Author's notes: This is a sequel to my story Balance of Power, which is a cross-over between Indiana Jones and Stargate SG-1 – but you don't have to read it before this one. I made it so that it can stand alone without significant reference to the prequel. The only thing you need to know is that it is the Sankara stones that is the source of Mola Ram's gruesome abilities. This story is rated 'T' as it contains explicit and detailed killings.
Please also note that all speeches in Hindu and its translations which you will find here is all taken from the trivia section of the site IMDB and from the novel of Temple of Doom written by James Khan. Any possible inconsistences that you may find is therefore of no fault of mine. I own neither the Predator franchise or Indiana Jones. No money is being made on this story.
Curse the power of the stones!
It always came back to those accursed things. The sacred magical rocks which according to legend was presented by the god Shiva and given to the priest Sankara to combat evil, but which instead has come into use to fuel evil – an evil of unprecedented magnitude. An evil that once had corrupted even him! He had always known that his past would one day return to haunt him.
The maharajah Zalim Singh wriggled between his captives once more in a futile attempt to escape, but to no avail. The guards who used to be part of his elite guard would not let him out of their clutches.
I should have blown out these caves when I had the opportunity! He had never wanted to return down here – the memories were too horrible! When he had been just a boy, he had been brought to Pankot Palace to become its ruler, but that had just been a ploy – a smokescreen to make it appear to the outside world that his 'kingdom' was innocent and legitimate. But it had been a lie. It was just a cover to conceal what was really going on in the hidden catacombs in the mountain underneath the palace. The true rulers of Pankot back then had been a bloodthirsty religious cult, a group of fanatics that worshipped an evil god and used this place to commit hideous atrocities in secrecy! And unbeknownst to Zalim Singh, they still ruled it! They had never truly disappeared even though they had suffered a massive defeat ten years earlier.
An American archeologist, a Dr. Indiana Jones, had come to the palace, discovered what had been going on and had almost singlehandedly put a stop to it. Zalim Singh had been under the black sleep of Kali at that time, taking part and supported the blood-spilling cause until he was released from the effects of the blood of Kali Ma. If only the memories had gone away at the same time, but they hadn't – they would never go away!
And here in the central cave where he'd been brought back was where the memories were of the worst kind, and now the nightmare was returning! Singh shivered as he heard the chants resonating through the cave, giving dark energy to the temple of death!
"Gho-ram, gho-ram, gho-ram Sundaram…"
Every worshipper was turned to the hideous statue of Kali, whom as always stood imposing with her tireless arms outstretched, carrying the dreaded metal basket.
Yes, he should definitely have blown out these caves instead of just sealing them… but geological experts had told him that setting up explosives to destroy the caves would weaken the foundations of the palace itself and collapse it together with the catacombs. Singh had a fleeting suspicion now that those 'experts' had in fact been agents of the Thuggee, just like his elite guard, who were to make sure that the caves were to remain undisturbed until the time came when they would use them again. Singh had been prepared to take the risk, but his advisors had convinced him otherwise. Pankot palace needed to remain sturdy and strong for the maharajah to continue his rule. Even though he hated the place, Zalim Singh had to keep it in order to compensate the country and the neighboring regions for the unspeakable acts that had been committed here. The palace was open to admit traders and such - all with honest intentions. But once more, it had all been a ruse. Even though Singh no longer were under the influence of the converting blood of Kali, he had still unknowingly to him been used for other purposes.
The Thuggee had infiltrated the palace, bided their time, and keeping their true work concealed. It had taken them ten years, but the river on the bottom of the great gorge had been dried out, the crocodiles killed, and their goal achieved. The two Sankara stones that had been lost in the river had been found! And now as the Thuggee once more were in possession of the stones that was the source of their power, they had revealed themselves again. Last night Zalim Singh had been apprehended in his own bed, captured, and brought down to the catacombs. The Thuggee had explicitly told him what they were planning to do as it was in their sadistic nature. There was no point in making him drink the blood of Kali Ma – a side-effect with the drug was that once the effects had been rendered inert, it would never work again. Those that once had been under the spell of the black sleep of Kali and been freed were afterwards immune to it. But there were other ways… longer, but ultimately effective – and to them much more fun.
They were planning to torture him – break down his spirit completely and bring him so much pain until he finally would give in. Eventually his own psyche would convert him and make him embrace the ways of the Thuggee once more, just to save himself. And they were going to start with making him watch the rite of sacrificial to the goddess Kali. The horrible, gruesome human sacrifice!
Although he had not been responsible for his actions, he remembered as he as a boy had enjoyed those ceremonies, having sat there, and smiled as the priests brutally murdered the poor souls. It was the biggest shame in his life, his eternal nightmare – he never wanted to see it again! But the Thuggee was going to force him to, by the orders of the high priest: the man who was so evil that it appeared that hell itself did not want him and had sent him back: the man who was believed to have died ten years ago, but who now walked, or rather limped forward to the center of the altar… Mola Ram!
This is what it was like to be Mola Ram: he was a man driven by a hunger, and right now he was starving. He was not hungry for food or any other worldly pleasantries, except for one… he was driven by an immense lust to kill and maim. Being sadistic by nature, Ram had been cast into the world of the Thuggee early in his youth, and he had not deviated from it since. He had worked hard to gain the position as the high priest, as his devotion to the bloodthirsty goddess Kali was absolute. His love for the deity was eternal, and he had sworn to conquer the world in her name, no matter what forces which opposed him!
A hundred years ago his people had been slaughtered by the British invaders of India, their treasures stolen in the process. And their most sacred artefacts had been the Sankara stones.
The stones were the key. When he'd sworn an oath to reclaim all five of the stones, (in the beginning he only had two,) he had been exposed to the energy the magical rocks contained. The mystical energy had charged his cells and filled his veins with power. It had been the best thing that had ever happened to him.
The energy that coursed through his systems had given him the ability to 'push' matter out of the way, allowing him to shove his hand through coherent materials without the use of tools. What better way to use this gift than to rise the sacrificial rituals to a whole new level?
