The cool night air brushed against Ayaan's face as he sat behind Dev on the bike, the streetlights casting long shadows on the empty roads. The tension from the hospital lingered in his mind, but Dev's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"So, are you being honest with Anaya? Or at least with yourself?" Dev asked casually, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
Ayaan hesitated for a moment before replying, "I still don't know." His voice was quieter than usual, almost lost in the hum of the engine.
Dev smirked. "Alright, but why was she admitted to the hospital?"
Ayaan's expression darkened slightly. "Physically, she's fine. But after talking to her... I think she's suffering from emotional trauma." A sigh escaped him. "She reminds me of myself. Just like her, I was once lost—clueless about everything."
Dev stole a quick glance at him before focusing back on the road. "So, did you tell her about our mission from Rathore?"
Ayaan's grip on Dev's shoulder tightened slightly as a particular memory flashed in his mind—Anaya's voice, soft but resolute.
"This singing finals... it's my late best friend's wish..."
Shaking off the thought, he answered, "No. It's not the right time. Dev, let's keep the mission a secret for now."
Dev didn't argue. "Alright."
The bike came to a smooth stop in front of Ayaan's house. Ayaan stepped off, giving Dev a small nod before watching him ride away into the night.
As he stepped inside his house, a lingering question gnawed at him.
"Should I warn her about the bomb blast? Should I stay close to her during the mission?"
Before he could process his thoughts, a familiar, thin metallic sound resonated through the air, syncing eerily with the rhythm of his heartbeat.
His breath hitched.
It was happening again.
His vision blurred for a second, a cold sweat forming on his skin as his surroundings distorted. His eyes flickered—was this real or just his mind playing tricks on him?
Then he saw it.
The shadowy figure stood before him, its presence suffocating, its crimson-radiating axe pulsating with ominous energy.
Ayaan's mind reeled. This was the third time he had seen it.
The first time—at the Crowning Glory ceremony.
The second time—on the train ride back home.
And now—in his own house.
Unlike before, this time, it spoke.
Ayaan froze as the figure leaned closer, its voice a chilling whisper in his ear.
"Don't let Hollow Pact kill you… because I will personally kill you."
A slow, malicious laughter echoed, sending shivers down his spine.
His chest tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. Just as his breath hitched, a sudden snap of fingers jolted him back to reality.
"Ayaan!"
His mother's voice broke through the haze, grounding him. He blinked, looking around—no shadow, no axe, nothing.
Swallowing hard, he considered telling her but stopped himself. Instead, he shifted his gaze towards Rohan, who was struggling with a sniper game on the TV.
Without a word, Ayaan picked up the controller.
His grip tightened.
With precise, unerring accuracy, he aimed and shot down the target, picturing the shadow figure's face as he pulled the trigger.
But even as the digital target shattered, the chilling laughter from earlier still echoed faintly in his mind.
----------
Ajay pulled his car into the driveway of his luxurious home, the screech of tires slicing through the silent night. As he stepped out, he clutched a half-empty bottle of wine in one hand while his other hand yanked mercilessly at the long, tangled hair of a terrified woman. Her cries echoed in the dark, her pleas for mercy swallowed by the emptiness of the night.
Dragging her across the marble floor, he entered the house, only to hear his father's deep voice resonating from the grand living room.
"...Council of Six..." Bhanupratap Choudhary's tone was heavy with intrigue. The moment he saw Ajay, he abruptly ended his call, slipping the phone into his pocket. His sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable before settling on the scene before him. Instead of anger or reprimand, a slow, satisfied smirk crossed his lips.
He stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Ajay's shoulder. "I am proud of you, my son. But we have something important to discuss. Throw her into your room for now."
The woman wailed, her body convulsing with fear, but her resistance was meaningless. With a rough shove, Ajay dragged her further inside and flung her onto the cold floor of his dimly lit bedroom before slamming the door shut behind him. Her cries were muffled as he returned to his father, his expression shifting from irritation to intrigue.
Bhanupratap extended the wine bottle to him. "Ajay, I need your help."
Ajay, already in a drunken haze, took a heavy sip before slurring, "What do you need?"
His father leaned in, voice lowering. "It's not yet the right time to reveal the other side of the world to you, but for my political growth and for the downfall of Aditya—the current president—I have been given an opportunity. The Council of Six has decided. There will be a bombing at the finals of singing competition. I just received their call. They want me to act as a hidden leader."
