Each capture, however, triggered retaliation. New cells surfaced, taking hostages and demanding the release of their "sponsors." They threatened mass killings, public executions.
The Indian military did not yield.
With weapons enhanced by Magic Energy and new defensive systems, they stormed strongholds, neutralised bomb vests, and wiped out groups one after another. The more truth they uncovered, the more "monsters in human skin" were revealed and removed.
For a time, it seemed like both sides were locked in an endless spiral—every exposed traitor followed by another wave of terror.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped.
No more bombings. No more threats. No more chatter on intercepted channels. Extensive sweeps across the country turned up abandoned bases, leftover equipment, and caches of weapons—but not a single living terrorist. It was as if the networks had simply evaporated.
Mordan, the generals, and countless analysts found this deeply unsettling. Terrorism did not vanish on its own. Groups did not walk away from money and ideology overnight.
The public, however, exhaled in relief. Streets slowly filled again. People whispered that perhaps foreign powers had finally decided India would never bow and had given up, unwilling to waste more men and resources.
Every one of those guesses was wrong.
Because this abrupt silence—the clean, surgical disappearance of the remaining cells—was not the work of diplomacy, fear, or luck.
It was the work of a single man cultivating deep beneath the mountains, a man whose clones walked the world while his true body floated in a quiet room, growing stronger with every breath.
***
While Ankit was closed in cultivation and the country burned.
Ankit's family remained safe inside Dark Haven Fortress, hidden deep beneath the mountain range. Sacral clone had already purchased this month elite pass - Ninth elite pass. And all things are quite peaceful.
Other than the Terrorist squads who occasionally tried to approach the area, drawn by orders to damage the "anomalous" zone, but each time Solar Clone intercepted and erased them before they came anywhere near the underground home.
After interrogating several attackers, he confirmed their sources: cells funded and directed by the Karakoram Federation and the Jamuna Federation.
Even Solar Clone's patience had limits. The attacks were constant, the motives petty, and the noise threatened the quiet space Ankit needed to advance.
When Root Clone finally emerged from Ankit's new earth‑aligned core, Solar passed the task to him. Solar had Vyuha designs to refine and weapons to forge; Sacral had alchemy and puppets; Root was the only one "free."
Root Clone accepted without complaint.
At first he only cleaned up around the mountain, but as reports of bombings, school attacks, and street massacres filtered through the official channels kamal monitored, Root Clone's annoyance hardened into decision.
He was not a hero of justice; his priorities remained exactly aligned with Ankit's—family first, fortress second.
Even so, if a problem threatening his homeland could be solved quickly, with little risk, ignoring it felt wasteful. India had sheltered his family while they grew; this was a chance to quietly settle that debt.
He met with Solar, who had just bought Tenth elite pass of Free fire and Sacral inside the fortress. The plan they shaped was simple and brutal.
Root Clone would lead a squad of Asura Puppets and uproot every terrorist network in India—quietly, without trials, headlines, or speeches. He would not confront governments and he would not reveal his existence. He would simply make the problem vanish.
Thanks to his link to Ankit's Root Core, Root Clone had an absolute advantage: control over earth itself and natural flight via his personal gravity field.
Where Solar specialised in fire and Sacral in water and support, Root embodied solidity and movement through soil and stone.
They began that same day.
Root Clone slipped into the ground beneath Tarkan State like a stone falling into a lake and accelerated.
Underground, he could move several times faster than sound; no radar or satellite could track a shadow wrapped inside rock.
His senses spread out through earth currents and Essence veins, searching for dense clusters of heat, metal, and murderous intent.
Within thirty minutes, he located the first hideout—buried in a mountain roughly a hundred kilometres away from Ankit's range.
He did not appear in front of the terrorists, did not announce himself, did not offer a chance to surrender.
Instead, he positioned the Asura Puppets above and within the rock and gave a single mental command.
Blades—refined test‑weapons forged by Solar Clone—swept through the bunker like whispering lines of light. Walls, armour, flesh, and bone parted without resistance.
The terrorists died without even understanding that anything had entered their base.
For enemies of this level, Solar's "scrap‑tier" creations were more than enough; the truly powerful weapons in his storage never needed to leave their racks.