He still shivered with exhilaration thinking back to the first time he'd performed the new ceremony. It had been so glorious. He had ripped out the living heart of a human using only his hand and had at the same time left a residue of the energy behind which kept the victim alive for a little while longer, long enough for Mola Ram to immolate the man in molten lava. Mola Ram's life had been fulfilled that day – the only setback was that the energy he had left behind in the victim had to be replenished by the Sankara stones, so he had been limited to do only one sacrifice per month. That had changed when he had captured the third stone from the little village of Mayapore, who used the stone to bring protection and prosperity to their land. Mola Ram had better use for it. By bringing it together with the two stones he already had, the combined power had increased the stones potency multiple times. Ram had been able to do one sacrifice per night from that point. Imagine what he could do if he had all five.
He knew that people outside of the cult was seeing him as a monster, even a madman - but Mola Ram saw himself as an artist. He saw the sacrifices to be artistically beautiful, which was required to please their goddess. So what if he enjoyed himself at the same time? If a man couldn't love his job, then what was the point of doing it? He rejoiced in watching the fear in the victims, feeling pleasure of the pain he gave them. He especially loved it when he held their lives in his hand, still beating thanks to the connection of the energy the Sankara stones provided, and then feeling their terror through the organ as they were lowered to die into the pit of magma. That was like a drug to him – intoxicating, seductive, and addictive. He felt like a god himself every time he sacrificed somebody, each time giving him an all-over rush - it was the absence of that which made him feel starved.
It had been ten years since last time – ten years since that wretched American archeologist Indiana Jones had trespassed the temple and stolen the Sankara stones! Ram's attempt to reclaim them had resulted in a humiliating and degrading defeat: the British once again coming in and killing the devotees, and he himself falling off a collapsed bridge into a river filled with crocodiles at the bottom of a gorge. Everybody had expected him to be dead, but the same energy that was keeping the victims alive had kept him alive – however his escape had come with a price. The energy of the stones had made him immortal, but not invulnerable. Not only had several of his bones been broken from the fall, but the crocodiles had taken his left arm. He still recalled the agonizing pain as the reptile tore it off.
But it was the gift that had saved him once more… thanks to the fact that he had not taken Willie Scott's heart in the last ceremony, he had enough power within him to shove his hand through the croc's carapace, and he ripped out several of the intestines. Mortally wounded, the croc had no defense against his kin – it was consumed while Mola Ram had made it with extreme difficulty to shore. It had taken months for him to recover, and he would never be complete. His arm was gone, and he had a permanent limp from a faulty healed bone. But his resolve to serve Kali had never changed.
He spent months to 'recruit' new followers by making them drink the blood of Kali, and it had taken years to secretly dry out the river and relocate the two Sankara stones that had been lost. And during that time he had not made one single sacrifice – he did not have the power to do so! He needed the stones, so that he could replenish the energy within him. And six weeks ago he finally found them. He'd kept them with him on his person since then to reacquire his gift, and then he would begin to pay tributes to Kali once more with human sacrifices.
Hopefully Kali would give him her blessings and forgiveness – he would make it up to her as best as he could. The third stone in Mayapore village was to be reclaimed, and the two last stones still hidden somewhere in these caves was to be found. And then he would look up the three wretched people who had dared to interfere with the cult. Indiana Jones, Willie Scott, and even the kid Short Round – they were all to be brought back and sacrificed in the name of Kali!
But that was in the future – this was now. Tonight he would finally do it again! Tonight there would be a sacrifice! He stood before his followers and raised his hand in greeting – and behind him there was a desperate cry. Two of his lower priests brought in the victim. Mola Ram didn't know who he was – he didn't care to know! He just stood with his back against them as the lower priests shackled the victim to the iron cage. Only once that was finished did he turn around and walk up. The victim shivered and sobbed. He knew what was going to happen – Mola Ram always made it a policy to let them know before hand what he was going to do to them as it would increase their fear. Mola Ram felt the familiar tingle in his fingers. So hard to resist. How he had missed this! This was going to be so good!
Unlike Mola Ram, the maharajah Zalim Singh did know who the victim was - it was one of his servants: a good, loyal, and honest man with no meanness within him at all. He did not deserve to end up like this! No one did! Singh cringed as he watched the high priest raise his hand towards the giant statue of Kali, asking for her blessing.
"Bali Mangthi Kali Ma." Mola Ram chanted. "Shakthi Degi Kali Ma." [Sacrifice is what Mother Kali desires. Power is what Mother Kali will grant.] "Kali Ma, shakthi deh!" [Mother Kali, give me power!] Mola Ram's face broke out into a wide, sadistic grin as he lowered his hand towards the victim's chest.
Zalim Singh closed his eyes. He cried as he heard his servant's scream of agony as Mola Ram's fingers pierced his chest. Singh prayed to Shiva, to Krishna, to any of the benevolent god of the Hindi religion to put a stop to this! End this horror, somebody!
To his surprise, and as what everybody present would experience, his prayer was about to be answered! Because unbeknownst to him, to the Thuggee and the priests alike, there was another with them within the cave, witnessing the ceremony. It was not a god, nor mortal however. It wasn't even human! Who would believe that in this very moment, there was an invisible extraterrestrial entity in there, and he had an agenda of his own! Nobody saw how three small pinpoint red dots in formation of a triangle suddenly appeared on the chest of one of the lower priests…
A few hours earlier…
It had grown hot in India this year. So hot that it threatened the crops in the fields to wither and die, and the rivers to dry up. The peasants in the scattered villagers were doing their best to forestall a possible drought by filling the reservoirs with water and clear off weeds so that those wouldn't suck up precious moisture from the earth that was needed to keep the crops alive until harvest. It was a conflict against nature, but it was a conflict all members of the villages banded together to fight off in unison.