Ajay froze, the weight of those words sinking in. The bottle slipped from his grasp, shattering against the floor. Then, suddenly, his shock transformed into something else—pure, unhinged delight. He threw his head back, laughing, before grabbing his father's face and pressing a kiss to his cheek, his breath reeking of alcohol.
"Finally! Finally, I have a golden chance to kill that poor bastard!" he shouted. "I don't care about the details—I'm in! But before that, tell me… Who the hell is Rathore? Today, I was in the semi-finals, and that loser dared to call me 'the son of a loser.'"
Bhanupratap's expression darkened. "Wait... Rathore is here?" A shadow of concern crossed his face. "Ajay, listen—"
But before he could finish, a piercing scream from the bedroom interrupted him.
Ajay's drunken haze sharpened into irritation. He ran his tongue over his teeth, his mood sinking into something far more sinister. He picked up a jagged piece of the broken wine bottle, rolling it between his fingers before murmuring, "I'm in a bad mood."
With slow, deliberate steps, he moved toward his bedroom, ready to silence the nuisance inside.
Meanwhile, Bhanupratap's thoughts churned. This is a secret operation orchestrated by the Council of Six... with the Hollow Pact leading it. But if Rathore is here... His grip tightened around his glass. How the hell is Captain Rathore aware of this?
---------
In the depths of a dense forest, a lone figure stood amidst the aftermath of a brutal massacre. The morning sun barely pierced through the thick canopy above, casting long shadows over the blood-soaked ground. Bodies, lifeless and broken, sprawled across the forest floor—some drenched in crimson, others in an eerie dark green.
The man lifted his face toward the light, welcoming the sun's warmth against his blood-streaked skin. He reached for a half-empty bottle of water, poured it over his face to wash away the grime, and carelessly tossed the bottle aside. As it landed, droplets of water mixed with the blood pooled beneath him, merging into a single stain of violence and survival.
A smirk crept onto his lips as he surveyed the carnage around him. His voice, low and amused, broke the silence.
"So… the Council of Six is involved." He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Looks like my ninth theory turned out to be true… just one left."
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger. The sharp edge caught the light as he slowly raised it toward the sky.
"No matter if it's the Council of Six or the Hollow Pact," he murmured, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. "Nothing will stop my determination to move forward."
The moment the words left his lips, the dagger let out a sharp, metallic ring—an ominous sound that echoed through the clearing. Then, as if in response to his unyielding will, an inferno erupted from its blade, consuming every corpse in its path.
Flames roared to life, devouring flesh and bone, turning the battlefield into an unrecognizable wasteland of ash. Rudra stood still, his silhouette framed by the dancing fire, a lone warrior in a world that seemed determined to test his resolve.
-------
The sun light from the window falls on the president's board on the desk. Aditya, the president, observes the sunshine and then picks up a file, murmuring, "Even though three weeks are left for that event, just like his grandfather, he always moves fast. By this time, he must have reached the location."
Then, he notices two familiar figures, one male and one female, entering his office. He greets them, saying, "It's been a few days since I last saw you. I heard you both are not compatible with magic, but that's fine. This is your first mission."
The male responds, "This is not just a mission..." And the female interrupts, continuing, "...as her senior, protecting her is our responsibility."
Looking at the profile in the file, the female gently places her hand on Anaya's photo, her eyes welling up with emotion. "It's been a few months… You've grown up so well. We were both so proud of you during the singing competition, and now, we are both excited and determined to protect you, Anaya."
A tear falls from her eye onto Anaya's photo. The male tries to cheer her up, while the president, watching the moment unfold, speaks with both sadness and confidence, "You both are ready for your first mission. Rathore is leading it, and Surya is our hidden trump card."
---
In the dark valley of the street, a cold voice echoes, "It's morning, yet I don't know how you managed to find me."
A young man stands tall, pride evident in his stance. "I came here for another mission, but I never thought I'd encounter you."
The cold voice, filled with authority, replies, "Like grandfather, like grandson."
The figure grips his axe, its presence ominous.
Surya, standing in the light of the rising sun, laughs and declares, "So you want to fight? Let's see who will win—Surya or you,"
Sunlight falls upon Surya, illuminating his form, while the Shadow Figure with Crimson radiating axe remains engulfed in the shadows, untouched by the morning light. As Surya raises his sword, flames surge around it, radiating heat and power. In response, the opponent's axe glows with a blood-red aura, its very presence exuding malice.
With their weapons ready, the world witnesses the first face-off between Surya and the shadowy figure with the crimson-radiating axe—no, the Nightmare.