Christopher — Episode 1

Written by Kingson

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[ The land did not scream.

It suffered in silence.

Far from cities, beyond roads forgotten by maps, two villages stood on the edge of survival—Evid Village and Aelm Village.

Both were poor. Both were broken. And both believed the other was the reason.

In Evid Village, faith was everything. At the center stood a small church, its white walls cracked with time but still standing—just like the people inside it. They believed in hope, in prayer… and in one man.

Father Joseph.

A man who carried the weight of his people not on his shoulders—but in his heart.

Every morning, the church filled with whispers.

“Father… what do we do?”

“They are taking our land…”

“We are losing everything…”

Joseph never answered quickly. He listened. He watched. Because he knew—

This wasn’t just fear.

This was something deeper.

Something darker.

Not far from them stood Aelm Village.

Stronger in voice. Fiercer in pride. But just as desperate.

They didn’t pray for survival.

They demanded it.

“The land is ours!”

“They think they can take it?”

“We will not bow!”

The distance between the two villages was small.

But the distance in their hearts?

It had become a battlefield.

And behind all of this…

There was a man.

A man no one saw clearly—but everyone feared.

A landlord.

A shadow.

A devil in human form.

People said he didn’t argue.

He didn’t negotiate.

He killed.

Then he took what he wanted—not with force alone—but with fear.

Thumbprints on paper.

Shaking hands.

Or cold bodies.

Entire lands signed away in silence.

And those who resisted?

Never seen again.

Whispers spread like poison:

“He is not a man…”

“He is something else…”

“Something like Lucifer…”

Fear did what violence couldn’t.

It broke unity.

And slowly—

The two villages turned against each other.

Accusations turned into fights.

Fights turned into blood.

Until one evening—

The line was about to be crossed.

Men from both sides stood facing each other, weapons in hand. Stones, sticks… even fire.

Anger burned louder than reason.

“This ends today!”

“Come then!”

And just as the first strike was about to land—

A voice cut through the chaos.

“STOP!”

It wasn’t loud.

But it carried weight.

All eyes turned.

Father Joseph stood between them.

Unarmed.

Unshaken.

“Is this what you’ve become?” he asked quietly.

Silence.

“Fighting each other… while the one destroying you watches?”

No one spoke.

Because deep down—

They knew he was right.

Joseph stepped forward.

“If we continue like this… we will destroy ourselves before he ever needs to.”

A man from Aelm spat:

“Then what do you want us to do? Die quietly?”

Joseph shook his head.

“No.”

He turned, pointing toward the distant horizon.

“There is only one option left.”

All eyes followed his hand.

Far beyond the fields…

Rising into the sky like a dark scar—

Stood Demon Mountain.

The name alone carried fear.

Stories of death.

Of spirits.

Of no one returning.

Joseph’s voice remained steady.

“We leave this land… and go there.”

Shock spread.

“You’re insane!”

“That place is cursed!”

“We will die there!”

Joseph didn’t react.

“We are already dying here.”

Silence again.

But this time…

It was heavier.

“If we go together… we survive.”

His eyes moved between both villages.

“If we stay divided…”

He paused.

“…we fall.”

For a moment—

It felt like something might change.

But pride is stronger than fear.

A man from Aelm stepped forward.

“We will not follow you.”

Murmurs of agreement rose behind him.

“We don’t need your church… or your plan.”

Just like that—

The fragile hope shattered.

Two villages.

Now completely divided.

That night—

Inside the quiet church—

Father Joseph sat alone.

Candlelight flickered across his tired face.

For the first time…

He looked unsure.

Faith alone wouldn’t save them anymore.

They needed something else.

Someone else.

Slowly, he reached for an old phone.

Dialed a number.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

A voice answered.

“Joseph?”

Joseph closed his eyes briefly.

“It’s been a long time… Pastor Jamejohn.”

A pause.

“What happened?”

Joseph’s voice dropped.

“I need a man.”

Silence.

Then—

“What kind of man?”

Joseph looked toward the church door… toward the broken world outside.

“A man who can stand against fear.”

“A man people can believe in…”

A breath.

“…I need a Christopher.”

On the other side—

Jamejohn didn’t respond immediately.

But when he did—

There was something different in his tone.

“I think…”

He said slowly.

“I know someone.”

—

Miles away…

In a quiet village known as Pher Village…

A young man stood alone in an open field.

His movements were sharp.

Controlled.

Every strike carried weight.

Every step had purpose.

His name—

Michael.

A man shaped by silence.

And something darker.

“Again.”

The voice came from behind.

Jamejohn stood watching.

Michael didn’t argue.

Didn’t question.

He moved again.

Faster.

Stronger.

Then—

“Stop.”

Michael froze.

Turned.