It was not that kind of a conflict the invisible extraterrestrial was looking for though. From a tree just outside one of those villages, a cloaked form was sitting on branch, looking down at the peasants as they worked in their fields. If anybody had bothered to look closely, someone might perhaps would've taken notice of a weird blur amongst the leaves in the tree – a ripple in the air. But no one did notice, as they were busy tending to their crops. Some of the people were swinging around with machetes, but their fight was with weed, not with some rival member of a clan. The invisible creature snarled softly in disappointment. These people were simple farmers – peaceful folks whom currently was not involved in a struggle for dominion. These were not worthy prey!
"K-r-r-r-r-r-k." That sound rumbled from a throat one more time before the shape jumped off the branch and leaped into the jungle, leaving the farmers behind. The creature was annoyed. It seemed that someone of his kin had greatly miscalculated. Each time a hunter would come to this world for a game-hunt, they would prey on humans as those where the most formidable and advanced creatures in this sector of the galaxy. Humans were also the most war-mongering type of prey. The hunters would usually seek out the hot-zones, the continents that had a great heat-bloom for the season and where armed conflicts were roaming. Well, the days of this continent were hot, but there was no conflict going on anywhere. And humans who were not engaged in territorial fighting or making war of any sort did not make good trophies. Peaceful farmers and unarmed individuals gave no sport, so there was no honor in hunting them.
When the blur had covered enough distance away from the village it had left behind, the cloak was dropped. The shape coming into view was of a large humanoid, but not human. The skin was rougher than that of a man's, which varied in colors of pale brown and mottled dark spots like a reptile's hide. The exposed parts of the skin were covered by mail-clad netting, while the rest of the body: shoulders, lower arms and legs, crotch, and part of the torso were covered by segmented battle armor. Even the face was concealed with a heavy flat mask, its edges framed by dangling, metal-tipped dreadlocks. The predator rushed on, jumping from one tree-top to the next with an incredible agility, all the time muttering to himself in a displeased manner.
This was supposed to be his last hunting-trip before being recognized as a full-fledged seasoned hunter, one who would be subject to the favor of the females of his kind. The more experienced a hunter was, the more interested the females would be. His collected trophies had so far been impressive, but none had yet been recognized as an exclusive, something out of the ordinary. He needed a grand prize, but where would he find such a trophy here, in this lousy continent that had no armed conflict?! Someone had either blundered or done it deliberately by sending him to this worthless part of the planet! He wouldn't be surprised if this was the work of a competitor! The hunter was thinking that he needed to move his lander to a different sector, but that would be noticed by the mothership that had brought him here – and a hunter who could not find a prey in his designated sector would have a reputation of an incompetent tracker, and that was something he did not want to risk to get on his record.
The sun was on its way down the horizon when the hunter stopped. He had traveled far, but he had still not found anything to be of a particular interest to him. He snarled in anger, feeling the overhanging dread of having to go home in shame weighing heavy on his shoulders. But then he finally saw something…
At some distance away, the hunter noticed a flock of flying rodents escaping into the air. Their behavior told the predator that they were not hunting – it appeared that they had been stirred from their nests. Something had disturbed them. The predator couldn't imagine that whatever had disturbed the flying rodents would be of any consequence to him, but since the rest of the jungle lacked action, he decided to check it out.
As the hunter approached the spot from where the bats had escaped, the sensors in his helmet detected a noise… a spoken language! To avoid detection as he went in to investigate, he activated his cloak, rendering himself invisible once more.
Peering through the branches, the hunter spotted three humans crouched beneath a sculpture in the middle of the clearing, doing something. The three humans chattered amongst themselves for a while as they continued to poke their arms against the statue. It was a hideous-looking sculpture, but to the predator all the humans' architectures were of an inarticulate design that he could make nothing out of.
Shortly thereafter the humans stood up, bowed before the statue, and then they left. The predator waited until they had gone before he went down to ground-level to check out what they had been up to. It walked up to the sculpted formation – the statue itself was of no interest… but the trinkets it was clad with caught his attention. The sculpture was decorated with bandolier of real, pierced human fingers! Fresh ones too, he noticed!
The predator felt exhilaration. If those three humans had come here to decorate this statue with recently severed digits, then they displayed an aggression of a bloody kind that was far different from what he had seen so far. A bunch of human butchers was worthy of his attention. Keeping his cloak activated, he followed the three humans on a distance, deciding to see where they were headed and what they were going to do next.
The predator could see that the humans it was following was heading towards a very large fortress build on top of a mountain ridge. Another village or city of some kind he assumed. However, the three humans were not making their way towards the entrance of the city itself – they were in fact headed to the foot of the mountain. Concealed by heavy vegetation and bushes, the humans the predator were following disappeared into a tunnel within the cliff. Knowing that he was on to something, the predator went in there as well after them.
The predator found himself within a network of tunnels within the cave. There were several pathways branching out from the entrance of the cavern, and he had no idea which tunnel the three humans had taken. Growling quietly in anticipation, the hunter pondered on which passage way he should proceed through. His electronics could not give any clear reading at this point, so he would have to rely on his born instincts. Sniffing the air, he concluded that one of the tunnels smelled fouler than the others. When in doubt, follow the stench! That's where the prey would most likely be residing.
It turned out though that the stench the predator had detected did not come from humans – it was a by-product of nature itself. He had smelled brimstone and sulfuric acid. After an hour of trekking through the tunnels, he found himself within a cavern of an old lava tunnel, filled with the natural formations of both stalagmites and stalactites, and not one human in sight. But still he could feel it in his gut that he was close. Finding an exit, the predator found yet another cavern, but this one had been partially carved out by hand and built. There were structures here, and on the far wall there was another of those ugly statues, this one quite big. Why humans built a statue of a being with six arms he didn't know, but he found it curious that there was a cage hanging from the outstretched pair of limbs. The floor itself on where the statue stood was isolated from the rest of the cavern, being separated by a large crevasse in the rock where smoke and heat were streaming from. The cavern was deserted, so the predator jumped down to the level below and walked closer to the chasm. The massive heat bloom coming from the bottom of the crevasse was radiated from a pool of molten lava. The cave was located right above an underground lava-stream that was in motion, draining out like whirlpool. The hunter stretched out his arms above the large tear in the stone to absorb the heat, thinking that humans were crazy for building these structures right here. They were of a weak brand that was sensitive to heat, so why would they want to reside here willingly?
