As Zahir staggered backward as the three shadowy figures pressed closer, their forms dripping trails of black smoke. From where faces might have been, thick, dark blood trickled down from his eyes, splattering onto the earth with wet, sickening sounds.
Their smiles widened—unnatural and grotesque, stretching impossibly far—and without warning, their ghostly fingers reached out towards his face, brushing across Zahir's face.
A biting cold touch into his skin, stealing his breath. He gasped, clawing at the invisible pressure tightening around his lungs. Panic bloomed in his chest, a suffocating wave.
The voices coiled into his ears like venomous snakes, their words a dark promise.
"What you desire," they spoke in unison, a chilling whisper, "I will make your wish ture..."
Zahir tried to pull away, but his body remained stubbornly still, refusing to obey his frantic commands. His heart thundered in his chest, trapped between raw terror and the insidious lure of their offer.
Here he could feel his mind slipping, falling into some endless abyss—
—when suddenly, a strong hand seized his wrist and yanked him back with surprising force.
The coin clattered from his grasp and fell into the box, which snapped shut with a sharp, final click.
In that instant, the suffocating darkness vanished, the ghostly figures evaporating like mist struck by the morning sunlight.
Zahir stumbled, blinking furiously as his vision swam back into focus.
Standing before him, one hand still gripping his wrist tightly, was Ravin.
Zahir was drenched in a sweat, his face a mask of fear and utter confusion. What in the world just happened? he thought, his legs giving way as he collapsed onto the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Here, A cold fury in Ravin's eyes could have frozen oceans solid.
"Never," Ravin said, his voice like iron wrapped in velvet, "touch an unknown artifact or item if you don't know what it is."
Zahir swallowed hard, still shaken to his core, his limbs trembling from the terrifying encounter. He glanced down at the small box, now tucked safely into Ravin's other hand.
Sunil tilted his head, frowning as he glanced at Zahir beside him. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "You had gone completely silent all of a sudden.You weren't even looking at me at that time."
Zahir opened his mouth, as if to answer—but the words caught in his throat, refusing to be spoken.
Before he could manage a reply, a low, steady voice cut through the air from behind them.
"Look closely. He's not silent by choice. That fear you see… it's crawling through his veins now.
All three—Ravin, Sunil, and Zahir—turned sharply toward the voice.
Seated uncomfortably, leaning weakly against a cracked wooden post, was Mohit.
His body bore the fresh bruises of battle, blood staining his clothes, yet his eyes gleamed with defiant clarity.
Sunil's brows rose. "Well, look who's found his voice," he said with a sneer. "I almost forgot about you, considering your less-than-stellar condition."
Mohit chuckled—a dry, mocking sound. "You ignored me? You captured my friend and tried to destroy this village just to flaunt your power."
Sunil's smirk soured. "Careful with your tongue, boy. You're barely standing."
With a grin that held more steel than his battered frame, Mohit leaned forward slightly and said, "That's rich coming from you—talking big while your friend here trembles like a leaf in the wind."
Sunil's eyes flashed with anger. "Keep quiet, or I'll shut you up myself. My friend zahir is not a coward person."
Mohit gave a ragged shrug, his body trembling with pain, yet his voice dripped with scorn. "You don't even have the spine to face all of us in a fair fight. That's why you tied up my all friends like cowards."
Sunil's expression darkened, his jaw tightening with barely suppressed rage. Before he could react, Ravin stepped forward, his eyes as cold and hard as shadowed steel.
"This one talks too much," he said, his voice a low, dangerous command. "Sunil, shut him up."
Without hesitation, Sunil strode toward the wounded Mohit.
"Let's see how long that tongue of yours keeps wagging," Sunil hissed, his voice laced with cruel satisfaction.
A flurry of brutal kicks followed—one after another—blows crashing into Mohit's ribs, his gut, his side. Eleven... twelve... each strike a brutal storm of violence.
Blood seeped from Mohit's mouth, staining his already torn clothing crimson. Yet despite the obvious agony, a broken, crooked grin stretched across his lips, a testament to his unyielding defiance.
His eyes, though clouded with pain, locked onto Ravin, burning not with fear, but with a quiet, unwavering promise of resistance.
Here mohit laugh with pain said, if that elf who fight with my friend madhav earlier , If he see what you done to this village and ketaki condition than i surely say you all can't stand your legs on this ground.
That unwavering gaze stirred something dark and volatile in Ravin. He stepped forward without a word and drew a slender blade, its edge glinting with cold, merciless purpose.
"Still smiling?" he whispered, his voice dangerously soft—and hit the knife into Mohit's hand. He pushed the knife into Mohit's hand and kept it there, applying pressure without pulling it out. Blood was coming from Mohit's injured hand.
A raw howl of pain tore from Mohit's throat, echoing through the smoke-stained air of the ravaged village. After hearing Mohit's painful shout, Ravin moved closer to Mohit's face and said, 'Now how do you feel? Now you'll understand how to shut your mouth.' Then, Mohit angrily spat in Ravin's face.
As Sunil seen this, his lips twisted in a cruel snarl, landed one final, vicious kick.
Mohit collapsed completely—his body limp, his spirit seemingly extinguished behind a curtain of unconsciousness.
