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Disclaimer- The following Chapter is purely a work of fiction and in no way claims to be related to real account of history. Any relation in particular, from the story to characters, to real history are purely coincidental and is not meant to harm anyone in particular in any way.
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- Nizam's Residence, Hyderabad -
- September 10, 1936 -
The grand hall of Chowmahalla Palace was dimly lit, the chandeliers overhead casting long shadows on the polished marble floor. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the weight of unspoken anxieties. Around a table of dark teak, three men sat, their expressions tense, their eyes betraying thoughts too dangerous to speak outright.
Muhammad Ali Jinnah adjusted the cuff of his crisp white sherwani, his fingers tapping a measured rhythm against the armrest. His face, usually unreadable, held a slight edge of impatience. Across from him, Lord Louis Mountbatten leaned back in his chair, his military uniform impeccable, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. To Jinnah's right, the Nizam of Hyderabad, Mir Osman Ali Khan, shifted uneasily, his bejeweled fingers curling against the fabric of his shawl. Next to him, the Nawab of Junagadh, Mahabat Khan III, remained silent, his eyes darting between the others.
"The situation," Jinnah began, his voice calm but firm, "is dire. Aryan Rajvanshi's rule is absolute. His control over Bharat is beyond what we had anticipated. We cannot match him in strength. We cannot oppose him directly. But power... power is never only about strength."
The Nizam exhaled sharply. "Strength is exactly what we lack, Jinnah. The man commands forces that defy logic. He has the army, he has the politicians, and he has the loyalty of the people. If we were to rise against him now, he would crush us before we could even draw a battle line."
"Which is why we do not rise," Jinnah countered smoothly. "We make him come to us. Aryan presents himself as the protector of Bharat, a man of the people. That is his weakness." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "We use the people."
Mountbatten, who had been watching with an air of detached amusement, finally spoke. "Ah, yes. Sow discord. Hindu against Muslim, caste against caste, brother against brother. You stir the flames, and suddenly, even the great Aryan Rajvanshi finds himself paralyzed. He cannot wage war on his own citizens, can he?"
The Nawab of Junagadh gave a slow nod. "Chaos breeds necessity. If we become the ones offering protection to our people, if we position ourselves as the only ones who can save them from the violence, then we gain influence. We regain power."
The Nizam's eyes narrowed. "Even if we succeed in creating unrest, what stops Rajvanshi from simply wiping us out the moment he uncovers our involvement?"
Jinnah's lips curled into a thin smile. "He may suspect, but he will have no proof. Besides, we will not act alone. The narrative must be that the people themselves resist his rule. Religious tensions must flare naturally. Protests, riots, whispered conspiracies. The key is patience."
Mountbatten tilted his head, watching Jinnah carefully. "And what of Britain's role in all this?"
Jinnah's smile faded slightly. "You are here under diplomatic immunity, Lord Mountbatten. You can make promises, but we both know Britain cannot openly intervene without severe consequences. The world has changed now, and most of the powers already accepted Bharat as an independent power. A military response from Britain would be seen as colonial interference."
Mountbatten gave a slow, almost condescending nod. "True. But my presence here serves as... reassurance. Even if the British Empire cannot act directly, we still hold influence in international politics. A divided Bharat is far more beneficial to us than a united one. I hope to convince the European powers like France and Portugal with their interests in Bharat to draw them towards our little circle here. Afterall, for all of us western powers, if internal strife weakens Rajvanshi's grip, then all the better."
The Nizam drummed his fingers against the table. "And when the dust settles? What then?"
Jinnah's voice remained steady. "For you, it means retaining Hyderabad as an independent dominion. For the Nawab, Junagadh remains untouched. And for me... a separate Muslim nation, free from Rajvanshi's rule. It's such a shame Maharaja of Kashmir backed out of our group at the last minute, but it doesn't matter, I will deal with him later."
Silence followed. The plan was audacious, dangerous. But in their minds, it was the only viable path forward.
Mountbatten stood, adjusting his coat. "Well, gentlemen, it appears we have much to prepare for. I will see what subtle measures can be taken on my end."
Jinnah leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Then it begins. The slow unraveling of his perfect Bharat."
Unbeknownst to them, Karna was already there.
Cloaked in invisibility through his Photokinesis, he had been listening, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His blood boiled with fury. These men—these spineless schemers—spoke of tearing apart Bharat, of shattering the peace Aryan had fought so hard to build. They dared to conspire against the very foundation of the nation Aryan had strengthened with his own hands.
Karna and Aryan were not bound by blood, but that had never mattered. They were brothers in every sense that mattered—partners, rivals, and the only ones who truly understood each other's ambitions. Karna had always respected Aryan, admired what he had become. But to hear these men speak so carelessly of destroying everything Aryan had built, of dragging Bharat into chaos for their own selfish gains... it was unforgivable.
His fury was like a storm barely held at bay. No longer willing to remain hidden, Karna dropped his concealment. The air shimmered around him, the light bending as he reappeared before them. His crimson eyes burned with a rage that made the conspirators freeze in place.
"You parasites," Karna growled, his voice laced with barely restrained fury. "You think you can use the people as pawns? You think Aryan won't stop you?"
Their faces drained of color.
Before any of them could react, Karna vanished in a burst of golden light.
- Flashback: A Few Hours Earlier.... -
Across Hyderabad and Junagadh, Karna's forces had already moved into position, their presence a silent yet undeniable warning. The air in the rebellious territories grew thick with tension as superpowered individuals under his command secured key locations. Government buildings, military outposts, and supply lines—each one methodically taken under control before the enemy could react.
