"Where should I begin this story?
Perhaps from the moment millions died… or from when people—alive in body but dead in spirit—were shattered by the loss of those they once held dear.
Or maybe from the time when simply being alive became enough. Or when right and wrong blurred, and people believed they could live however they pleased—no matter how twisted their choices.
But really… who cares?
Especially me. I couldn't care less".
With a mix of exhaustion and apathy, Michael drifted through the void—weightless and free of responsibility.
And yet, this is where the tale begins— A story that changed the fate of humanity forever.
When the skies broke open and meteors struck down upon the Earth.
From them, interstellar beasts—monstrous entities from other worlds—emerged and ravaged everything in sight. No army, no weapon, no defense could stop them. The world burned. Cities crumbled. Countless lives were lost—some to fire, some to the teeth of creatures that fell from the other worlds.
In desperation, humanity turned to their gods, in whom they had placed their faith for thousands of years. They knelt, they begged, they wept—for miracles, for mercy.But no gods came. People fell into despair.
Hope died.
Then—one day a giant meteor fell, crashing into the Indian Ocean. From its depths rose a beast unlike any before: a leviathan, whose roar drowned the cries of millions. As it tore through the land, people made up their minds about their fate.
Until he appeared.
Clad in nothing but a tattered military uniform, wielding a warhammer far too large for a man, he descended from the sky—and with a single blow, slew the leviathan.
The world paused. People around him were overwhelmed—someone had performed a miracle. They believed a god had descended. even though he is human still they put their faith in him.
And in that stillness, hope returned.
They called him Dhruva ' The Immovable'
With every strike, he erased fear. With every step, monsters fled. Temples were raised. Songs were sung. He became their god—not because he claimed divinity, but because he gave them something greater: belief. In his wake, humans began awakening powers of their own—chakra—a mysterious force that turned them into warriors called Channelers.
Soon, the meteor strikes ceased. Peace blanketed the Earth. Humanity hailed Dhruva as their savior, their god, their answer.
And so, the Order of the Hammer was born.
Built on Dhruva's teachings, the Order enforced its will across the world. Blind obedience was demanded—no questions allowed. Channelers and even non-powered followers of the Order, now called Dulls, rose to power. Those who opposed the Order—both Channelers and Dulls—were branded Outcasts.
Stripped of their rights. Treated like filth. Forced to live as slaves in the very world they once bled for.
Then, fifty years later… Dhruva vanished.
And with him, the meteor strikes began again.
Terror returned and so did the question that no one dared to ask:
What if gods were never meant to save us?
Present Day
The world had changed.
Modern India stood tall—gleaming towers kissed the clouds, flying cars zipped between neon skylines, and artificial intelligence governed systems with impeccable precision. Technology had spiked. People lived in ease, luxury, and confidence—even under the shadow of an ongoing meteor strikes.
Why?
Because C.O.S.M.O.S. existed.
An elite chakra-defense organization, C.O.S.M.O.S. trained inhuman soldiers to fight interstellar beasts for ten years after the disappearance of Dhruva with unrivaled efficiency. For the common people, they were gods in uniform. So when another meteor struck, no one screamed. Instead, they watched eagerly—wondering what stunt C.O.S.M.O.S. would pull this time.
Hours later, the Danger Analytical Force (D.A.F.) arrived, led by their infamous chief—Rithvik, a brilliant but belligerent man whose mind was sharp, but heart long drowned in alcohol.
"Status report," he muttered, stepping out of his cruiser with a whiskey flask tucked in his coat.
"Chief," said an officer, checking the scanner, "It's an A-rank interstellar beast."
Rithvik raised an eyebrow. "Huh. But we don't know its hunting pattern yet, do we?"
"No, sir."
He smirked—a predator's grin. "Then bring a scapegoat. Let's see how it feeds."
"Understood, Chief!" the officer barked with absolute loyalty.
Rithvik left the crash site with two men. Their destination? A forgotten corner of modern India. A place that didn't match the glamor—a slum, buried in darkness. No electricity. Broken sewage. Crumbling walls. A rift-rat hole in a diamond world.
Within one such shack, a boy lit a small flame in his palm—eyes glowing with hope.
"Mom! Look! My fire! I awakened! I'll fix our lives. I'll fix everything for the outcasts!"
His mother's eyes softened, but her heart ached. "I love you, my son… but don't hold on to dreams that will break you."
His smile dimmed. But his father placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Everyone has the right to dream," he said. "Dream big, my boy."
Laughter echoed in the dim home. Then came a roar from outside.
The family rushed out.
C.O.S.M.O.S. officers stood in the slum's center, faces cold, armor humming.
"We need a scapegoat," one officer announced. "We'll choose. Submit without resistance."
The crowd erupted in fury.
"You treat us like animals!" a man shouted, throwing a stone.
The officer's smile vanished. "This is why livestock don't deserve words."
He raised his hand.
A sonic pulse burst from their weapons, crashing into the crowd. Screams followed.
Amidst the chaos, the young boy stepped forward. His small hands burned with a faint flame—his soul poured into it. With everything he had, he hurled it toward the officer.
It did nothing.
The flame fizzled harmlessly against the officer's armor. Panic flickered in the boy's eyes, but he stood his ground and yelled,
"Get out of our land!"
From behind, his mother screamed, "No!"
His father shouted, "Stop!"
But it was too late.
Chief Rithvik, who had been watching from the side, chuckled darkly. His voice carried a mocking amusement as he said,
"Wow... what a mighty spark."
He stepped forward, his hand igniting with a much more powerful flame, swirling violently.
"Then let's see which one burns brighter."