Jamejohn stepped closer.

“There’s a village that needs you.”

Michael said nothing.

“They are weak. Divided. Afraid.”

Still nothing.

“They will pay you.”

Michael’s eyes shifted slightly.

That caught his attention.

“You’ll train them. Stay with them. Protect them.”

Silence.

Then finally—

“Where?”

Jamejohn smiled faintly.

“That’s my boy.”

He stepped closer.

“Do you know why I named you Michael?”

Michael shook his head.

“No.”

Jamejohn’s voice softened.

“Michael is the strongest angel in heaven.”

A pause.

“And sometimes…”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“…the world needs an angel who can fight like a demon.”

For the first time—

Something flickered in Michael’s eyes.

Not emotion.

Not yet.

But something close.

“…I’ll go,” he said.

—

The next morning—

A bus cut through the empty roads.

Michael sat by the window.

Silent.

Watching nothing.

Then slowly—

His eyes closed.

Sleep took him.

And with it—

The past.

A small house.

Laughter.

A girl’s voice—

“Michael! Come eat!”

He turned.

Smiling.

Rebecca stood there.

Alive.

Happy.

Everything felt warm.

Safe.

Then—

A sound.

Sharp.

Loud.

A gunshot.

The world broke.

A bullet tore through the moment—

Rebecca’s body jerked.

Her smile vanished.

Blood.

Silence.

Michael’s eyes snapped open.

Breathing heavy.

Sweat on his face.

The bus kept moving.

But something inside him—

Hadn’t.

—

As the bus approached its destination…

Dark clouds gathered above.

Wind picked up.

And in the distance—

Unseen by Michael—

A stage was being prepared.

A crowd gathering.

Lights being lit.

And at the center of it all—

A girl stood ready.

Sakhare.

Unaware—

That her story…

Was about to collide with his.

And nothing—

Would ever be the same again.

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END OF EPISODE 1

Christopher — Episode 2

Written by Kingson

[ Rain fell softly over Aelm Village.

The stage lights flickered against the dark sky while villagers rushed beneath cloth roofs and wooden shelters, protecting themselves from the sudden storm. Children laughed as thunder echoed through the mountains, but the older people remained uneasy.

Because rain near Demon Mountain was never considered normal.

People believed the mountain listened.

Watched.

Waited.

And tonight…

It felt awake.

The bus slowly entered the village road, its tires dragging through wet mud. Michael stepped down silently, carrying nothing more than a small bag and a face untouched by expression.

He looked around once.

Broken houses.

Fearful eyes.

Men arguing even in the rain.

This place already felt tired.

A voice suddenly shouted from nearby.

“The play is starting again!”

Crowds began gathering toward the center of the village.

Michael didn’t care.

At least—that’s what he thought.

Then he heard music.

Traditional drums echoed softly through the rain-covered night. Something about it pulled his attention. Slowly, he walked toward the crowd.

At the center of the village stood a large stage made of wood and cloth. Oil lamps surrounded it, their flames dancing in the wind.

And standing at the center—

Was Sakhare.

For a moment…

Everything around Michael became quiet.

She wore simple traditional clothing, but under the stage lights she looked almost unreal. Rainwater glimmered against her hair while the crowd watched her with admiration.

Then—

She looked up.

And their eyes met.

The wind grew stronger instantly.

Thunder cracked across the sky.

People turned nervously toward the mountains.

But neither Michael nor Sakhare looked away.

It lasted only seconds.

Yet somehow—

It felt longer.

Then the drums began again.

The performance resumed.

At first Michael assumed it would be another mythological play from Ramayana or Mahabharat.

But this story was different.

Darker.

Sadness filled Sakhare’s voice as she played the role of a young village girl whose family had been destroyed by powerful men.

The crowd watched silently.

Michael’s expression slowly changed.

Because the story…

Felt familiar.

On stage, actors dragged a crying woman across the ground while corrupt officers stood watching without helping.

“Please…” the woman cried.

“No one will save you.”

The line hit Michael harder than expected.

Then the scene changed.

A police station.

Villagers stood with their heads lowered while an officer questioned them.

“Did anyone see the killers?”

Silence.

Fear.

No one answered.

Because everyone knew the police themselves worked for those men.

Then—

Sakhare stepped forward in character.

“I saw them.”

The entire crowd in the real village became quiet.

Michael froze.

The officer on stage slowly walked toward her.

“What did you say?”

“I saw them kill her.”

The next moment—

The officer kicked her violently to the ground.

Gasps spread through the audience.

But Michael no longer saw a stage.

He saw memories.

Rebecca crying.

Rebecca bleeding.

Rebecca trying to speak.

His breathing became heavier.

The rain around him blurred.

In his mind—

He heard her voice again.

