Chapter 90: Chapter 88: Hatred Towards Vishnu... Seeking Strength...

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...

I was thinking about adding local deities too to the story. Any thought about This idea.

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Patala Lokh...1

The small household carried no signs of wealth or servants.

Only two people lived there.

They small boy. And his mother.

The boy had never known his father personally.

Only stories. Stories repeated since childhood. Stories filled with pride.

And hatred towards the gods.

"He was feared,"

His mother said softly while speaking of him once again, the same way she often did during meals.

"The gods feared your father’s strength."

The boy remained silent while eating.

"...."

But he listened to every word carefully.

"Your father," she continued, "received a boon from Lord Shiva himself."

At that, even now, pride flickered through her eyes.

"He commanded waters."

Her tone lowered almost reverently.

"Rivers. Oceans. Storm tides. No being who ruled over such domains could refuse his authority."

The boy’s grip tightened slightly around his meal bowl.

Then came the part that always followed. The bitterness.

"But the gods feared him."

Her voice hardened faintly.

"So they used deception. They could not defeat him fairly."

"And in the end..."

Her eyes dimmed light had vanished.

"...he was slain by that Mayavi1 Vishnu."

The name itself felt heavy inside the room.

The young rakshasa lowered his gaze slightly.

His father’s name had been—Jalakeshi.

The Rakshasa Lord of Drowned Storms.

A warrior blessed by Shiva and feared across sections of Patala1 itself.

And according to every story he had ever heard—The gods had cheated to kill him.

Hatred burned fiercely inside the boy each time he remembered it.

Especially toward Vishnu.

Toward the gods of the upper realms. Toward everything they represented.

Sometimes the rage inside him grew so strong he imagined tearing apart the heavens themselves.

But he never showed it openly. Not before his mother.

She had already suffered enough.

So instead, he quietly continued eating while listening to her speak.

Calm on the outside. A storm underneath.

And somewhere deep within Patala’s ancient darkness—That hatred was slowly growing teeth.

The young rakshasa’s name was Varunesh.

A name his mother had chosen in memory of the waters his father once commanded.

Though still young, Varunesh already carried traces of something dangerous within him.

His crimson eyes often lingered too long whenever stories of the gods were mentioned, and even among the children of Patala, his temper was known to flare faster than most.

Yet outside of that—He was still a boy.

And on that particular day,

He and several other young rakshasas were playing through one of the dense glowing forests near the underground waterways not far from his home.

The forests of Patala were unlike mortal forests.

Massive pale trees stretched upward toward cavern ceilings glittering with embedded gemstones, while strange luminous insects drifted through the dark like floating embers.

Rivers flowed silently nearby, their waters glowing faintly blue beneath the roots.

Varunesh had just climbed down from a black stone ridge when voices nearby caught his attention.

Older voices. Rakshasas. Travelers who had returned from the Bhulokh1.

He paused instinctively.

A small group of seasoned rakshasas was walking along the nearby forest path, carrying travel packs and weapons stained with dust from long journeys.

They had recently returned from Bhulok.

And one particular name made Varunesh’s ears sharpen immediately.

"...the prince transformed into Narasimha itself..."

Varunesh froze hearing it.

"...."

The next second, he abandoned his friends completely and sprinted toward the older rakshasas.

Because there was one thing he could never ignore.

Anything connected to Vishnu.

The god he blamed for his father’s death.

He slid to a stop before the travelers, breathing slightly heavily.

-Huff! -Huff!

"What are you talking about?"

He demanded immediately.

The older rakshasas blinked in surprise before exchanging amused looks among themselves.

-Blink!

One of them chuckled.

-Chuckle!

"Hah! Curious about Bhulok stories, little one?"

Varunesh didn’t answer that part.

His eyes remained fixed intensely on them.

The rakshasas eventually shrugged and continued speaking.

They began explaining the recent war between Gandhara, Hastinapura, and Kamsa.

As Varunesh listened, his expression darkened slightly.

"So they used two kingdoms against one king?"

He sneered mockingly.

"That sounds cowardly."

One of the older rakshasas immediately shook his head.

"No."

His tone turned more serious.

"You don’t understand."

The others nodded in agreement.

-Nod!

"The armies mattered less than the prince himself."

That caught Varunesh’s attention again.

The rakshasa continued describing what they had witnessed and heard spread through Bhulok.

How Devara tore through battlefield formations.

How powerful rakshasas and generals fell before him.

How even Kamsa—feared by many rakshasas themselves—had gradually been overwhelmed.

Then came the part that changed the atmosphere around the storytelling entirely.

"The transformation,"

One of them muttered quietly in awe and fear.

Even now, recalling it seemed to unsettle him slightly.

"When he became Narasimha..."

The forest seemed quieter suddenly.

The older rakshasa’s expression hardened unconsciously.

"He slaughtered soldiers before they could even react."

Another added grimly.

"Some died before they even realized he had moved."

Varunesh listened without interrupting now.

"...."

Completely focused.

Then came the image that stayed strongest in his mind.

"He kicked Kamsa across the sky itself,"

One traveler said.

"All the way back to Mathura."

"And there,"

Another finished quietly,

"he killed him before the entire city."

The older rakshasas exchanged uneasy looks afterward.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Because even they, beings from Patala, had found the stories difficult to dismiss as mere exaggeration.

Varunesh remained silent. Listening carefully.

Absorbing every detail. Especially the name.

Devara.

A mortal prince connected to Vishnu.