The predator was suddenly aware that there was some activity starting within the cavern. On a platform behind him, some humans had shown up from nowhere and was beginning to make some strange noises. He was still invisible, so he wasn't seen. The ripple in the air would be mistaken for the fumes coming from the crevasse. But the predator decided not to remain on the floor. He jumped up to an overhead catwalk carved in the rock that was supported by pillars, intending to observe from higher ground. The people who were making the noise were now starting to chant in some strange subdued voices. "Gho-ram, gho-ram, gho-ram Sundaram…" and then they beat on gongs and drums before they repeated the chant.
As the annoying noise they made progressed, more humans were pouring into the cavern from connecting tunnels, they too chanting. The predator studied them through the image enhancer of his helmet: more peasants, he decided. None of them were carrying anything that could be related to a weapon of any kind, which to him meant unworthy to kill for trophies. He was beginning to doubt that he would find a challenging prey even here. But the hunter stayed put, just to see what was going on.
After a while the cavern was filled with plenty of humans on both sides of the crevasse, and they were all chanting in a disturbing way. What did catch his interest was a commotion with two humans keeping guard on a third. And those two were carrying long blades. He chirped softly. If anything, perhaps he could collect some trophies from those two.
Now everybody in the cavern appeared to focus their attention to the other side… a new figure had entered, one with a horned head. He could tell through his image enhancer that it was just a headgear though, and the creature was limping. As the new arrival approached the center of the platform, he raised his arm in greeting. One arm! The hunter snorted – how could they allow a crippled creature like that to go on living? It appeared to be the leader of the flock, but among the hunter's kind, a leadership with a handicap would immediately be questioned and challenged!
Something new was happening now. Another human was dragged in by two others from one of the tunnels in the back. The predator's readings told him that this new creature's body chemicals were elevated to the highest peak levels. The creature was afraid – extremely so. Now the cage between the statue's arms came down, and the frightened human was shackled within it. The hunter was starting to comprehend what was happening: the human that they bound within the cage was about to be publicly killed. The predator figured it was something they did regularly to intimidate their servants – this method was not unheard of throughout the rest of the galaxy. It meant that these executioners were the figureheads of some sort of territorial power – and might be worthy as trophies. To have come in here may prove to be worth something after all.
Now the crippled human with the horns on his head approached the caged man. The predator used his image enhancer to zoom in, and to make sure that everything was recorded. The cripple raised his hand above the prisoner, towards the ugly statue, and he was muttering something. "Kali Ma, shakthi deh!"
What the predator witnessed next was totally unexpected. The horned man's hand reached down to the prisoner's chest… and it forced its way into the other's ribcage, through skin and bones, reaching in for the beating heart! This was unheard off! No prey on any world had ever been known to possess such power!
The predator activated the battle-systems in his armor, feeling both exhilarated and delighted! This was it! He had found it. The exclusive trophy! The grand price! Crippled or not, that horned-crowned man with the power to penetrate flesh and bones barehandedly was the king of the flock, one of a kind – the tale of this one, corroborated by the readings he had recorded in his mask, would be told through many generations to come, and having that head on his shrine would earn him the interest of many, many females!
The first thing the hunter was going to do was to clear off the flock on the far-side floor. He had noticed that they all carried short blades in their waistbands – it meant that they were by all rules of engagement considered armed, and therefore fair game. The computerized triangle-shaped target-grid in his mask's imager focused on the first human, pinpointing his center…
Mola Ram had just pulled out his hand out of the screaming man's torso and now he stood holding the heart in his palm, grinning maliciously, and laughing like a madman. Then chaos broke out…
The priest next to Mola Ram's right side screamed as he was suddenly thrown back, his chest aflame with a fiery white fire that was burning all the way through the body and out of his back. Everyone of the Thuggee looked around in confusion, some even panicking. They had no idea what just had happened. And then the priest handling the giant wheel died in the same manner.
Mola Ram shouted orders in Hindi, demanding to know what had disturbed the ceremony. They couldn't make out the blurry shape that was jumping over the lava crevasse, landing on the altar. With a metallic snick, twin blades were extended from the armband, as invisible as the owner, and those were stabbed into the chest of another priest, gutting him, and lifting him above the floor. The priest howled in agony and despair, knowing that he was dying, but having absolutely no idea what was killing him.
Traditionally, only priests were allowed to step onto the altar, but there were guards posted just outside in case something was to go wrong. As screams beside the one coming from the victim was heard, a thuggee guard armed with a rifle rushed in, and was astonished to see one of the priests hanging twitching in midair above the floor, but nothing was seen holding him. Yet there was some kind of shimmering there, he could only make it out as it was momentarily remaining in one spot – and he became convinced that he was looking at a ghost! Knowing that he was required to do something, he could only resort to the tool he had available: he pointed his rifle at the phantom and fired. The result was what the guard had expected: there appeared to be no reaction, because how can you kill a ghost? Still, he was a servant of Kali, and he had to try again. He took aim with his rifle once more…
Something corporeal suddenly came out from the blurry shape, travelling at high speed and seemed to expand in the middle of its flight through the air. The new shape engulfed the guard, picked him up and slammed him into the wall behind him, making him drop the rifle. The Thuggee guard found himself caught in a metallic net. The guard tried to wriggle free, but to his horror he found that the net was tightening, the steel threads beginning to chew through both his clothes and his skin inch by inch. He died in a massive agony as the net shredded his bones and made mince-meat of his body.
It was only because the Thuggee was under the spell of the black sleep of Kali, having been forced to drink the tainted blood that made them to obediently stay and continue to fight their invisible foe. Any other person would have fled in panic by now. One of the remaining surviving priests picked up the rifle the guard had dropped when being caught by the webbing. With it, the priest took up the position the guard had failed to uphold and pointed the muzzle against the unclear silhouette in the middle of the air.
