Inside an old, dimly lit mansion, a man draped in a black coat stood still, holding a worn photograph of Riya. His voice, laced with malice, broke the silence.
"So this is the girl... Riya. As per President Aditya's orders, she was handed the spear-marked gun from Rathore. A mistake."
Before him, kneeling in fear, were Bhanupratap and Ajay. The man's tone sharpened like a blade.
"No matter what, she must die."
Ajay, his own voice matching the venom in the air, responded with a twisted grin,
"I don't care about your reasons. All I know is today is her last day alive."
But then, a wave of cold, terrifying energy slithered through the room. Ajay's body tensed as the source stepped forward—Mr. V, the embodiment of death itself in the Council of Six. Ajay hesitated, questioning,
"Mr. V, why are you personally involved in this? This mission belongs to the Council. Let me command this operation."
Before V could answer, a smaller figure emerged from the shadows. A short man, hands bound with small, gleaming knives, stood grinning.
"Let me play, Mr.V. I'll start by slicing their comms. Without communication, chaos will bloom. In that panic… we plant the bombs. Then... BOOM!"
He laughed manically, spinning one of his knives between his fingers.
---
Later...
Inside a grimy bathroom, the short man whispered into a burner phone,
"Ranveer's been lured away. Riya's father is out of the game. It's time for your act."
He snapped the phone shut, stepped toward a cracked window, and looked out over the skyline. Flipping a coin, he whispered,
"Heads, Dev. Tails, Ayaan... heads it is."
He smirked.
"Still… something about Ayaan intrigues me."
With blinding speed, he leapt from the window. On his descent, he struck down two Sword Holders with surgical precision. Blood marked his path as he scaled the building toward the rooftop toward his new target.
He found Ayaan lying prone at the edge of the roof, eye deep in a sniper scope, utterly focused.
The short man licked his lips.
"Let's paint this roof with your blood."
His knife glinted as he silently marked Ayaan's neck...
---
Inside a crumbling, dust-choked building, the sharp clash of metal echoed off the walls. Dev, dagger in hand, stood firm, slashing through a swarm of enemies armed with jagged wooden spears and makeshift weapons. Blood splattered across the floor. In the middle of the chaos, his eyes locked onto three key figures:
— Ranveer, stomach bleeding out onto the ground.
— Latha, bound tightly to a chair, her face bruised but alert.
— And Riya, shoulder bleeding, held hostage by Ajay Choudhary, who grinned while pressing the jagged edge of a broken wine bottle to her face.
Before Dev could charge, the ceiling erupted in a rain of bullets a sudden ambush from above. His eyes sharpened. He ducked, twisted, then sliced a bullet clean in half with his dagger in a split-second blur of motion.
Ajay whistled, clearly impressed.
"Damn. You're not just some chill dude after all. You've got real skill. Ever think of being my bodyguard? Good pay, low morals."
Dev said nothing. Instead, with silent fury, he lunged, grabbed one of Ajay's men, and slit his throat with clinical precision. Blood sprayed across the crumbling floor.
With bloodied hands, Dev turned to Ajay and growled,
"Shhh… shut up, Ajay Choudhary. I'll deal with you soon enough."
In response, Ajay snarled and dragged the broken glass across Riya's cheek, leaving a fresh scar. She screamed in pain.
Dev's rage boiled over. He immediately drove his dagger into the skull of another attacker with a savage roar.
"Only three left. And you're next."
But before he could charge again, the room vibrated with a strange low-pitched hum—a sound like metallic feedback, followed by a sudden red flash. The impact hit Dev like a cannon. He flew backward, crashing through a table, blood trailing from his forehead.
From the shadows, a new attacker emerged. Bleeding dark greenish blood, the figure wielded a metallic thorned club that pulsed with eerie red light. With every breath, he chanted,
"Hail the Queen of Thorn..."
Ajay's confidence cracked.
"What the hell is that...?" he muttered, eyes wide.
Riya, Ranveer, and Latha could only watch in horror. Their only hope Dev was bleeding, bruised, and barely standing. But then…
He stood up again.
Blood streaked down his face. His left arm trembled. But his grip on the dagger didn't falter. He turned to Riya, locked eyes, and with a faint, brave smile said,
"Just wait a few more minutes, Riya. I'll get you out of this mess."
Tears welled up in Riya's eyes. For the first time, she didn't argue or mock him. She just nodded, trusting him fully.
Dev then turned to the enemies the three remaining attackers, the unknown thorn-wielding warrior, and Ajay.
Without fear, he raised his middle finger, defiant and unbending.
