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CHAPTER 1 : The Bell Rings
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 08:25:07 +0000 UTCThe Bell Rings
"Class is over. The next class starts in five minutes," announced our homeroom teacher, her voice fading beneath the immediate rustle of books and scraping chairs.
I exhaled deeply, feeling my body melt into the hard plastic seat. Another forty-five minutes of existence survived.
"RJ!" A sharp elbow found my ribs. Arun's eyes were wild with excitement, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "The teacher's gone! We need to move before Sharma Sir shows up!"
The lazy grin that spread across my face felt almost involuntary. The day had finally arrived.
"So we're really doing this?" I asked, though I was already grabbing my backpack.
"Hell yes," Arun replied, already halfway up from his bench. "We've only been planning it for two weeks!"
Our little quartet—me, Arun, Varun, and Dhruv—rose from our seats with practiced casualness, attempting stealth despite the squeaking floor tiles beneath our shoes. But in a classroom of forty teenagers, nothing goes unnoticed. I could feel curious eyes tracking our movement as we edged toward the door.
"Move faster," I hissed, checking my watch. "The national anthem starts in ten minutes!"
Yes, we were bunking class. Committing the great Indian student sin. And for what? A movie. But not just any movie—Marvel's Avengers: Endgame.
The culmination of a decade-long cinematic journey. Tickets had vanished within minutes of booking opening—especially here in Mumbai, where Infinity War had transformed Marvel from a niche interest to a cultural phenomenon. We'd stayed awake until 1 AM on a school night, four phones refreshing the booking page frantically, until Dhruv's miraculous success.
"That. Was. INSANE." Varun's voice trembled slightly as we spilled from the theater's air-conditioned darkness into the harsh afternoon sun, joining the subdued crowd of shell-shocked viewers.
"Insane doesn't begin to cover it," I replied, my throat still tight from holding back tears. "That snap... when I saw what they did with Stark..."
"Don't," Dhruv warned, openly wiping at his eyes beneath his glasses. "I'm barely holding it together. Five years of watching these films together, and now..."
Arun, unusually quiet, finally spoke. "What happens now though? Iron Man's gone. Captain America's gone. Who leads the Avengers?"
"Morgan, maybe?" I suggested, thinking of Tony's daughter. "They could do a time jump. Or maybe it's Spider-Man's turn."
We debated theories as we navigated through the departing crowd, all of us dazed by what we'd witnessed—the end of an era.
"Listen," I said, jangling my scooter keys. "I'll grab my bike from the lot. You guys hit that chaat stall across the road—I'm starving. I'll meet you there."
The midday sun beat down mercilessly as I waited for the valet to bring my scooter. Traffic roared past on the main road, a chaotic symphony of horns and engines. That's when I noticed the truck.
It was moving too fast, weaving erratically between lanes. The driver's face was bizarre—was he wearing some kind of costume? As the vehicle careened closer, I could hear him shouting:
"Yam ha ham! Yam ha ham!"
Time seemed to slow. Was this guy cosplaying Yamraj, the Hindu god of death? He had what looked like ceremonial horns mounted on his head.
"Is this guy for real?" I muttered, frozen in disbelief.
Before my brain could send signals to my legs to move, the truck slammed into me, and the world went red, then black.
When consciousness returned, I found myself surrounded by crimson. Pools of bubbling lava illuminated a nightmarish landscape stretching to the horizon. The air shimmered with unbearable heat that somehow didn't burn my skin.
"Hey, mortal!" a voice thundered from somewhere above.
I spun in place, searching frantically for the source.
"Up here, idiot!"
Floating about ten feet above me was the truck driver—now lounging in an ornate hovering chair, casually sipping something fluorescent through a twisty straw. A pair of steampunk-style goggles rested on his forehead, pushing back thick black hair.
"YOU!" I shouted, pointing accusingly. "You... you killed me!"
He waved dismissively, slurping his drink. "Close your mouth before something flies into it. This is the underworld—you don't want to know what kind of insects we have."
My mind struggled to process the situation. "Was... was it my time? Did you come to collect me?"
The self-proclaimed deity sighed dramatically. "Not exactly. It was actually your friend Arun's time. But I arrived early and hit you by mistake. You were only supposed to end up hospitalized with a dramatic life-lesson."
I stared at him, uncomprehending. "So Arun is..."
"Safe? No." He flicked something from his fingernail. "After I realized my mistake, I made a U-turn and collected him too. Can't leave souls unclaimed—terrible for my performance metrics."
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" My voice echoed across the hellscape.
"Administrative errors happen in every organization," he shrugged. "Even divine ones."
"So where is he now?" I demanded.
"Already processed for reincarnation. Standard procedure."
The reality of my situation was beginning to sink in. "And what about me? What happens now?"
He set his drink aside and leaned forward, suddenly businesslike. "Since your death was my mistake, I'm obligated to offer compensation."
Hope flickered. "You mean I can go back?"
"Impossible," he said flatly. "That paperwork is beyond even my authority. But I can offer you a special reincarnation package."
"A what?"
"I'll send you into your next life with your memories intact—they'll start returning around age fifteen. And as a bonus, I'll allow you to select one artifact from the multiverse to accompany you."
I blinked rapidly. "Wait... multiverse? Like the theory?"
"Theory to you, commuting distance to me," he replied, examining his nails. "Now choose quickly. I have a quota to meet before the celestial day ends."
The implications were staggering. Any artifact from any universe? My mind raced through possibilities—Thor's hammer, Captain America's shield, Iron Man's arc reactor...
But one item stood out above all others, a childhood obsession from countless Saturday mornings spent watching cartoons.
"The Omnitrix," I blurted out.
The god snapped his fingers instantly. "Done."
"Wait—what do you mean 'done'? Don't I get to—"
But darkness was already enveloping me, and the last thing I heard was his amused laughter echoing through the void as reality itself folded around me.