The other priest that had been gutted and lifted above the floor was thrown away, the dead body dumped in a corner like a pile of trash. No one could make out what was happening, but something new was expelled from the 'ghost', going too fast to register. A dual-pointed dart sailed through the air, heading straight for the priest now holding the rifle. The dart slammed into the priest right between his eyes and broke out through the back of his head like a bullet with its speed hardly being degraded at all – the projectile only stopped as it embedded itself into the rock. The body of the priest crumbled to the floor, never knowing what had hit him.
The spectators on the other side of the crevasse was in confusion now, and in a bit of an uproar. What was happening? What was disturbing the ritual and killing the priests? The captured Zalim Singh stood between the guards keeping watch on him, being as bewildered as the rest of them. Was this some sort of revenge from the gods? Were they exacting a strike against the evil cult?
Only one lower priest remained now. Like his now dead co-workers, he felt compelled to put a stop to this unseen attacker and resume the ceremony. He pulled a long spear from behind the Kali-statue's leg and went in to drive the see-through blurry image into the pit. The phantom was ready for him though. It was like the charging priest had ran into an invisible brick wall and was knocked to the ground - the pole was suddenly wrenched from his hands. As he attempted to focus, the priest could see just enough to witness how the spear twisted around in midair, the pointy edge turning against him! He had just enough time to scream as the spear slammed down into his torso, punching straight through, and nailing him to the floor. The watchers on the other side of the pit was all beginning to think that they were dealing with the supernatural and considered leaving.
Only two remained alive on the altar floor now, although one of them should by all laws of nature not be alive as his heart had been removed, the organ in question being in the hand of the other living: the high priest Mola Ram. The priest threw the organ away, needing his sole hand to un-sheath his ceremonial dagger. Mola Ram backed away from the shackled victim, holding the dagger in front of him and chanted sacred prayers for the goddess Kali, thinking that it would somehow assist him.
That's when the attacker came into view. The invisibility was dropped, revealing a towering humanoid that was unlike anything ever seen on the face of the earth. An armored behemoth with a menacing appearance which reeked of a presence that was not of this world.
Mola Ram whom as a servant of kali never having considered himself being afraid of anything suddenly screamed in fright by this appearance. Ram feared no man – but this was no man!
The atmosphere in the temple changed completely. Seeing the appearance of the predator, the worshippers became convinced that this was an avenging demon sent by the gods to punish and kill them for dedicating their lives to the evil god Kali. It was in their eyes a form of an archangel, and that was something they could not fight. Fearing for their own lives, the worshippers began to flee from the place before the archangel turned on them just as it had with the priests. Even the guards keeping watch on the maharaja looked like they wanted to get out of there, but they reluctantly remained. Zalim Singh didn't sympathize with the Thuggee way of life, but he could for once understand their reaction. As a maharajah he was required to know of all gods in the Hindi religion, and this demon coming out from nowhere was not a representation of any of them. Whatever it was, it didn't belong to any of the known studies. It was incomprehensible, and therefore only natural to want to escape it.
Mola Ram was thinking in the same line as everybody else. This new monster was something that had never been heard of before, and he had no idea how to fight it. He too wanted to escape, but he didn't dare to turn his back to this demon. He could only continue to back away, but the archangel was following his footsteps, making a strange clicking sound. "K-r-r-r-r-r-k."
The predator had made quick work with the other humans and had found it to be hardly challenging at all. But then, they hadn't been his main prey. As for the rest of the humans who had watched the ceremony and was now running away, they were of no concern to the hunter. They were all unarmed and therefore of no interest to him. This last one however, the human with the power to penetrate materials using only his hand was his main quarry, that was why he had chosen to reveal himself to him, to tell him that he had been singled out. It disappointed the hunter though that the horned human didn't try to make a strike to defend himself, instead he was just backing off. The predator walked after him.
"Are you an angel? Have you come to avenge me?" The shivering puny voice was speaking in Hindi, so the words were gibberish to the hunter. But he followed the source and saw that he was standing next to the bound human in the cage. "Did Shiva send you to liberate me?"
The predator gave no reply, but he was curious: how could this creature still be alive? Weirder still, why was there no hole in his chest where the horned man's hand had broken through? His mask's penetra-scan showed that the heart had indeed been extracted, so he should be dead. By shifting to another spectrum of scan, it was revealed that there was some kind of a residue of an unknown energy coursing through the cerebral cortex of the victim. There were two other sources of that energy in the vicinity: the strongest coming from the two strange stones inserted in the eye-sockets of the giant skull between the legs of the ugly giant statue. The second source came from the horned human – he was charged with the same energy which coursed throughout his whole body.
The predator was a hunter and not a scientist, but he believed he understood: the horned human got his power from the stones, and measured by the power level residing within him, he had been exposed to the energy for a long time. When he'd extracted the heart, he left a residue of the energy within the victim, which powered by the stones within the sculpture kept him alive for a short while. To what end that was necessary the predator didn't know. It was pointless: the scans revealed that the victim would still expire in just a short while as his neural pathways to the brain was in the process of necrotizing. It was irrelevant knowledge, but the predator knew that the human brain could survive for six minutes even after the body had expired. That was likely how long the victim had.
The hunter made a sound like a snort and turned away. The victim was shackled within that cage, he was unarmed, and was on the brink of death. To kill him would bring no glory. Quite the contrary, it would be considered a coward's kill that would bring dishonor to his reputation. So the predator ignored him and went back to his main quarry.
It turned out that the predator had made a pup's mistake: he had allowed himself to be distracted by watching the victim! Mola Ram had taken advantage of it and ordered the two men on the other side of the crevasse guarding the maharajah Zalim Singh to open fire on the demon with their own rifles. It was an irritating consequence that the guards had to let go of the prisoner to do so, but it was a matter that could be rectified later – the most important thing was to kill the intruder.
The hunter growled as bullets began to ricochet off his armor – he crouched to make himself smaller. The projectiles damaged his plasma cannon on the shoulder and he angrily tore the device off. They may have robbed him of his main weapon, but he had other means to deal with this nuisance!
