Fall of god

 Omega City had many shadows, but none so deceptive as the one cast by Robert Swaami.

Far away from the skyline of steel and neon, nestled in the mist-laced cliffs of East Omega, stood an ancient monastery. Neutral ground, claimed by no faith and respected by all, it had long been a place of peace. Until he arrived.

He came in rags, injured and humble—an escaped convict, a murderer running from the law. The monks offered him sanctuary and work. He swept the stone floors, scrubbed brass lamps, and served food to the devotees. But his eyes were never at peace.

He found the library. He devoured sacred texts from every corner of human belief. He copied, memorized, rehearsed.

And then one silent night, he served poisoned tea to the head monk. The next morning, he wore the monk’s robe and declared a vision. He called himself Robert Swaami, the new savior. He claimed he had been chosen by the Divine Light to unify all souls.

The monastery changed. Icons of various gods were removed. Mirrors were installed. Offerings were demanded. A tech crew arrived silently in the night, gifted by Don Malvoro. Holograms and illusion rigs made Robert appear divine during sermons.

Soon, the faithful came from across Omega City—lost, addicted, broken. Robert offered them hope, food, and illusions. He recorded them, blackmailed them, recruited them. Some disappeared.

AEGIS took notice. Discreet investigations began. Chote Ram warned that something darker brewed.

But it was Yogiraj who walked through the monastery gates without fear. Draped in ash, snakes coiled around his arms, his Trident glowing faintly with divine fire. His presence made even the walls tremble.

Robert welcomed him theatrically. “You too seek the light?” he boomed.

Yogiraj smiled. “I have seen the light. And it recoils from you.”

Robert tried illusions. They vanished with a wave of Yogiraj’s hand. He summoned guards. They fell to sleep with a whispered mantra.

Cornered before his altar of lies, Robert snarled and leapt with a hidden blade. But Yogiraj, swift as thunder, raised his Trident. It pulsed with the power of centuries.

"Om Namo Mahakaal," he whispered.

A shaft of blue-white flame erupted from the Trident, engulfing Robert. The illusions burned away. His robes caught fire. His followers screamed and ran as the false god was reduced to ash before the altar he built for himself.

Yogiraj bowed to the sacred space. “Let truth reclaim this land.”

AEGIS arrived minutes later. The files, blackmail archives, and tech were seized. Survivors were helped.

And Omega City breathed a little easier that night.

But in the shadows, Nagesh Nagpal watched. And he whispered to Don Malvoro: “The game just got interesting.”