6. Kycius

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Kycius.

The God of Vengence.

Tushar had only ever failed thrice in his life

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Tushar had only ever failed thrice in his life.

Once was when he had just learned the workings of this world. He remembers the slamming of doors, the yelling, the empty dining room with untouched food, those hours of trepidation, and his failure to breathe near him.

Why do in the world the kids wonder about monsters below their bed when they loomed right in the face to snatch the will to breathe in peace?

He had failed for the first time in his life when such a monster had made its presence a permanent addition to his room. It loomed, laughed, mocked, taunted, and haunted him while the world outside slept their nights off.

Next, it was a day he wished he could forget. The memories were stabs in his back that were hard to touch, healing was no option.

And, the last was today.

How did he think some money could lure a woman to back down? What an idiocy.

While the women he had lived his life around, would have never given up their will against some bills, or due to them, then why did he underestimate this one?

Yugantika wasn't to be underestimated.

She was unpredictable, a grotesque form of businesswoman who defied norms and expectations. Not a delicate flower to be admired from afar, but a raging storm that demanded respect. And if not given, she would gladly stake her claim. A paradox, a riddle wrapped in an enigma, a mystery that he found himself inclined to.

While her actions pulled him towards admiration, her unyielding will pushed him towards the other end. She stood strongly like the mighty oak. She was not one to bow down to adversity, but rather, she thrived in it, her spirit burning brighter with every challenge she faced and he wished to plot more for her.

He had underestimated her, yes, but not out of malice or disrespect. It was a mistake born out of ignorance; a misjudgment rooted in his own arrogance.

A mistake that he would be fixing tonight.

For, failure can be a vile concoction of disappointment and regret, a bitter pill that leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He was not accustomed to the feeling, nor he ever could.

It is a relentless tormentor, a cruel reminder of his wasted efforts.

And, Tushar Subramaniam abhorred wastage.

Failure had not brought him hatred. Towards events, days, places, and people.

It was a hate that awakened a burning flame, a seething rage that consumed his soul, leaving behind a trail of resentment and bitterness.

His past failures have consumed some pieces of his soul, this one takes away the last one left.

"Here," Marcus Wellington passed him a glass of brandy. Too English for his taste. "Don't scare the young ones away using your sulking frame."

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