“Michael…”

Then—

Another gunshot echoed inside his head.

Michael clenched his fists tightly.

For the first time in years…

Anger began returning to his eyes.

Meanwhile, hidden near the edge of the crowd, three men watched the stage carefully beneath black raincoats.

One of them spat on the ground.

“That girl talks too much.”

Another nodded.

“She keeps turning people against us.”

The third man pulled out a phone.

“We should tell Inspector Laxman.”

At the mention of the name, even the others became serious.

Laxman.

The police officer feared across the region.

A man known for making people disappear.

A man who smiled while hurting others.

The call connected.

“We found the girl.”

A voice answered coldly from the other side.

“Watch her.”

The man hesitated.

“And the outsider?”

Silence.

Then—

“Bring me his face.”

The call ended.

Back near the stage, Sakhare completed the emotional scene while tears filled the eyes of several villagers watching. She stood there breathing heavily, staring into the crowd—

Until she noticed Michael again.

Unlike everyone else…

He wasn’t emotional.

He looked broken.

And dangerous.

Their eyes met once more.

This time—

Sakhare felt something strange.

Not fear.

Not comfort.

Something deeper.

As though this man carried death beside him.

The performance ended moments later.

People applauded loudly while children rushed toward the stage excitedly.

Michael turned to leave immediately.

But before he could walk away—

A small girl accidentally slipped in the mud nearby.

Michael caught her before she hit the ground.

The child looked up nervously.

“T-thank you…”

Michael simply nodded.

But from the stage—

Sakhare saw everything.

A man who looked cold enough to kill…

Yet gentle enough to save a child without hesitation.

Interesting, she thought.

Very interesting.

Suddenly—

A drunk villager bumped into Michael aggressively.

“Watch where you’re walking!”

Michael stayed silent.

The man grabbed his shirt.

“You’re from outside, aren’t you?”

Several villagers turned toward them.

Tension rose immediately.

“People like you bring trouble.”

Michael slowly looked at the man.

And something in his eyes made the drunk villager nervous instantly.

Not anger.

Worse.

Control.

The kind that comes before violence.

Before things could escalate—

A voice interrupted.

“Leave him.”

Everyone turned.

Sakhare had stepped down from the stage.

Rain continued falling around her as she walked closer.

“He didn’t do anything.”

The drunk man scoffed.

“Why do you care?”

“Because unlike you,” she replied calmly, “he knows how to stand quietly.”

Several people laughed softly.

Embarrassed, the drunk villager backed away angrily.

Michael looked at Sakhare carefully.

“You shouldn’t interfere,” he said.

His voice was calm.

Deep.

Sakhare crossed her arms.

“And you shouldn’t look at people like you want to bury them.”

For the first time—

A tiny reaction crossed Michael’s face.

Almost amusement.

Almost.

Thunder echoed again.

Far above the village—

Hidden within darkness—

A silhouette stood watching from the cliffs of Demon Mountain.

Unmoving.

Patient.

Like a king observing pieces on a board.

And deep below the mountain…

Something waited in silence.

Something powerful enough to drown villages in blood.

But the people below still knew nothing.

Not yet.

]

END OF EPISODE 2

Christopher — Episode 3

Written by Kingson

[ Morning arrived slowly over Aelm Village.

The rain from the previous night had stopped, but the village still felt heavy, as if the storm had left something behind.

People whispered while cleaning muddy streets.

Some spoke about the stage performance.

Others spoke about the outsider.

“The man near the stage…”

“He doesn’t look normal.”

“Did you see his eyes?”

Fear spread quickly in villages like this.

Especially when strangers arrived.

Meanwhile, near the edge of the village, Michael stood alone beside a river washing blood from his knuckles.

The drunk villager from last night had returned after the crowd disappeared.

This time with friends.

They tried surrounding him.

It didn’t end well.

Michael stared at the water silently.

No pride.

No emotion.

Violence to him felt ordinary.

Almost empty.

Behind him, footsteps approached carefully.

“You could’ve killed them.”

Michael didn’t turn around.

He already recognized the voice.

Sakhare stepped beside him, holding an umbrella against the weak morning drizzle.

“They attacked first,” Michael replied calmly.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Silence.

The river continued flowing between them.

Sakhare studied him carefully.

Most men in the village were loud.

Emotional.

Easy to understand.

But Michael?

He felt closed off like a locked room.

Dangerous.

And somehow sad.

“You’re not from here,” she finally said.

“No.”

“Then why come?”

Michael looked toward the mountains.

“Work.”

Sakhare laughed softly.

“You speak like an old man.”

Michael ignored the comment.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then suddenly—

Voices echoed nearby.

“SAKHARE!”

A group of village women hurried toward them nervously.

