. The more aware soone was, the more satisfying it was for him to manipulate them into making a deal they thought they could outsmart.
And right now, he was sizing Aryan up.
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phisto let the silence stretch for a few monts, his gaze never leaving Aryan. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he broke it.
"I must admit," he said, rolling his shoulders lazily, "I would love to have a long, engaging conversation with soone as fascinating as you. Souls like yours don't co around often, after all." His grin sharpened. "But, unfortunately, ti is of the essence."
Aryan narrowed his eyes.
phisto continued, "By now, the Ancient One must have sensed . And as much as I'd love to exchange pleasantries with him, I'd rather avoid unnecessary entanglents—at least for now." He shrugged as if it were an inconvenience rather than a genuine concern.
Then, without missing a beat, he moved to the real reason he was here.
"You see, Maheshvara, I have an offer for you." He gestured to the terrified people huddled in the square. "And for them, of course. Their fate... rests entirely in your hands."
Aryan didn't react, waiting for him to continue.
phisto's grin widened. "Power. Strength beyond your wildest imagination. Dominion over these lands. If you join , I will grant you everything." He spread his arms as if presenting a grand vision. "And, as a show of good faith, I will leave without harming a single soul here."
The weight of his words hung in the air, but Aryan remained unfazed.
For most power hungry people who didn't care about the consequences of their choices and moral values, such an offer would have been irresistible. Power beyond imagination. Absolute rule. A way to shape the world as he saw fit. But for him, it was aningless. He already had more ways than he could count to reach the pinnacle of this world, without losing his freedom as well as his soul. He didn't need phisto's so called power.
Aryan exhaled slowly. "Interesting, but unfortunately, I don't make deals with devils." His voice was calm, firm. "There's always a price, and yours is lackluster at best."
A flicker of sothing passed through phisto's expression. Then, suddenly—
Laughter.
It started as a low chuckle, then grew into full, amused laughter that echoed through the square. The British soldiers flinched, their fear only deepening. Even the revolutionaries, bound and bloodied, could sense the weight behind it.
phisto wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye. "Oh, Maheshvara, you are truly sothing else." His laughter softened, but his grin remained. "Most would have hesitated. Bargained. But you? You dismiss my offer as if I were selling cheap trinkets in a marketplace."
His eyes glead with dark amusent.
"You're even more interesting than I imagined."
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