The sky split open like a wound in the universe.
Above the holy city of Ayodhya, a meteor burned a crimson trail across the heavens—black flames devouring the clouds as it fell. Chanting priests in temples stopped mid-prayer. Children playing in the alleyways looked up, jaws open in awe and fear. Birds scattered, animals howled, and the earth itself trembled beneath the weight of an unknown fate.
Then, the meteor struck.
A shockwave burst through the land, flattening trees, homes, and sanctuaries alike. Kalki Vidhaan was thrown off his feet as the deafening boom shattered the glass windows of the ancient Shiva temple his family had taken shelter in. He tried to get up, ears ringing, but the next thing he heard was his mother's scream—and the sickening crunch of falling stone.
When he crawled toward the rubble, all he could see was a bloodied sari, crushed beneath the massive marble arm of Nandi, the sacred bull.
His entire world ended in that moment.
Three days passed in darkness.
The air reeked of burnt sandalwood and charred skin. The once-holy rivers turned murky, and creatures with too many eyes and jaws began stalking the night. People whispered of cursed monsters emerging from "sky tears"—dimensional rifts torn open by the meteor crash.
They called it the Black Flame Catastrophe.
Kalki wandered through the ruins of Ayodhya like a ghost. His once-vibrant eyes now held the stillness of death. He had no food, no family, no reason to live—until the night he met it.
A Rakshasa—twisted, horned, and dripping shadow—cornered him near the broken steps of Hanuman Ghat. Kalki didn't scream. He simply closed his eyes, waiting for death.
But fate had other plans.
As the beast lunged, a deep chant echoed from his chest—unbidden, ancient, primal.
"Yajnasya tvam adhvaryuh, hotā tvam… tvam purohitah..."
His hands glowed, etched with burning Sanskrit glyphs. A silver altar burst from the ground beneath him, its surface spiraling with black and gold energy.
The Rakshasa halted mid-attack, howling in confusion. Then, it began to wither, its body crumbling into smoke—sacrificed.
Kalki collapsed, visions flooding his mind—gods whispering curses, priests drenched in blood, a throne of skulls beneath a starless sky.
"You are chosen, O child of ash," a voice thundered within.
"You are the Sacrificial Priest."
When he awoke, his hands still bore the sigils of the divine class.
Class Unlocked: Sacrificial Priest
Rank: F (Uninitiated)
Blood Offerings Required: 0/5
Divine Altar Acquired: Level 1
Skill: Rite of Annihilation (Locked)
Kalki looked toward the crumbled temple, then toward the starlit sky. He felt nothing… yet everything burned within.
The world had changed. The age of gods was ending. The age of Rankers had begun.
And he would rise from the ashes—not as a hero, not as a warrior, but as the priest of the dead.
As the first Mystery Panther, ruler of the coming Panther Creek.