Genesis Maker: The Indian Marvel (Rewrite)-Chapter 92: : Balance Shaken, Destiny Stirred

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- Greenland Skies -

- May 6, 1937 — Moments After -

Stillness fell like snow.

Aryan hovered above the massive crater, the last of the black-gold light fading from his blade. The silence stretched—not empty, but full. The kind that follows something irreversible. His breath was steady now, though his soul still hummed with the lingering echoes of the divine power he had just unleashed.

Far below, there was no more movement.

The Deviant—born of madness, fueled by a stolen celestial core—was gone. Not defeated, but unmade.

And yet, he was not alone.

Far beyond the clouds, beyond the reach of mortal eyes, other beings had been watching.

From the shadows between stars, from temples etched into forgotten dimensions, from thrones that drifted across realities—the gods and cosmic powers looked on.

They had seen.

They had felt.

The Celestials—ancient architects of galaxies—had sensed the anomaly the moment the Deviant began to mutate. A deviant, by definition, was a flaw. A genetic unpredictability. But one absorbing a Celestial Heart? That was an impossibility flirting with cosmic disaster.

Had It grown unchecked, the result could've been catastrophic—a god born of corruption, wielding raw celestial force without understanding or design. Such a being could bend fate, rupture the balance, and in time, rival the creators themselves.

But it was stopped.

Not by another Celestial.

Not by a god.

By a human.

...Or so they thought.

Even the Celestials couldn't place what Aryan truly was. Not anymore.

They weren't the only ones trying to understand.

From the edge of Eternity, the great cosmic being who bore that very name stirred. A ripple moved through the endless cloth of reality where Death, draped in her eternal stillness, tilted her head curiously.

Infinity, radiant and boundless, gazed quietly.

They had all felt the power Excalibur released.

It wasn't just strength. It was choice. It was will.

And that made it dangerous.

Because will could break cycles.

Because will—especially that of a mortal who wasn't truly mortal—had the power to rewrite more than just history.

The Balance trembled.

And so, they watched. Not with fear. But with caution.

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Elsewhere, deeper within Earth's own spiritual layers...

The halls of Svarga Lok were vibrant with celestial murmurs. The realm of the Devas glowed with divine energy, but it was not at peace.

In the grand court, seated upon his jeweled throne, Indra, King of the Devas, leaned forward, fingers tightening around the armrests. His sharp eyes burned with unease.

"He used that name," he muttered under his breath. "Maheshvara."

The title. A name known across all of Bharat's spiritual soil. One of Shiva, the God of Destruction and Renewal.

But Indra wasn't angry about the name.

It was the power.

What Aryan had just displayed—it was beyond what even some of the ancient sages of Earth could achieve after centuries of tapasya. This was no longer just a child prodigy of a strange age. He had just erased a godlike being from existence.

That alone was a message.

And for someone like Indra—who had fought to preserve his rule since the days of the Vedas—it was enough to awaken a storm of unease.

"He is beloved by the people," came a voice, calm, serene.

Varuna, Lord of Waters, stood by a pillar, arms crossed in thought.

"He's rebuilt Bharat from its chains. Guided his people with strength, and with vision. And he has not claimed divinity—not once."

"But he wields it," Indra shot back. "Look at him! The mortals call him Maheshvara without knowing just how close they may be to the truth."

Varuna's gaze remained steady. "Perhaps the truth is what frightens you, Indra."

Indra said nothing. But his silence was enough.

Not all Devas were as disturbed.

Deep in the mountains of Kailasa, under the stillness of the eternal snow, Shiva himself sat in meditation. His eyes remained closed. He had known of Aryan from the beginning—from the first flicker of cosmic anomaly disguised in human birth.

He had not objected to the title "Maheshvara." Not out of ego, nor indifference—but because he understood.

Power like Aryan's did not come to the greedy. Nor to the loud. It came to those who suffered loss, carried burdens, and still chose creation over destruction.

And so Shiva remained still, watching not with wariness—but with trust.

In Olympus, the Greek gods whispered as well.

Zeus scowled, watching from his storm-draped throne. His lightning crackled, echoing his unease.

In Asgard, Odin's single eye narrowed. Thor and Frigga stood behind him, silent. The All-Father didn't speak, but deep in his heart, he felt something he hadn't felt in centuries—respect.

A being with such force, such control—and still so young?

There would be consequences.

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Back on Earth, Aryan's feet gently touched the snow-crusted edge of the crater. The silence held.

He could feel it—that sensation of being observed. Not by satellites or spies. But by something deeper. Ancient. Watching through time, through myth, through spirit.

He knew now.

He had crossed a threshold.

Above him, the clouds were still parting, sunlight trickling through the edges.

His sword dimmed, returning to its dormant state. But the memory of its brilliance lingered in the sky like a scar.