“There’s another fight near the land!”

Sakhare’s expression changed immediately.

Without hesitation, she started walking.

Michael followed silently behind.

—

The disputed land stood between both villages like an open wound.

One side had placed a wooden cross into the ground.

The other side had planted temple flags.

Now both groups screamed at each other again.

“This land belongs to us!”

“No—it belongs to our people!”

Children watched from far away while frightened women pulled them back.

At the center stood Father Joseph, trying desperately to calm everyone.

“Please listen—”

But nobody listened anymore.

Hatred had become louder than reason.

Then—

Sakhare stepped forward.

“STOP THIS!”

Her voice shocked both sides into silence briefly.

She pointed toward the land angrily.

“You fight every day over this place like animals!”

A man shouted back:

“Because it matters!”

“Yes,” she replied sharply.

“It does matter.”

Then she said something unexpected.

“So why not build something both villages need?”

Confused murmurs spread.

Sakhare looked around firmly.

“A school.”

Silence.

Children nearby slowly looked up.

“A place where both villages can study together.”

Some people looked uncertain.

Others angry.

A man from Evid scoffed.

“We need a church.”

Another from Aelm shouted:

“We need a temple!”

Sakhare shook her head.

“No.”

Her eyes hardened.

“You need a future.”

The words hit harder than expected.

Even Father Joseph looked surprised.

For a brief moment—

The fighting actually stopped.

Then a horse’s आवाज echoed from behind.

Everyone turned.

Three police jeeps rolled toward the land violently, crushing mud beneath their tires.

Fear spread instantly.

People stepped back.

Because everyone recognized the symbol painted on the vehicles.

Police.

And where police came—

Trouble followed.

The jeep doors opened slowly.

Armed officers stepped out first.

Then finally—

A man wearing dark glasses emerged.

Calm.

Smiling.

Terrifying.

Laxman.

The atmosphere changed immediately.

Even the wind felt colder.

Laxman removed his glasses slowly, scanning both villages like a man inspecting animals.

“Well…”

He smiled faintly.

“Looks like children are fighting again.”

Nobody answered.

Nobody dared.

Laxman walked toward the disputed land casually.

“You know,” he continued, “if people can’t decide who owns land…”

He looked up slowly.

“…then maybe nobody should own it.”

Fear appeared across several faces.

Because everyone understood what that meant.

Confiscation.

Seizure.

Loss.

Father Joseph stepped forward carefully.

“Inspector, the people are emotional right now. We can solve this peacefully.”

Laxman stared at him for a few seconds.

Then smiled.

“Ah yes. The priest.”

He walked closer.

“You still believe peace fixes everything?”

Joseph stayed calm.

“I believe people can still choose humanity.”

Laxman laughed softly.

“Humanity is expensive, Father.”

His eyes slowly moved toward Sakhare.

“And some people make things worse by filling heads with ideas.”

The crowd became nervous instantly.

But Sakhare didn’t back down.

“If education scares you,” she replied calmly, “then maybe you fear intelligent people.”

Several villagers looked shocked she spoke to him like that.

Laxman’s smile disappeared slightly.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Then—

His eyes shifted toward Michael.

The outsider stood silently behind the crowd.

Watching.

Laxman studied him carefully.

“Who’s he?”

Nobody answered.

Michael stepped forward himself.

“Michael.”

The two men stared at each other.

And for the first time—

Michael felt it.

Recognition.

Not from memory.

From instinct.

Something about this man felt rotten.

Like blood hidden beneath perfume.

Laxman smiled again.

“You’re not from here.”

“No.”

“Then be careful.”

His tone remained polite.

But the threat beneath it was clear.

“Outsiders disappear easily around these villages.”

Michael didn’t react.

But inside his head—

Rebecca’s scream echoed again.

For one dangerous second—

He imagined killing the man standing before him.

Laxman seemed to notice something in Michael’s eyes.

And strangely—

He enjoyed it.

Then suddenly—

A small boy accidentally ran between the police officers chasing a ball.

One officer grabbed him aggressively.

“Move!”

The child cried out in fear.

Before anyone reacted—

Michael moved.

Fast.

His hand locked around the officer’s wrist instantly.

The entire area froze.

Nobody even saw him move.

The officer winced painfully.

Michael’s voice stayed calm.

“He’s a child.”

Tension exploded across the land.

Police officers reached for weapons immediately.

Villagers backed away in panic.

Father Joseph looked terrified.

But Laxman…

Laxman smiled.

Slowly.

Curiously.

Like he had finally found something entertaining.

“Well now…”

He stepped closer.

“This village just became interesting.”

Far above them—

Clouds gathered once again around Demon Mountain.

Watching silently.

Waiting.

]

END OF EPISODE 3