Rise Of The Descendant (Excerpt)

Chapter 2

I am the descendant. The world's betterment depends on me, a man in a dusty brown hooded cloak with its hood covering his entire face, save the chin and lips, thought to himself. The only way to look ahead while wearing that was to peer through the hood's dense translucency. He repeated the epic term which was already echoing in his throat even before it had come out: "Om."

When he spoke it, a great vibration went through his soul. He seemed pleased but he knew that he needed to improve.

"Om," he spoke it again. He felt his soul floating in the air of eternity. I am the descendant. I have the honour to feel the infinity.

He slowly opened his eyes. As soon as he opened his eyes, tears burst out of them. I am not crying, he thought to himself, these are the tears which are offered to the Gods as a thanking gift for granting me the eternal feel.

He had his eyes closed for three hours. This was his daily practice. He picked a six-inch-long thin and blunt wooden nail and took it near his elbow. The surface of the nail with a blunt end was smooth. The nail was almost twice as thin as an average pencil. The pain of eternity, he thought, is essential.

He slowly inserted the nail into his elbow and smiled at the pain. His blood flowed down and fell in a wooden bowl kept on the floor. After the nail was pierced till almost one and a half inch, he pulled it out and smirked. He picked the blood-filled bowl and brought it near his mouth.

"To the Gods!" He cried and swallowed his blood, ensuring that his mouth did not touch the holy bowl.

Then he gently placed the bowl on the floor again and sat back on his mat. "Om." The sound seemed to touch each and every part of his body. He smiled and was pleased by his performance. I am the descendant.