The next morning, the city of Nagpur woke up to a story that felt like a dream. The name on everyone's lips, whispered in homes, shouted in news studios, and typed on every social media platform, was "Animal Boy."
Anmol sat in his living room, watching the news on TV with his parents. His body ached with a deep, bone-weary soreness that no amount of sleep could fix, a secret pain he had to hide behind a calm face. Every news channel was leading with the same story: the "unexplained event" at the MIHAN industrial district. The screen showed shaky cell phone footage, a chaotic dance of light and shadow. But in between the blurry frames, the truth was unmistakable: a golden, tiger-headed figure battling a monstrous reptilian creature.
Reporters were live from the scene, pointing to the massive claw marks in the asphalt and the wreckage of the battle. An "expert" in a studio was trying to explain it away as a cleverly edited video or a marketing stunt, but the evidence was too strong.
Then came the second part of the story. The notorious gang, "The Protector," had been completely dismantled. The news showed footage of the police arresting the terrified thugs who had run from the fight. Their leader, the untouchable Vijay, was reported to have died in a "freak accident" at the scene. The police were officially calling it a gang war that had ended in a bizarre explosion, but the people whispering on the streets knew better. They knew it was the work of Animal Boy.
Anmol felt a strange shiver run through him. The gang was gone. He had done that.
He pulled out his phone and saw his screen light up. #AnimalBoy and #MonsterOfNagpur were the number one trending topics in India. He scrolled through thousands of posts. There were digital drawings of his suit, heated debates about his powers, and theories about where he came from. He was no longer a secret. He was a phenomenon, and the thought was both thrilling and terrifying.
Later that day, alone in his room, he needed to see the cost of his victory. He closed the curtains and focused his mind, calling forth the Stamp. The golden light enveloped him, and the familiar weight of the armor settled onto his body. He walked over to his mirror and looked at his reflection.
The suit was a mess. The gold and green plates were covered in scratches and deep gouges from the monster's claws. A large, ugly crack ran across the left side of his tiger helmet. He had won, but he had taken a beating.
As he stared at the crack, something amazing happened. A soft, golden light began to glow from the Animal Stamp on his chest. The light flowed like liquid honey up his chest plate and towards the helmet. He watched, speechless, as the light filled the crack, the jagged edges melting and fusing back together. In under a minute, the crack was gone, the helmet's surface as smooth and perfect as the day it was created. The suit was healing itself. It was a living extension of his spirit.
But he knew healing wasn't enough. The monster had damaged him. The next one might be stronger. He needed to be stronger, too.
He placed his hand over the golden chest plate and closed his eyes, focusing his entire mind on the image of a rhinoceros. He felt its spirit—the feeling of being an unstoppable, unmovable mountain of strength and defense. He then pushed that feeling from his mind, through the Stamp, and directly into the armor. The chest plate under his hand glowed with a brilliant light and he felt it change, becoming denser, harder, heavier. When he tapped it, the sound was a deep, solid thud, like hitting solid rock. He had made his armor stronger.
With his suit repaired and reinforced, he felt a deep need to go back to where it all began. The battle had been a success, and he felt a swell of pride. He wanted to report to his mentor, to tell Simhavyagrah that he had used his powers for good, just as he had been instructed. The weight of his new fame was heavy, and he needed the quiet wisdom of the ancient lion to help him make sense of it all. The image of the strange snake logo was still in his mind, a cold little knot of worry, but he pushed it aside. That was a mystery for another day. Today, he needed guidance.
That evening, he told his parents he was going on another weekend photography trip to the Tadoba reserve. The lie felt heavier now, but he knew it was necessary.
The journey to the jungle was different this time. He felt like he was coming home. The animals sensed his approach. Monkeys chattered greetings from the trees, and a majestic eagle circled high above, guiding him. He entered the hidden chamber. Simhavyagrah was there, waiting, his golden eyes calm and knowing.
"I felt the tremor of your battle, young one," the great lion's voice filled his mind. "You have faced a great evil."
Anmol took off his helmet. He told his mentor everything: the fight, the monster's unnatural feel, the end of the gang, and his victory. He described the feeling of the city watching him, the strange weight of his new fame, and how the suit had healed and how he had made it stronger.
Simhavyagrah listened patiently, a deep sense of pride radiating from him. "You have done well, Anmol," the lion's thought was warm. "You faced a creature of rage and did not let its fury consume you. You protected the innocent. You have taken your first true step as a protector."
"But now everyone knows about me," Anmol said, the worry in his voice clear. "They call me Animal Boy. What do I do now?"
"You continue on your path," Simhavyagrah answered, his voice firm and steady. "A hero does not choose to be seen, but he does not hide when he is needed. This city is your territory now. Protect it. But be wise. The monster you fought was a mindless beast. There are other dangers in the world, clever and ancient, that are far worse. Your victory will not go unnoticed. Be watchful."
The great lion's words were both a comfort and a warning. Anmol spent another hour in the chamber, feeling the calm, ancient power of the place seep into him, steadying his frayed nerves. He felt proud of his victory, but he also understood the new, heavier burden of responsibility he now carried. He was no longer just a boy with a secret; he was a symbol.
He thanked his mentor and began the long journey back home, his mind clearer, his purpose stronger.
The sun had set. The moon was rising over the Tadoba forest. The clearing that held the secret entrance to Simhavyagrah's chamber was silent and empty.
A heavy footstep crushed the dry leaves on the ground.
A massive, imposing figure stepped into the moonlit clearing. The warrior's armor was a mossy, battle-worn green. His helmet was shaped like the skull of a great horned dinosaur, and from its sockets, two red eyes glowed with a cold, analytical light.
DinoMan.
He stood perfectly still, his head slowly turning, scanning the area. He could feel it. A deep, ancient power, much like his own, but different. Purer. It was coming from the rock face in front of him. He walked forward, his heavy combat boots making no sound on the soft earth. He reached the spot where Anmol had entered just hours before.
He lifted a heavy, armored hand and placed it flat against the solid stone of the secret entrance. The red eyes of his helmet glowed brighter, as if seeing through the rock, sensing the life and magic hidden within.
A low, guttural sound, almost a chuckle, rumbled from the grilled mouthpiece of his helmet.
"So," a voice rasped, cold and ancient, "this is where the other one lives."
[To be continued…]
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Author: Vansh Rahate
Editor: Vansh Rahate
Story by: Vansh Rahate
Under: Alaukika Studios