For a brief moment, the world held its breath. Ravin stood over the fallen boy, his eyes narrowed. Slowly he cleaned his face.
Madhav lay bound, his breath shallow, his body a symphony of aches. Blood still trickled from Mohit's wounds, forming a dark pool in the dirt beneath him. Rage simmered in Madhav's chest, a burning helplessness clenching his heart like a vise, coloring his eyes a furious red.
He had witnessed everything—Sunil's savage kicks, Ravin's cruel blade, and Mohit's agonizing scream.
Nearby, Zahir had finally steadied himself, the lingering horror of the cursed coin slowly receding from his face. He exhaled shakily and willed his trembling legs to support him.
"So… now what?" Zahir muttered, his voice still hoarse and unsteady.
Ravin, who had been standing over the unconscious Mohit, flicked the blood from his knife and turned, his expression unreadable.
"Our work here is done," he said calmly, his voice devoid of emotion. "We got what we came for."
Sunil gave a lazy grin and dusted off his hands with a dismissive air.
"Yeah. Let's get out of here before these woods choke on any more screams."
But Ravin held up a finger, silencing them.
"No—we're not done yet. We take him with us," Ravin stated, nodding towards Madhav, from who had the golden curse.
Sunil's eyes lit up with sudden understanding.
"Ah, yes… Reason one—completed. Now on to reason two. We need to find out why this boy has the golden coin, and who gave it to him."
Zahir, still visibly shaken, asked, "Where are we taking him?"
Ravin said "To the Forest Elves' territory," he replied, his gaze fixed on the parchment. "I have a location marked; we will meet someone there."
Sunil scoffed, rolling his eyes. "More elves? Great."
Ravin didn't look up, his attention fully on the map. "It's necessary. Only there will we know what to do next."
As Sunil, Zahir, and Ravin left that place, taking Madhav with them, the black shadows receded from the elf village after their departure.
Fifteen minutes later, the Elf warrior Ankur arrived swiftly with the Centaur Beni. Their expressions were drawn with tense urgency as they took in the scene: Ketaki and Meera bound by the rope item, and Mohit lying bloodied on the earth.
Beni stepped forward swiftly. "Ankur, release them from the weird rope. I will tend to the injured.
Without hesitation, Ankur unsheathed his blade, its edge shimmering with latent magic. With a swift, precise arc and a surge of focused energy, the enchanted ropes snapped, falling limp to the ground. As Ketaki and Meera stumbled to their feet, breathless but relieved, they rushed to Mohit's side, their faces etched with worry.
Here Ketaki turn to look at Ankur, she said and her voice strained between gasps. "Please, brother, save the village… there are still undead elves—"
Ankur gently steadied her. "The danger is over. My squad has already destroyed them. The village is safe… for now."
Ketaki exhaled shakily, her eyes brimming with relief. Beni knelt beside Mohit, placing his hand over the young elf's chest, channeling his healing magic.
"His wounds are deep," Centaur Beni muttered, his brow furrowed with concern, "but his spirit remains unbroken. For now, he is merely sleeping… resting under my healing touch."
Ankur's gaze shifted sharply, his voice urgent. "Where is the boy… the one I fought before? What was his name?"
"—Madhav," Ketaki and Meera replied in unison, their voices laced with worry.
Ankur's eyes narrowed with concern. "Yes. Where is Madhav?"
Ketaki turned to him, her voice tight with guilt and fear. "They took him. The three attackers… they captured him and took the small box with golden coin."
Centaur Beni suddenly tensed, his powerful frame going rigid. "They took Madhav?! And also golden coin. This is really bad for us."
Ketaki stepped closer, her voice worry. "One of them was called Zahir…"
That name hung in the air, causing a heavy silence to fall. Elf Ankur and Centaur Beni exchanged a grim, knowing look. "Do you know this person?" both asked simultaneously, their voices laced with concern.
But before either could elaborate, a sudden outcry rose from deeper within the village. Elven voices shouted, panicked and sharp, cutting through the relative quiet. Ankur turned to Ketaki, his expression hardening. "Stay here."
"I'm coming too," Centaur Beni added, rising to his full, imposing height.
They sprinted toward the source of the commotion, weaving past shattered huts and scorched earth, until they reached the heart of the village. There, beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient tree, hung the broken body of Chief Arvell.
His once-proud frame now swung lifelessly from a thick vine, gruesome wounds carved into his flesh, trails of dried blood marring his regal robes. Cruel cuts crisscrossed every limb—signs not of a swift battle, but of deliberate, agonizing torture.
Ankur clenched his fists, and tears welled in his eyes, slowly tracing paths down his face, his knuckles bone-white with fury. Centaur Beni's gaze fell, a deep grief clouding his usually fierce warrior's heart.
"They made a message of him," Beni murmured darkly, his voice heavy with dread. "This is more than just an attack. This… this is war."
As other elves gently laid Chief Arvell's body on the ground, a palpable sadness washed over the gathered villagers—young and old, men and women elf's alike.
Elf warrior Ankur spoke loudly, his voice ringing with righteous anger. "First, they attacked our village with the help of zombies. Second, they abducted one of our guests. And now… they have done this to our chief. I swear, I will destroy them."