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The winds of Greenland whispered again as Aryan turned away from the silence of the crater. The battle was over, but its weight still hung in the air, heavy and solemn. He sheathed Excalibur, its black-gold sheen vanishing beneath a shimmer of runes. With slow, purposeful steps, he walked toward the figures that had been waiting at the edge of the chaos.

There they were—Shakti, Karna, and Nalini—each of them bearing the aftershock of the fight in their own way. Shakti was the first to move.

"Aryan!" Her voice was thick with relief and fire as she ran to him, her aura still rippling faintly with residual Power Cosmic. She didn't wait for words. Her arms wrapped tightly around him in an embrace that spoke more than concern—it was love, fear, and fury all rolled into one.

"You didn't have to face it alone," she whispered fiercely against his chest, searching his face with urgent eyes as her hands pressed against his sides and shoulders, checking for wounds.

Aryan chuckled softly, awkward beneath her intensity. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit singed. You worry too much."

"I have every right to," she muttered, not easing her grip. "You tend to throw yourself at monsters."

"I prefer the term 'strategic engagement.'"

Behind them, Karna approached with a smirk, though the relief in his gaze was unmissable. "Strategic or suicidal, it worked. You carved through that thing like it owed you money."

Aryan grinned at that, his humor genuine now, though it softened when he saw Nalini standing just a little behind the others. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her eyes fixed not on him, but on Shakti—who still hadn't let go.

Aryan stepped back gently, meeting Nalini's gaze with warmth. "I'm alright," he said, as if speaking directly to her. "Really."

Nalini nodded with a soft smile, but her eyes lingered on Shakti for a moment longer than they needed to. She had always been subtle—sharp with her emotions but careful with how she wore them. But Aryan saw it. The quiet jealousy, the hesitation. He didn't comment—only held her gaze long enough to reassure her without words.

"I'm glad," she finally said, her voice quiet. "You scared us."

"I scare myself sometimes," he replied with a wink, earning light chuckles from Karna and even Shakti, who finally seemed satisfied that he wasn't bleeding anywhere.

It was then he noticed movement in the distance. Two figures, cloaked and still, stood a respectful distance away, watching with composed expressions.

The Ancient One.

And beside him, the current Sorcerer Supreme, cloaked in flowing yellow and gold.

They hadn't interfered in the battle—not because they couldn't, but because they hadn't needed to. Aryan nodded to them, his expression shifting from warmth to solemn resolve.

He walked toward them, Shakti falling into step beside him while Karna and Nalini followed a step behind.

"You came," Aryan said, folding his hands briefly in greeting.

The Ancient One's smile was faint but genuine. "We would not have missed a possible celestial awakening for anything. Though it seems...you did not need our help after all."

Aryan shook his head. "No. But your presence is appreciated. You both said we'd speak again—about collaboration. About the future."

"We did," the Sorcerer Supreme said. Her eyes scanned the sky as if still feeling the weight of divine gazes upon them. "And now... more eyes watch than ever before. You've disturbed the stillness, Aryan. They're awake now."

"I expected as much," Aryan replied calmly. "Power like this doesn't go unnoticed. But I don't plan to hide. It's time we talk—openly."

The Ancient One nodded. "Then come. Let's speak where minds are calm and the air clearer."

Before they could depart, Aryan turned toward the group of Eternals who had begun to gather nearby, now fully awake and slowly rising to their feet.

Ajak approached first, eyes filled with a complex mix of awe and gratitude. "You freed us... from something worse than death. I don't know what we would've become if that thing kept using us like puppets."

Aryan bowed his head slightly. "You're welcome. I'm Aryan Rajvanshi, Samrat of Bharat."

Ajak blinked. "Samrat?" He chuckled. "Well, Samrat Aryan, you've earned more than titles today."

One by one, the other Eternals stepped forward, offering nods, words of thanks, or solemn gestures of respect. Ikaris, Sersi, Thena... they all understood the magnitude of what had been done here.

"Someday," Ajak said, her tone sincere, "we'll repay this debt. You've done more than save us. You've reminded us of what we once stood for."

Aryan nodded. "Then may our paths cross again in better times."

The Eternals soon departed, some flying, some teleporting, each eager to reconnect, to speak with Arishem, and to reassess what they'd become—and what role they had left to play in a rapidly changing universe.

As silence returned, Aryan turned to the Ancient One. "Shall we?"

With a flick of his fingers, a golden portal of swirling sigils opened, casting warm light onto the snow. On the other side—Kamar-Taj, serene and timeless under the Himalayan sky.

Aryan looked once more at Shakti, Karna, and Nalini.

"All of us," he said.

Without hesitation, they stepped through the gate together.

For beyond battles, beyond gods and cosmic games—there were still conversations to be had, truths to be uncovered, and futures to be forged.

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