The man in heavy makeup, holding a strange nail cutter in one hand, made a gesture with the other as if pulling a pistol's trigger. Ajal, trapped under his power, was just about to squeeze the trigger when suddenly, from the entrance of the hall, a figure appeared.
He wore sleek, steel-forged garments. In one swift motion, he hurled a boomerang. It sliced past the makeup-covered man's face and struck the pistol in Ajal's hand, knocking it to the floor before darting back toward its owner.
The man in steel attire dashed forward, seized the fallen pistol, and opened fire on the enemy. But the makeup-clad figure dodged nimbly, moving behind Ajal and using him as a shield. Ajal, still bound by the mysterious power, stood helpless.
Sliding smoothly between Ajal's legs, the man in steel struck at his opponent's shin. Yet the makeup-covered figure flipped backward, landed with one foot on a pillar, and launched into a soaring jump. With predatory grace, he snatched his pistol back from the steel warrior's hand, smirked, and spoke in a taunting tone:
"You're still immature in combat. You need a lot more training. Next time we meet, don't disappoint me. By the way—your boomerang isn't half bad."
With that, he turned and walked away.
The steel-clad fighter fixed his gaze on him, then turned to Ajal, who was finally freed from the enemy's power.
"Ajal! Are you alright?" he asked, grasping Ajal's arm firmly.
"What are you doing here, Vee?" Ajal responded, astonished.
"Given how things are turning out, I had no choice," replied the man, whose real name was Wahid—but Ajal, out of deep friendship, called him simply Vee.
"Ajal," Vee said gravely, his tone filled with concern, "the time has come for you to tell Haman everything."
Ajal fell silent, lost in heavy thought.
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The sky had turned completely crimson, as if drenched in deep blood. The winds were howling furiously, ready to sweep everything away. The trees swayed violently, resembling dark shadows drifting restlessly. The atmosphere was unbearably terrifying. The snowfall had ceased, yet the snow still sank beneath their feet.
Haman, Hamail, Samad, and Zahir had stepped out into the open field. Before them stood Ajal, seething with rage, as though he would tear them all apart.
"Haman! Surrender yourself to me, or you'll spend the rest of your life carrying your friends' corpses," Ajal warned.
"Your quarrel is with me, not with them. Remember this—while I stand here, laying a finger on them is impossible. Even the thought of harming them will leave your head severed from your body, incapable of thinking again," Haman shouted back, his voice filled with fury.
Samad leaned closer to Hamail and whispered, "How did this wretch get here? What about the guards we knocked unconscious—the ones under that green-haloed man's control?"
"They were taken to one of the city's buildings," Hamail explained softly, "where a complete examination will be carried out to see whether they're still under his power. Only then will it be decided what's to be done with them." But in his heart, Hamail wondered how Samad would react if he discovered that the green-haloed man's face looked exactly like Azam's. The thought unsettled him, and his expression shifted to worry.
"But who managed to take all those guards into that building?" Samad scratched his head.
"The two guards who were not affected by the green-haloed man's power escorted the rest of them there," Hamail replied patiently.
"Haman! You have no idea what kind of trouble you've stepped into," Ajal declared, pointing a finger at him. "Things are never as they appear. You're a fool who can't even tell friend from foe."
Haman's eyes widened in pain and fury. He pressed a hand against his chest, glaring back at Ajal.
After a brief silence, Ajal spoke again.
"Haman! I need to speak to you alone."
Grinding his teeth, Haman demanded, "And what is it that you wish to say to me in private?" He arched his brows and gave a mocking smile.
"Haman!" Ajal roared, his eyes bulging with rage as he raised his massive sword and aimed it at him.
"Haman, no! Don't listen to this deceiver," Samad cried, stepping forward and clutching Haman's shoulders.
"Samad, don't worry. I can handle this," Haman reassured him calmly.
Then Haman and Ajal walked into the thick woods, where Hamail, Samad, and Zahir could no longer see them.
"Haman! Where is the boy—Momin?" Ajal asked, running a hand along the blade of his sword.
"That child is none of your concern. Stay away from him!" Haman shouted furiously.
"You don't understand. He is no ordinary child. He's extremely dangerous—" But before Ajal could finish, Haman drew his sword and charged at him.
"Silence, wretch!"
Ajal blocked the strike with his long sword and retaliated, but Haman dodged by bending low. The blow was so powerful it split a tree in half.
Then, in a storm of rage, Ajal launched eleven rapid attacks in succession. Haman parried each with his blade. But soon his sword became wedged in a tree, and Ajal closed in, unleashing his power upon him. Yet from within Haman burst a radiant white light, dazzling their eyes, and Ajal's power failed to harm him.
"What was that?" Ajal wondered in astonishment to himself. For Haman, this was nothing new; it had happened to him before.
Seizing the moment, Haman twisted Ajal's wrist, hurled both swords onto the snow, and delivered a crushing punch. Ajal collapsed onto the icy ground, unconscious.
Just as Haman prepared to take another step forward, a figure appeared—shrouded completely in black from head to toe, clutching a massive bone in his hand. It was the same figure who had been watching Haman, Hamail, Samad, and Zahir through the window earlier. In an instant, he lifted Ajal's body into the air and vanished into nothingness.
Haman stood frozen in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened. What was that creature? What connection did it have to Ajal? Countless questions raced through his mind, offering no answers.
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