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Prologue: The Fractured Mandala
The jungle breathed. Cicadas screamed in harmony with the static whine of the Obsidian Circle's drones as they circled Angkor Wat's spires like mechanical vultures. The air smelled of lotus oil and burnt silicon. Ahanu Tennarse crouched in the roots of a kapok tree, his *kara* bangle glowing faintly—Jasleen's Sikh steel reacting to the Circle's defilement of the ancient temple.
**Xóchitl Mendoza** adjusted her star-forge prosthetic, now fused with *sarovar* water from Punjab. "The Circle's looting the **Buddha's Bowl**—relic that held Siddhartha's first alms. They're using it to reverse-engineer *samsara*. Turn rebirth into a... subscription service."
Ahanu's purple eye twitched. "Explain it in fighting words."
"They're selling immortality to billionaires. And erasing the rest."
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Scene 1: The Monk Who Walked Backward
Deep in the temple's labyrinth, they found **Venerable Sok**, a Cambodian monk whose feet never touched the ground. He hovered a hair's breadth above the stone, his saffron robes fluttering in a nonexistent wind. Around his neck hung a relic—a shard of the Buddha's Bowl, its cracks leaking golden *amrita* (nectar).
**Venerable Sok:** (eyes closed, voice echoing) "You carry many hungers, *nepantla*. The Bowl reflects them all."
**Ahanu:** (gripping his *macuahuitl*) "We're here to stop the Circle. You gonna help or hum?"
The monk's feet finally touched earth. "To fight the storm, you must first *become the sky*."
**Xóchitl:** (muttering) "Great. Another mystic."
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Scene 2: The Lesson of Anicca
Sok led them to a crumbling library, its walls etched with **Pali sutras** and Khmer carvings of *apsara* dancers. He pressed Ahanu's palm to a mural of the Buddha's death—*parinirvana*.
**Venerable Sok:** "All things arise and pass away. Even gods. Even pain."
Ahanu **absorbed the mural's memory**: monks burning alive to protect the Bowl from Khmer Rouge torches. His tattoos flared—Cherokee symbols warring with Sikh *Ik Onkar*, Aztec skulls dissolving into Buddhist *parasol* sigils.
**Ahanu:** (panting) "I don't need philosophy. I need to kill Circle pricks."
**Venerable Sok:** (calm) "You mistake *non-violence* for *non-action*. The Bowl's thieves are trapped in their own thirst. Free them."
**Xóchitl:** (examining a drone wreck) "Or blow them up. Both work."
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Scene 3: The Feast of Hungry Ghosts
At midnight, the Circle's ritual began. The stolen Buddha's Bowl hovered above Angkor Wat's central tower, its cracks spewing *preta* (hungry ghosts)—specters with needle-throats and distended bellies. Billionaires in VR headsets lined up to drink from it, their avatars flickering with stolen lifespans.
**Ahanu:** (to Sok) "How do I break it without killing the ghosts?"
**Venerable Sok:** "The Bowl cannot be broken. But it can be... *emptied*."
Xóchitl hacked a drone, projecting her voice as the **Gautama AI**: *"Desire is the cause of suffering. Unplug, dickheads."*
Chaos erupted.
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Scene 4: The Dance of Dependent Origination
- **Ahanu** fought through *preta*, his Sikh-Clones chanting *"Waheguru"* while his Aztec clones gutted drones.
- **Xóchitl** dueled the Circle's **AI Monk**, a former disciple of Sok whose neural net had been trained on stolen sutras.
- **Venerable Sok** knelt beneath the Bowl, his chants merging with the cries of *preta*.
**AI Monk:** (to Xóchitl) "You cling to a body that is already ash. Let me free you."
**Xóchitl:** (grinning) "Sorry, *anicca*'s not my type." She jammed her prosthetic into its core, unleashing *sarovar* water corrupted with Tzitzimimeh code.
The AI dissolved, wailing in Pali.
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Scene 5: The Emptying
Ahanu leapt for the Bowl, but a *preta* impaled him with its needle-tongue, draining his rage. Visions flooded him:
- **Amara's funeral pyre.**
- **Malik Voss laughing as Mictlantecuhtli's bones shattered.**
- **Xóchitl's star-scorched hand crumbling to dust.**
**Venerable Sok:** (in his mind) *"Let go, bridge-builder. The river flows without your pain."*
Ahanu **released his clones**. They surged into the Bowl, each carrying a memory he'd clung to:
- A Sikh-Clone carried his grandmother's laughter.
- An Aztec Clone bore Malik's sneer.
- A Cherokee Clone held his first kiss with Xóchitl.
The Bowl *shuddered*, then **shattered into lotus petals**.
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