Abram is a young journalist sent to Banaras to investigate something horrifying. Graves are being disturbed, corpses dug up, half-eaten, left in strange positions. Some are missing tongues, others have claw marks on their bodies. The police shrug it off as wild animals, while locals whisper about curses and angry gods. But Abram sees something different-strange vermillion marks on the dead. Something is not right, and he can't stop thinking about it. At the burning ghats, he hears the workers' hushed warnings. Veiled women appear at night, dancing and singing around half-burned corpses. Some bodies are discovered in impossible ways, jaws stretched, hands twisting unnaturally. Abram is fascinated and terrified at the same time. His curiosity turns into obsession. He finds an old manuscript that talks about the Shav-Bhojini-the Corpse-Feast cult. It tells of women who serve a flesh-eating goddess, the Pishachini, offering men in rituals that mix devotion, fear, and death. The illustrations are shocking: women straddling men who are barely alive, feeding from them, performing ceremonies that seem alive with dark power. Abram realizes the pyres are only part of the story-the real horror is much worse. As he watches, men die in unimaginable ways. One is killed by a poisoned kiss, another strangled with silk, another torn apart, drowned, drugged, or burned alive. Each death is unique and brutal, and Abram feels both disgust and fascination. He cannot look away. Each scream, each twitch, each drop of blood pulls him deeper into the cult's power. Among the women, Amara stands out. Young, beautiful, and dangerous, she tempts Abram in his dreams and in waking life. She touches him, whispers to him, invades his mind. He tries to resist but finds himself drawn toward her, toward the rituals, toward the goddess. He begins to feel a thrill where there should be horror. Even when a young boy is sacrificed, he feels a twisted, helpless anger-but also a grim understanding. The cult's power is beyond simple evil. It is judgment. It is devotion. Finally, Abram is marked as the Pishachini's chosen groom. Blood is smeared on his skin, a veil draped over his head. He is made to walk barefoot across fire, to chant alongside the women, to witness death up close. Slowly, he feels something change inside. The rituals awaken a hunger he didn't know he had-a craving for blood, for power, for devotion. He begins to see through the goddess's eyes. Fear and exhilaration mix. He is no longer an outsider. He is part of it.