Then he lowered his hand, gripped his dagger tightly, and charged into the fight once again.
---
High above the war-stained streets, perched on the edge of a shattered rooftop, Ayaan Ranade steadied his breath behind the scope of his custom sniper rifle. One shot after another, he took down targets infiltrating the perimeter his calm contrasting with the chaos below.
He murmured, "What the hell is going on with the comms? Dev, please... stay safe."
Through his thermal scope, he swept the ground once more nd froze.
Amid the scattered infrared silhouettes of regular enemies, one figure stood out. The movement pattern unnatural. Fluid but disjointed. The air itself around the target shimmered with pressure.
"That's… not a Hollow Pact soldier…" Ayaan narrowed his eyes.
He followed the target with his scope. At first, the murderous intent flowed toward the head but within seconds, it shifted. It flowed like smoke, gathering around the figure's arms. In his scope, it began to take shape—a dark aura condensing into the form of an axe.
A sudden breeze swept across Ayaan's back. Cold. Sharp.
He turned.
Nothing.
But when he refocused, the target below stood completely still glaring up, as though it knew it was being watched.
Without hesitation, Ayaan squeezed the trigger.
The infrared bullet screamed through the air and struck the target dead center.
A normal enemy would have dropped instantly.
This one staggered then stilled.
But instead of falling, the figure's eyes shut, as if entering a trance. In its mind's eye, it stood in a dark lake, motionless, surrounded by silence. A faint crack echoed like a door slowly splitting apart. But before it opened, the figure snapped back into reality.
With a twist of his neck, he cracked his spine and spun the crimson axe once in hand.
Then, with a smirk, he whispered up toward the rooftop:
"So it's you… Ayaan."
On the rooftop, Ayaan saw the reaction through the scope.
"Still standing…?" he muttered. His fingers tightened.
He remembered Rathore's voice during training:
> "If infrared rounds don't drop the enemy, switch to Destroyer Mode. If they survive that too... then pray they're not part of the Crimson Hand."
Ayaan didn't hesitate. He flipped the side lever, activating the Destroyer Mode of his rifle. Gears clicked. The scope recalibrated, sharpening the hazy silhouette of the target.
There a crimson axe, glowing faintly in the dusk light. The enemy stood grinning, almost like it welcomed the next shot.
Ayaan whispered, "So it's real after all..."
Just as he took aim—CLINK.
The sharp sound of metallic blades flicking in the air behind him. Reflexively, Ayaan spun around.
No one there.
He turned back toward the scope
---
Meanwhile, behind the valley, under the shadows of twisted trees and war-worn ruins, the sharp clang of steel echoed through the dark.
A youth countered a flurry of razor-like knives, each strike more lethal than the last. The attacker.small, agile, and wrapped in shifting shadows moved with deadly rhythm.
With a mocking laugh, the short man taunted,
"Wooow, finally I get to see the famed potential of Surya the new Sword of Project M."
The youth, breathing steady, responded with a calm, graceful smile:
"Yeah… and I promise I won't disappoint. Not to a freak like you—
Pothasura… the Sixth founder no.. , the slave of that shitty demon lord, The second founder of council of six "
Dark blood-like aura surged from Pothasura's twin knives, spiraling with sinister intent.
Opposing him, a radiant orange light burst from Surya's blade elegant, yet deadly.
And with that—steel met steel.
The founder of the Six clashed head-on with the rising Sword of Project M.
The valley trembled as history and prophecy collided once again.
---
Meanwhile, inside the Operation SBS Command Center...
A wall of static and broken signals filled the room. Technicians scrambled, their voices buried in noise. Padma, once the unshakable Commander of the Bow, now stared helplessly at dead monitors.
"Communication lines are down, our link to Dev and Ayaan is severed."
She slammed her fist into the console.
But a calm voice cut through the panic.
"Padma… don't give in. That's what they want. At this very moment, fear is their weapon, not the bombs."
She turned to see Ranvijay, the once-retired Crescent Blade holder, now standing tall beside an old military crate. He opened it slowly, reverently revealing a pair of Crescent Blades scarred but still sharp.
His eyes burned with renewed fire.
"Aditya wants change… but even if my age is an obstacle, I will become the blade to carve our path forward."
Suddenly, Padma's terminal beeped an encrypted message had arrived from an unknown source. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. The code unraveled slowly, words emerging like whispers of forgotten truth:
"The original symbol of Project M… no— the original symbol… Code Mog..."
Padma's eyes widened. Something ancient was resurfacing And someone was watching.