DNS made his way back to the undervault, his strides ringing off the metallic cold corridors. Each step bore the weight of realization—he had been deceived all along.
Arjun.
The man who had brought him up, protected him, taught him how to fight, and whom he had revered as a father… had created all of it on a lie. Arjun had informed him for years that Kabali—DNS's real brother—had died in an airplane crash while flying from Japan to India, cut down by enemies before he could come back.
But the truth seared like acid. Kabali did not die. He was hidden, protected, and erased.
And worse, DNS had now witnessed with his own eyes the one man who destroyed his world—
his lost brother.
The instant their eyes locked, DNS immobilized. His heart cried to hold him, to at last fill the family void. But his blood warned him of danger—because that face was his own. A mirror. A competitor. A chance he never rehearsed.
Clueless. Frozen. Tormented.
He fled that hellhole, but the triumph tasted bitter. That evening, DNS remained awake, gazing up at the ceiling. The silence weighed on his ears like cold iron clanks. And it wasn't for just that one evening—the entire month stole sleep away from him.
Cigarettes were his crutch, the smoke curling around his restless mind. His body, though blessed, began to fail him. The daemon that was tied to his soul healed every injury—broken bones, shredded flesh, burst organs—but it could not mend his mind.
His willpower, the very prison that kept the daemon locked, was decaying.
If his grasp failed… the daemon would be loose. DNS would no longer be human, but a weapon to be seized.
And the first hand to seize him… would belong to Nazo Kimura.
The whispers began softly at first—like a wind on his ear. But with every subsequent night, the voice grew stronger, clearer, more caustic.
"Why fight me?" it taunted.
"You don't need to trust. You don't need to sleep. You need me. Let me in. Let me drive."
DNS curled his fists until his fingernails bit into his palms, blood welling before the daemon closed it tight. He drowned the whispers in smoke, in silence, in rage. But the cage of his will was corroding.
Lily noticed first. She saw the dark circles under his eyes, the tremble in his hands when he thought no one was watching. She pressed him with worry, begged him to rest, but DNS only smiled faintly and dismissed her.
Neel grew suspicious. "You're hiding something," he said one night, his voice edged with frustration. Anthony confronted him more directly: "A weak king breaks the Syndicate. Get your act together."
DNS brushed them all aside.
"I'm fine. Focus on the Syndicate."
But he was not fine.
Far away, in a chamber bathed in lantern-light, another man listened.
Nazo Kimura reclined in his lacquered chair, sipping tea that steamed like fresh blood. His informants knelt before him, their reports whispered like prayers. DNS was weakening. The daemon bond was unraveling.
Nazo smiled—a predator's smile, patient and cruel.
A vessel that can mend itself is helpful. A vessel that can shatter itself… is ideal. Soon he will not be able to fight me. Soon the daemon will belong to me."
In the undervault, DNS drove himself further into the enigma. He went back to Kazuma's vacant office, the air heavy with dust and the smell of hidden things. Drawers creaked open under his fingers. Papers flew across the desk.
Among the stacks of coded letters and documents, he discovered pieces of the truth:
His fate was different from what he said it was. His path led to Japan, his name buried by the mysterious Void Dynasty.
Kabali—his brother—was alive, living in disguise. His presence was no accident, but a plan.
DNS glared at the papers until the ink faded. His brother's eyes appeared in his mind—keen, icy, limitless.
"If I lose control… I will become him."
The daemon laughed, its voice rasping over his bones.
"Or perhaps he has already become you."
DNS stumbled, his breath short, clenching the desk until his knuckles went white. He could feel his strength draining—not from his body, but from his will.
The days blended. The Syndicate convened for a council of the whole, their factions reporting in. Roxy's Blazing Fangs reported raids. Kyan's Shadow Ravens hinted at activity in the underworld. Anthony's Titan Brotherhood growled about caches of arms.
DNS presided over the table, cigarette shaking in his hand. Talk spun around him like white noise. His eyes clouded, the whispers growing louder and louder against his ears.
Neel's voice pierced faintly, "DNS, are you listening?"
DNS didn't reply. The room reeled.
Suddenly his body fell forward. Gasps shot through the chamber. Chairs scraped back. Neel jumped to his side, grabbing him before he hit the ground. Lily's scream cut through the silence: "DNS!"
But DNS's eyes were staring elsewhere.
Through the blur, through the haze of bodies, through the smoke of fog and whispers—he saw him.
At the room's far end stood a silhouette. Familiar. Terrifying. Kabali.
His brother. His double. His enemy.
Those eyes—keen as daggers, icy as glacial waters—scoped out the target.
DNS's mouth quivered as the world around him went dark. His cigarette dropped from his hand to the floor.
"Why… are you here?"
The room stilled.
Kabali remained silent.