Karna stood atop a rooftop in Hyderabad, observing the operation through his visor. His forces moved like shadows, unseen yet unstoppable. They had already cut off reinforcements and communications, leaving the conspirators isolated. A voice crackled in his earpiece.
"All points secured, commander," reported one of his lieutenants. "Minimal resistance. Awaiting further orders."
Karna's lips curled slightly. "Good. Hold the perimeters and make sure no one escapes. I'll handle the palace myself."
His second-in-command, a mutant with enhanced senses, hesitated. "Are you sure, sir? The Nizam's palace is heavily guarded, and—"
Karna cut him off with a chuckle. "Guards won't stop me. Just make sure the city remains under our control."
With that, he vanished in a burst of golden light, streaking toward the Nizam's palace. He had already reached the peak of Tier 3 now, just a step below Shakti, who had recently ascended to Tier 4 a few days ago. Aryan had teasingly pointed it out casually, but Karna took it as a challenge. He would not be left behind.
As he descended upon the palace, the guards barely had time to react. A blinding flash engulfed the entrance, followed by a shockwave that sent them sprawling. Karna materialized in their midst, his eyes glowing with radiant energy.
"Step aside," he said, his voice like steel. "Or be burned by the sun."
Some dropped their weapons instantly. Others, either braver or more foolish, raised their rifles. Karna sighed. With a flick of his hand, a wave of concentrated light swept over them, leaving them unconscious before they even hit the ground.
Inside the palace, the conspirators sat in their chamber, still deep in their discussion. Jinnah, Mountbatten, the Nizam, and the Nawab of Junagadh—each plotting, each clinging to their fragile illusions of control.
Then the lights flickered, as he disillusioned himself out of sight, bending the lights to his will, intending to uncover their plots.
Karna's fists trembled at his sides, his entire body taut with fury as he stared at the men seated around the table. The air around him crackled with energy, light bending subtly as if responding to his rage. These vermin, these leeches, dared to speak of tearing Bharat apart, of undoing Aryan's hard work, of throwing innocent lives into chaos just to cling to their fragile delusions of power. The thought alone was enough to send his blood boiling.
He took a step forward, his voice ringing through the grand hall like a hammer striking an anvil. "It is over." His declaration was absolute, undeniable. The conspirators tensed, their eyes darting between each other in alarm. "Hyderabad and Junagadh are now under the rule of Samrat Aryan Rajvanshi." His voice carried the weight of judgment, of fate itself.
Jinnah was the first to regain his composure. He straightened in his seat, his expression carefully neutral, but Karna saw the flicker of unease in his eyes. "You are making a grave mistake," Jinnah said smoothly, his voice measured. "Bharat is not a dictatorship. The people have the right to decide their future."
Karna let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "The people?" he spat, his eyes blazing with contempt. "You don't care about the people. They are nothing but pawns to you, pieces to be moved and sacrificed on your chessboard of ambition." He turned his gaze to the Nizam, who shrank under his glare. "You would drown this land in blood just to keep your throne," Karna snarled. "You would watch families torn apart, watch cities burn, just to preserve your illusion of power."
The Nawab of Junagadh swallowed hard, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. "What do you intend to do with us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Karna's smile was cold, merciless. "What do I intend to do?" he echoed. The room darkened as he clenched his fists, the light seemingly sucked away from the space around them. He stepped toward Jinnah first, his movements slow, deliberate. "You were the leader of this pathetic scheme, weren't you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, dangerous and sharp. "Let's start with you."
Jinnah barely had time to react before Karna's hand shot out, gripping him by the throat. The air sizzled as a searing heat coursed through his skin. Jinnah gasped, his body convulsing as light burned against his flesh, but Karna didn't let go. He didn't intend to kill him—not yet. No, death was too merciful. He wanted him to feel helpless, to feel the agony of his own undoing.
"You talk about division, about playing with the lives of people," Karna hissed. "Let me show you what real power feels like." The room was filled with Jinnah's strangled cries as Karna's grip tightened. The heat intensified, but just before it could cause permanent damage, he released him, letting him slump back into his chair, gasping for breath, his skin scorched with radiant burns.
Mountbatten, who had been silent until now, suddenly let out a strangled noise of terror. Karna turned to him, and the sight before him made his lip curl in disgust. The once-proud Lord Louis Mountbatten, representative of the mighty British Empire, had pissed himself. The dark stain spread across his pristine uniform, the stench of urine mixing with the incense lingering in the air.
"How pathetic," Karna sneered. "The great British officer, reduced to a sniveling coward." He took a step closer, his expression darkening. "You're lucky," he murmured, his voice laced with venom. "If it weren't for your diplomatic immunity, I would make you scream loud enough for the Queen herself to hear."
Mountbatten let out a shuddering breath, his face drained of all color. He didn't dare to meet Karna's gaze.
Karna turned back to the others, his fury undiminished. The Nizam and the Nawab sat frozen, sweat beading on their brows. "You all thought you could scheme in the shadows, playing your little games. But you forget—you are insects before us. Aryan has built a nation, a home for the people of Bharat. And I will not let you rip it apart."
For quite some time after that, the room was filled with screams of terror and begging of mercy, but no one was there to help them or listen to their pleas.
Karna finally stepped back, taking In the sight of the broken, trembling men before him. He had made his point. They would never dare to act against Aryan again—not after tonight, as today might just be last day of their life.
Karna then decided to take these broken men before Aryan to decide their fate.
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