The predator disconnected a black disc from his hip. As he held it in his hand, it came alive sparkling with energy – and then he threw it like a frisbee. The black disc sailed through the air towards the first guard: before he could comprehend what was happening, the disc went right through him, severing his upper torso from the lower in a neat clean cut. The disc didn't stop! It made a U-turn in midair like a boomerang and was now returning to its owner – only the second guard was standing in its path. The guard had followed it with his eyes and barely had enough time to scream before the disc decapitated him as well.
The killer frisbee was caught in the hunter's hand and with a satisfied grunt, he returned it to his hip. And then he saw how Mola Ram was darting for escape through the back entrance behind the statue of Kali. The predator would have none of that! Bending his strong, powerful legs, he jumped, somersaulted in the air, and landed heavily in front of the high priest between him and the doorway before he could make his exit. The predator crouched again, this time in a battle stance and he unleashed a guttural roar at his prey, making it clear that this was a challenge. Either the priest would fight, or he would die!
Mola Ram understood that the beast was after him personally, but he couldn't fathom the reason for it. Again he was thinking that this had to be some sort of an archangel sent by the gods to punish him, because surely it couldn't have been Kali Ma herself who had sent it? There was no way he would believe that. Backing away again, he removed his horned headgear which was giving him an unbalanced posture. The ceremonial dagger had been discarded – such a puny blade would be nothing against this demon. He needed something bigger…
By the body of the lower priest who had been shot through the head there was a sword which the now dead man had carried. The high priest went over to grab it, expecting the demon to stop him, but it didn't. And now Mola Ram held it in his single hand, turning to the archangel.
The predator had let the high priest take the weapon. He wanted him to. Only by killing an armed prey would his desired trophy reach its full value. The twin curved blades slid out of their sheath on the hunter's right forearm with a metallic snick and then the predator spread his arms, extending his chest and he howled, urging the priest to attack.
Mola Ram realized that there was no way out of here, except through the demon. The priest mumbled a chant: "Kali Ma, shakthi deh!" [Mother Kali, give me power!] He was asking for power to fight the demon before him. "Kali Ma, shakthi deh!" And then he charged.
Mola Ram swung the sword, but the predator parried it with the wrist blades with ease. The priest and the beast danced around on the altar floor, each attempting to cut the other. Or at least that was Mola Ram's intention. The predator didn't really do much, he simply kept blocking every strike the priest made with the sword, and only did a few phony attempts of retaliation.
Ram realized that the beast was playing with him, goading him into thinking that he might actually have a chance, when in reality he didn't. The beast was holding back on purpose! It was like the demon was making this up for a show, and he wasn't wrong. The predator wanted it to look like the priest was a formidable enemy, as his facemask was recording the fight. It would look good to have an action-packed duel before the final kill. Mola Ram was however tiring quickly, he wasn't built for fighting and couldn't keep it up for much longer. The predator saw that this was a clear fact and was disappointed. He had hoped that his prey would last a little longer than this. Now he would have to wrap this up sooner than expected before it became too evident to the recording that the hunter was purposely dragging this out. Exaggeration was accepted among his kin, but only up to a certain point where it was believable.
The predator's displeasure grew even more as Mola Ram, sidestepping another sweep of the hunter's arm stepped into the puddle of blood that had been spilled from the guard that had been shredded by the net. As he was limping, he couldn't keep up the proper balance. The slippery surface made the priest lose his footing and stumble, making the predator miss his intended strike. The hunter was once again going to run his twin blades onto the sword the priest was holding to make it look like his prey had blocked another charge, but now the blades connected to the stomach as the priest slipped on the blood and got out of the position. Two red gashes opened in Mola Ram's robes and gore was pouring out. Mola Ram got so shocked by the intensive pain of his wounds that he dropped on his knee and was incapable to continue fighting. He wasn't used to pain to his own person, and after the crocodile had torn his left arm off ten years ago, his fear for his own vulnerability had increased. He had no problem with inflicting pain unto others, but the very thought of himself being seriously hurt left him sometimes petrified.
Enraged, disgusted and majorly disappointed, the predator lashed out and backhanded the high priest, making the sword fly away from the other's hand. If that was all the fight he was capable to muster, then perhaps it wasn't such a grand prize to covet after all. Still, the prey had given it a shot to save itself by fighting the hunter, and that had to be worth something.
The predator's left hand grabbed the priest by the throat, lifting him from the floor and slammed him against the stone wall. The reptilian fingers encircled Mola Ram's head and slowly wrenched it side to side, examining it closely. The hunter leaned in closer, as if it was staring into the very base of the skull. Mola Ram was hanging suspended above the floor, being choked, and feeling like the powerful fingers were crushing his windpipe. Although he could feel his consciousness leave him, he found in his dazed mind that the beast had done a massive error – it had moved in too close. "K-kali Ma… s-s-shak… thi deh…!" he gurgled under the grip. Then he reached for the demon's chest with his hand and his fingers pierced the reptilian hide and it entered the torso.
The predator howled in both agony and surprise as he became aware of what the prey was doing. Sadly for Mola Ram, the predators hide was much thicker than that of a human's – it was denser and therefore gave more resistance to force his hand through. Also there was a reason he preferred his victims to be bound before he was about to rip their hearts out – Indiana Jones had proved that on the collapsed bridge. An unbound being was always able to resist! Dr. Jones had grabbed onto his wrist and pulled his hand away - but the predator had a much more severe way to stop Mola Ram's intrusion! Instinctively, the predator slashed with his right hand, the one armed with the twin blades! The razor-sharp claws cut through Mola Ram's wrist and severed the hand from his arm. The high priest screamed hideously as he realized what just had happened.
The predator suddenly let go of the priest and he dropped to the ground. He began to crawl away, wailing and sobbing as he watched the bleeding stump of his arm, now devoid of his hand - the body part in question was still stuck halfway into the hunter's chest. The hunter grabbed on to the lump of human flesh and pulled it out of his torso, snarling in both pain and anger as he did so. The hole that was left behind, one who didn't seal as it magically did on a human, began to leak out phosphorescent blood.
