Genesis Maker: The Indian Marvel (Rewrite)

________________________________________________________________________________

- Calcutta, Bengal Province, British India -

- March 8, 1936 – Early Afternoon -

The British officer struggled, his boots scraping against the dirt road, but Aryan's grip was unyielding. He dragged the man forward, uncaring as the officer's body bounced roughly across the uneven path, the stones and dust cutting into his pristine uniform. Every time the officer tried to protest, Aryan tightened his hold, making it clear that resistance was pointless.

The streets of Calcutta had never felt this alive. Word spread fast—something was happening, something different. As Aryan strode through the city, more and more Indians stopped to watch. Their gazes, long dulled by submission and fear, now gleamed with something else. Hope.

Smiles broke across faces. Murmurs turned to hushed conversations, and soon, to open cheers. Some pressed their hands together in silent prayers of gratitude. Others clenched their fists, feeling, perhaps for the first time, that vengeance was within reach.

But not everyone shared that sentiment.

British soldiers appeared, their rifles raised, barking orders he ignored. Some fired. The bullets never reached him. He barely needed to react—his body absorbed the force, the kinetic energy flowing into him like water, fueling him. He let the power build for a moment before redirecting it. A mere flick of his wrist sent the same force crashing back at them. Bones snapped, bodies flew, and rifles clattered uselessly to the ground.

Indian police officers—those forced into service under the Empire—hesitated. Some stepped back, unwilling to raise their weapons against one of their own. Others, either out of duty or fear, attacked. Aryan didn't hesitate either. Shadows erupted from the ground, tendrils lashing out like living spears. They coiled around throats, impaled limbs, and wrapped the screaming men in darkness. None died immediately—he made sure of that. Let them suffer, let them feel what their loyalty to the British had earned them.

By the time he neared the town center, a procession had formed. The captured soldiers and officers, bound in writhing shadows, groaned in agony as he dragged them along. More British forces tried to intervene. None succeeded. Their own energy betrayed them, their movements turned against them in ways they could neither understand nor counter.

Then, someone from the crowd whispered a name.

"Maheshvara."

It spread like wildfire. The whispers grew louder, repeated again and again, until it became a chant.

"Maheshvara! Maheshvara!"

Aryan didn't react. He had no time for names, for titles. But the people had already made up their minds. To them, he was no longer just a nameless figure. He was something divine. A force of nature. A god of destruction against their oppressors.

At last, he reached the town square. The open space, surrounded by British administrative buildings, had never seen a sight like this before. The officers stationed there gawked, their hands hovering over their weapons, unsure whether to fight or flee.

Aryan ignored them. He had work to do.

Raising a hand, he summoned his clones. Silent shadows flickered to life, darting into nearby shops and alleys. Within moments, they returned, carrying thick wooden planks. One by one, they drove them into the ground, arranging them in a crude but unmistakable pattern—crosses.

The bound officers struggled as the clones lifted them, forcing their arms and legs into place. Aryan's shadows did the rest, securing them tightly. Some screamed. Others begged. None were spared.

And then, as a final touch, he wove illusions around the area—whispers of terror, visions of nightmares. Any man who dared try to free them would be paralyzed with fear, their minds drowning in horrors they could not escape. These men would die here, crucified under the very Empire they had served.

He turned back to the crowd. Thousands had gathered now, their eyes fixed on him with reverence, awe, and expectation.

He raised his hand, and silence fell.

"Do not fear," he said, his voice carrying across the square. "For too long, we have been afraid. Too long, we have bowed our heads and allowed them to trample us. But no more."

He pointed at the men writhing on the crosses.

"This is what awaits those who oppress us. This is what awaits those who betray their own. The British will fall. The Raj will crumble. I have come to make sure of it."

The silence broke. A deafening roar rose from the crowd, the people cheering, shouting, calling his name—Maheshvara!

Aryan gave them one last look. This was only the beginning.

Then, before anyone could approach him, he vanished into the shadows.

And just like that, the legend was born.

--------

The city stretched before him, bathed in the dull glow of the setting sun. Aryan stood at its edge, his presence swallowed by the deepening shadows. Then, without a sound, he disappeared into the darkness.

Moving through the void, he let the city reveal itself to him—railways, telegraph stations, supply depots, military barracks, and administrative buildings. British power thrived in these places, and so they had to fall.

Reemerging in the heart of a telegraph station, he barely spared a glance at the terrified operators before raising his hand, encasing the innocents into a shield of darkness, as he focused his attention to the electromagnetic energy here. The air hummed as he reached out, drawing in the electromagnetic energy that crackled unseen around him. The current bent to his will, feeding into him, growing, until the very walls trembled. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he let it loose.

Sparks ignited. Wires melted. The station exploded in a blinding flash, the shockwave tearing through the night.

He was gone before the debris settled.

Next, the railway lines. He knelt, pressing his palm against the cold steel tracks, feeling the latent energy in the earth beneath. Kinetic force surged from within him, rippling outward. The ground shuddered. Metal screeched as the rails twisted like coiling serpents. A deep, guttural groan rose from beneath as the earth itself split apart, swallowing the tracks whole.