Connected to Narasimha.

And somehow—Without fully understanding why—Varunesh already felt something inside him reacting violently to that name alone.

Not fear. Not yet. Something darker in him wanted to tear him off.

A challenge.

A hatred inherited before he was even old enough to understand it fully.

And deep within the glowing forests of Patala—The first threads of fate quietly began tightening between two peoples who had never met.

The more Varunesh listened, the darker his expression became.

"...."

The older rakshasas continued speaking casually among themselves, but every new detail only fed the storm growing inside the young boy.

A newly established kingdom.

People gathering beneath Devara willingly.

The prince being praised across Bhulok like some divine savior.

The words tasted bitter inside Varunesh’s mind.

Because when he compared it to his own life—The unfairness felt unbearable.

His father had died.

His mother had suffered ever since.

They lived quietly in the corners of Patala while the gods who caused it continued existing above.

And now someone connected to Vishnu—Perhaps even Vishnu himself reborn in mortal form—Was living happily among admiration and praise.

The hatred inside Varunesh tightened like a knot.

"...."

His small hands clenched hard enough that his nails bit into his palms.

He hated it. Hated the stories.

Hated the praise in the rakshasas’ voices when they spoke about Devara’s strength.

Most of all—He hated how powerless he felt hearing it.

Finally, unable to contain it any longer, Varunesh looked directly at the older rakshasas.

"How do I become stronger?"

The sudden seriousness in his voice caught their attention immediately.

Varunesh continued without hesitation.

"How do I become strong enough to defeat Devara?"

Silence.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Then—

The rakshasas burst into loud laughter.

One nearly slapped his own knee while laughing.

-Slap!

Another stared at the boy as though he had just declared war against the sky itself.

"You?"

One of them wheezed between laughs. "Defeat him?"

Another shook his head in disbelief.

"Little one, do you even understand what you’re saying?"

Varunesh’s expression hardened further seeing their reactions.

One of the older rakshasas crouched slightly toward him, still grinning.

"We’re talking about the prince who turned into Narasimha. The same one who kicked Kamsa across the sky. You’re barely old enough to lose a fight against your own friends."

More laughter followed.

Varunesh’s jaw tightened hearing their mockery.

"...."

He hated being laughed at.

Especially now.

But eventually, one of the rakshasas stopped laughing first.

Unlike the others, his expression became more thoughtful while looking at the boy.

Because beneath the childish declaration—He sensed something genuine.

Not arrogance. Hatred. Deep hatred.

The rakshasa slowly crossed his arms.

"If you truly seek strength,"

He said at last,

"then understand this first."

His tone lost all amusement.

"Power like that is not gained through anger alone."

The others quieted slightly too.

The rakshasa continued.

"Bhagavan Shiva grants boons to those willing to destroy themselves pursuing them."

"Demons. Gods. Humans. It doesn’t matter. Anyone can seek power."

He pointed toward Varunesh directly.

"But whether you survive the path to obtain it... That is different."

Varunesh listened intensely now.

Another older rakshasa spoke this time.

"There are places in Patala where ancient beings still train. Ruins. Cursed caverns."

"War grounds abandoned after forgotten battles. But children who go there usually don’t return."

The warning carried no exaggeration.

Only fact.

Yet instead of fear—Varunesh felt excitement flicker through his hatred for the first time.

Because now the idea felt possible.

Distant. Impossible perhaps. But possible.

One rakshasa noticed the dangerous look entering the boy’s eyes and frowned slightly as he warned.

"You should forget this nonsense, Hatred toward gods destroys people faster than any weapon."

But Varunesh barely heard him anymore.

In his mind, only one image remained now.

A young prince standing above everyone else while the world praised him.

And somewhere deep within the glowing forests of Patala—A wounded child quietly made his first true vow.

One day—He would become strong enough to bring Devara down.

The laughter eventually faded, though traces of amusement still lingered across several of the older rakshasas’ faces.

But one among them continued studying Varunesh carefully.

The boy had not backed down.

Not even once.

Most children would have shrunk after being mocked so openly.

Varunesh instead looked even more determined.

That alone made the older rakshasa’s expression turn thoughtful.

Finally, he spoke again.

"If you truly seek power..."

The others glanced toward him curiously.

"There is one path."

Varunesh’s eyes sharpened instantly.

The rakshasa leaned slightly against a dark stone tree trunk nearby before continuing.

"You could try seeking out Shukracharya."

The moment the name was spoken, even the other rakshasas nearby quieted instinctively.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Because that was no ordinary teacher.

Shukracharya.

The guru of Asuras.

Master of forbidden knowledge, astras, politics, resurrection arts, and countless disciplines feared even among gods.

A being whose wisdom had guided entire races through wars against the heavens themselves.

And while he was most famous as the preceptor of asuras—

He had trained powerful rakshasas as well throughout different ages.

Varunesh stared intensely at the older rakshasa.

"Where is he?"

The rakshasa immediately snorted.

"If finding him were easy, half of Patala would already be standing at his doorstep."

A few others chuckled lightly in agreement.

-Chuckle!

"No one simply walks into the guru’s presence, You find him only if your fate and determination are enough to reach him."

Varunesh frowned slightly hearing it.

-Frown!

"...."

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(Author note:)

I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea’s.

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Don’t forget to review guys...

Guys I have a new fic which named: Karuppan: King of Openings.

Realm ruled by RakshasaSorcererRealm of RakshasaMortal Realm: Earth