The hunter touched his chest and looked down on his blood-smeared hand. It was not a fatal wound, but he would need to use his medical kit. While he felt violated of what the priest had tried to do, he was at the same time amazed. It had never entered his mind that the prey would attempt to do that to him and had by doing so managed to draw his blood, without the aid of a tool at that! It was an excellent reminder why the predator had attacked in the first place. That the worth of this prey didn't lay in his fighting skills, but with the special ability he possessed, one that made him unique compared to other humans. The predator was pleased. This would undoubtedly rank it as the grand trophy after all! And now he was going to claim it! But before he did, he was going to grant the prey one more revelation. The hunter's ethic compelled the act at this point of climax.
As he no longer was the ruler of the situation, Mola Ram was reduced to the same emotional state that his sacrificial victims usually were in before he had his way with them. He was crawling over the floor leaving behind a smear of his own blood trailing behind him, whimpering to his goddess. "Baachao Kali Ma muze-baachao." [Mother Kali, save me.] The statue of Kali the Destroyer didn't answer to his plead. It stood towering over the floor, motionless and impassive to the situation that had transpired. Mola Ram was starting to fear that she had abandoned him.
The severely wounded priest looked behind him in vain hope to see if he was managing to get away from the demon that had invaded his temple. He hadn't expected what he saw.
The demon was fiddling with his facemask, disconnecting a cable that momentarily sprayed a gaseous vapor as it was released. Then the beast made a flick with both his hands on both side of his head, releasing hidden locks. Finally, he put both hands on the flat helmet and lifted it off.
Besides Mola Ram, there were two more people witnessing the predator's true face as it was revealed. One was the sacrificial victim still shackled within the torture rack. Although fading quickly, he was still following the events.
The other was the maharajah Zalim Singh. Even though the guards had released him before they were cut down, Singh had remained to see how this played out. He was right now hiding behind a pillar against the stone wall, with a good view across the lava gorge. The reveled face of the creature sent a ripple of shock though his body. And here he'd always thought that the statue of Kali was ugly!
The alien face was noseless and had two gleaming feral eyes that was fixed on the priest. The dome of the head was hairless, but powerful. It looked like he could slam his head into a pile of rock and only shrug it off. His mouth, if you could call it that, was a set of crablike mandibles folded across an open maw of flesh that had one tiny jaw which was mounted with a short row of pointy teeth. Mola Ram recoiled from the sight. He had never seen a creature such as this before, and he had no wish to learn of its origin. He only wanted to get as far away from it as he possibly could. He started to crawl again. His one hope lay with the secret trapdoor at the base of the altar, underneath the giant skull between the statue's legs. If he could reach it, then he could escape. That hope immediately diminished though as the predator's foot slammed down on the priest's long robes and halted him. The hunter gazed down on his prey, his mandibles flexing in anticipation.
"Baachao Kali Ma muze-baachao," the priest whimpered again to the statue as he knew that death was upon him. He hadn't expected his own voice replying.
"Kali Ma, shakthi deh!" the predator said, mimicking the priest's voice. The hunter had no idea what the words meant, but he found it fitting to use the line as a final mock to the priest. And then he laughed; the same kind of maniacal laughter Mola Ram had given right after he had ripped the victim's heart out. And then he leaned down…
In this final moment, Mola Ram now got a taste for himself what it felt like to have his hand invade a body, causing agony beyond comprehension and have your heart ripped out. The predator was digging his hand into the base of Mola Ram's back, his powerful nails piercing the man's flesh and sinking it in deep. Mola Ram screamed in the same way his victims had done – he would have done anything to not having to go through this torture. But the predator was as merciless to him as he himself had been to the victims he had sent to death. The hunter's hand closed around the spinal column – and ripped it out! In just one tug, the predator ripped out the entire row of vertebras together with the skull out from Mola Ram's squirming body, blood and pieces of intestines erupting like an exploding volcano in the process.
All was momentarily quiet in the temple of death – only the ventilating wind and the flow of the lava from the bottom of the gorge could be heard. The predator stood watching the skull he had just extracted, the skeleton dripping raw-red gore onto the floor. Then he raised his trophy high into the air and let out a high-pitched roar. His victory-cry resonated throughout the entire system of caves within the mountain. It was the last sound the victim heard as he died, slumping, and hanging like a heap from his bounds within the torture rack, his last thoughts thinking that in some way he and the victims before him had been avenged.
Frightened beyond his wits, Zalim Singh ran from the place before the beast got the sights on him. He wasn't the only one seeking escape. All the Kali worshippers that still remained heard the howl from the beast, and they knew that all was lost. This temple had been soiled beyond retribution by a power that couldn't match that of the gods – it would never be a place for the Thuggee again. They escaped the mountain and ran into the forest, never to return.
Zalim Singh did return though the following evening, and he didn't come alone. He had looked up the local constables and military authorities in the neighboring regions, pleading for help. The army had agreed to help him, but only to make sure that the threat of the Thuggee was dealt with once and for all. The cult had spread terror over the land for far too long!
No one knew what to expect as the maharajah led the people through the catacombs towards the sacrificial temple. He certainly hadn't told them anything about the creature. Who would believe it? He didn't know if that thing would still be there – and if it was, would they be able to take it out should it attack?
Everything was dark in the cave as they arrived – the only light in there came from the crevasse, spreading a hellish red glow from the tear in the rock. All other sources of light, candles, and torches – they had all been snuffed out.
The company of men lit up some torches of their own… and the sight that greeted them made them all want to gag and vomit. The Thuggee priests were still there, but in a manner that was inhuman. The remains of the once abominable men were each one hanging upside down from the roof, all of them undressed – literally! Their skin was gone, only the skeletons with their glistening wet meat of muscles and sinew still attached to the bones were hanging there like cattle in a slaughter house!
The only corpse that remained untouched was the body of his servant, the one who was to be sacrificed. He was still chained within the torture rack, without physical sight of any damage. Singh believed he understood: the servant wasn't that creature's kill, so it had therefore left him alone.