No more trains. No more supply lines.

He moved again. British warehouses and supply depots loomed before him, their doors locked, their contents guarded. It didn't matter. He called upon the heat lingering in the air, amplifying it. Flames roared to life, climbing the walls, leaping from one structure to another. Explosions followed, lighting up the sky like a festival of fire.

The barracks came next. Soldiers scrambled, barking orders, rifles raised against an enemy they could not see. Aryan did not waste his time with them. He simply pulled the energy from their surroundings, turning it against the very ground beneath their feet. The earth cracked open, devouring buildings and men alike.

By the time the last structure collapsed, the city was unrecognizable. The British presence in Calcutta had been reduced to rubble and ash.

As evening settled over the chaos, Aryan stepped back into the shadows, the darkness embracing him once more.

Back at their posts, the British officials were frantic. Investigations were ordered. Reports were written. But every witness, every survivor, spoke of only one thing.

A name.

"Maheshvara."

----------

- Rajvanshi Estate, Calcutta -

- March 8, 1936 – Evening -

The whispers of Maheshvara spread like wildfire through the streets of Calcutta. At first, it was just a name, passed in hushed voices from one person to another. But as the night deepened, it became a chant, a declaration of defiance against the British.

In the Rajvanshi estate, Raghav listened.

Sitting in the quiet of the grand hall, his hands rested on his cane as he absorbed the words of the messengers and the murmurs of the servants. He did not react, did not let the flicker of recognition show on his face. But deep inside, he already knew the truth.

His young master had returned from the shadows.

Raghav was no fool. He had seen Aryan wield powers beyond mortal understanding before. That night in Oxford, when their enemies had come like hungry wolves, Aryan had torn through them like a storm. The raw, overwhelming force he had displayed then was now being whispered across the city under a different name.

And yet, Raghav felt no fear, no anger. Only pride.

His young master had become a force of reckoning.

But there was something else, too. A seed of worry, buried beneath admiration. Not for Aryan's safety—he knew his master could stand against almost any foe. No, his concern was different. He had seen men wield great power before. Some became protectors. Others became tyrants.

And Aryan was still young.

Power could intoxicate. Strength could consume. The line between justice and vengeance was razor-thin.

Raghav had spent his life in the shadows of India's struggle. He had seen men fall—not to British bullets, but to their own arrogance. He had witnessed supernatural forces far older and darker than what common folk could comprehend. The world was filled with things beyond reason, and Aryan stood at the center of it now.

If no one guided him, who would?

As the sun began its slow descent, Raghav rose. The time had come.

The estate was quiet when Aryan returned, his shadowed form materializing near the entrance. He moved with silent confidence, but Raghav was already waiting.

Aryan barely had a moment to step forward before Raghav spoke.

"Young Master," the old butler said, his voice calm yet firm. "We need to talk."

Aryan halted, glancing at him. There was no surprise in his eyes—only understanding.

"I figured you'd know," Aryan said, stepping closer. "You always do."

Raghav gave a small, knowing smile. "It's not difficult when the entire city speaks of your name." He gestured toward the hall. "Come. There are things that must be said."

Aryan followed without a word.

The two of them walked through the dimly lit corridors, the echoes of their footsteps lost in the vastness of the estate. Finally, they stopped in the study, where the scent of old parchment and burning incense lingered.

Raghav turned to face him.

"I am proud of you, Aryan," he began, his eyes steady. "You have become a beacon of hope for our people. You have struck fear into those who have long believed themselves untouchable."

Aryan inclined his head slightly, waiting.

"But power," Raghav continued, "is a dangerous thing. And even the strongest can be lost to it."

Aryan's expression didn't change, but his hands clenched slightly at his sides. "You think I'll lose myself?"

"I think you are young," Raghav said plainly. "And youth is often reckless."

A flicker of something passed through Aryan's eyes—defiance, perhaps, or understanding. He didn't argue, though. He simply listened.

"I have seen things, Aryan. Things most men would dismiss as myth," Raghav said, his voice quieter now. "I have stood in the shadows of history and walked among those who believed themselves gods. I have seen kings fall, heroes turn into villains, and men with noble hearts become monsters. It happens not with a single choice, but with a series of small ones. The moment you start believing you are above the people you protect—that is when you stop being their protector."

Aryan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I don't see myself as a god, Raghav."

"No," Raghav agreed. "But the people will."

A silence stretched between them.

Finally, Aryan sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You sound like you've seen this happen before."

"I have," Raghav admitted. "And I will not let it happen to you."

For a moment, neither spoke. Then, Aryan's expression softened, the weight in his eyes easing just slightly.

"I appreciate it, you know," Aryan said. "You looking out for me."

Raghav chuckled. "That is what family does."

Aryan blinked at that. But he didn't refute it.

He simply nodded.

And in that quiet understanding, the two stood together—an unspoken promise between them.

________________________________________

________________________________________

Thanks for reading 🙏 🙏.

If you are liking this story so far please support this novel through the power stones and let me know your thoughts in the comments and please review the book with ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ if you deem it worthwhile.