Above the dead victim was Mola Ram's body, hanging from one of Kali's tireless outstretched arms. Singh recognized him as it was the only body that lacked an arm, the hand of the other, and the head. But his corpse seemed to have been gutted even more than the rest of the priests. The torso was cut open, and now it was his heart that was missing!
What wasn't missing, to the maharajah's surprise, was the two Sankara stones. They were still there within the eye sockets of the stone skull. Despite their value, the creature hadn't touched them. Apparently the creature hadn't understood what the stones were, or it simply hadn't been interested in them in any way despite their magical properties. Zalim Singh could not for the world tell what kind of a creature that had been, or what its agenda was – but he hoped that he never would have to come across it again, even if it had freed them from the terror of the Thuggee. But some mysteries had best be left buried, just like this place should be buried for all eternity!
Zalim Sing made his decision right there – nothing was to be touched, and the word of what had happened here was never to be uttered to the world outside. He would set up explosives and blow out the caves, burying the corpses, the Sankara stones and all ever connected to the Thuggee under tons of rock! And if Pankot palace really would collapse in on itself with the foundations blown out from underneath it, then so much the better! The horrors of Pankot was to be wiped out from the face of the Earth – forever!
A couple of miles away from the palace that soon was going to be reduced to rubble, the predator sat in his space-faring lander, preparing the trophies he had brought back. Using tools of like that has never been seen on the face of the Earth, the hunter was busy carving out large pieces of excessive tissue from inside the human skull. Once that was finished, he used a vacuum nozzle to suck up the smaller fragments along with the dripping blood, and then he rinsed the whole thing with a flesh-eating mist. The final process was made with a polisher, wiping away the last fragments of meat and giving the skull a white-gleaming luster. As he was finished, he put the skull with the still dangling spinal column on a spike on his shrine that was full of other trophies from his earlier hunts – but this one was put on his grand pedestal. He repeated the cleaning process with the hand he had brought, but this time he added something new to the bones. Predators usually didn't collect organs as trophies, but doing it this time would add a specific significance to the tale. The hunter took the heart he had brought out of a small air-tight box he'd been carrying – he emptied and rinsed it from blood, and then put it in the hand of bones. He then dipped the whole thing into a pot with hot liquid. When he lifted it out of the pot, there was a clear wax-like membrane layer around the organ which had effectively glued it to the hand, as well as created a sealant which would conserve and preserve it for eons ahead. The predator put this second item underneath the jaw of the skull, and then he put on the final touch: the headgear with the water-buffalo horns was to crown the skull, just like it had before the predator had killed him.
He chirped softly, admiring his prize. What a tale this would be to tell on the next hunters summit! He couldn't wait to get home. When his associates and competitors alike would hear of this, they would become so jealous. And the females… by the stars, the females. They would swarm around him like beetles drawn to a lantern. They would want to hear of his feat over and over again, about the soft pray that almost had managed to rip out his blood-pump using only his hand, but he had killed him before he succeeded in doing so. He was actually proud of those scars on his chest now – it was like a medal of honor that he would carry with him forever.
He was so deep in his daydreams that he must've lost contact with reality for a while - because he could almost have sworn that he saw something that was absolutely ludicrous. It had almost looked like the heart had made a beat under the membrane.
I'm not dead! Gracious Kali Ma, I'm not dead!
But there was no answer from his goddess. He had come to the realization that his god had truly abandoned him since a long time back.
This is what it was like to be Mola Ram forever: he was an entity with no eye-sight, no hearing, no ability to speak, and no ability to move. He was like a vegetable in a void where he felt nothing of his surroundings, neither heat or warmth, or even if he was on the move. He felt absolutely nothing, save for the pain. The excruciating pain that was going to be his sole companion for all eternity.
It was all because of the power of the stones. Mola Ram had never understood the science behind it, and he had never cared for it before now. The Sankara stones drew its power from other planes of existence - the energy within them would then tap into the continuous flow of atoms of their surroundings and enhance their functions on a molecular level. That was why 'Sankara' was referred to as fortune and glory.
The energy which Mola Ram had absorbed though long-time exposure had not only given him the ability to push atoms aside, but had also enhanced his cells to the point that he had been given longevity – Mola Ram had never been victim to diseases since then. His energy-levels was much higher than that of the victims. It was that power that had kept him alive after his fall into the crocodile canyon, and it was that energy which was keeping him alive now! The bone-structure of his skull was still charged with the energy, as well as his heart.
The heart was the key! He had never understood it, he had only taken it for granted that it was magic! Every time he had extracted a heart from a victim, he had left behind a residue of the energy he carried from the stones – it was that which was keeping the victim alive for a short time, while heart and body although separated on their plane was still connected through subspace. But neither part could survive for long without the other. When Ram had the victims immolated in magma, the organ was destroyed with it. Mola Ram realized to his horror that his heart must still be intact somehow, and it was close by. Although his body was brutally maimed, there was enough left of him for the energy through the heart to keep him from dying.
Death would have been preferable. Although he had been robbed of his other senses, the energy coursing though his bones were mimicking his physical nervous system as if it was still there, causing the severed parts of his body to ache in phantom pain. The excruciating agony he had felt as the creature had ripped out his spinal column was still present, and as long as the energy of the Sankara stones resided within him, it would never go away. He would feel the pain for all eternity to come!
It was to be his punishment – his eternal damnation for the atrocities he'd done to hundreds of victims, for the horror and torture he had given them. And now, thanks to the stones, he would feel their pain continuously – but unlike for them, his pain would never cease. As long as the residue of the energy resided within his bones and in his living organ that was incased in the protective membrane so that it would never rot, he was to go on with his insignificant existence forever, with no hope of liberation.
That was how it was like to be Mola Ram – forever.
Curse the power of the stones!
Author's notes: karma for Mola Ram, who in my eyes is one of the evilest movie villains ever created. If you wish to learn more of my vision on how the Sankara stones work, then feel free to read my story Balance of Power in the crossover section – 'M'-rated.