Inside the farmhouse, even the air was afraid to breathe.
As if every molecule already knew—
what was about to happen here
was not something meant to be remembered.
The bodies were still warm.
Blood was settling into the floor—
slowly, deliberately—
as though the place itself was preserving memories.
Rohan and Faris
stood face to face.
Two predators from different worlds.
One had come to cleanse.
The other knew only destruction.
Faris Al-Haq removed his jacket.
The fabric hit the floor—
as if nothing here mattered to him anymore.
He took the final drag of his cigarette,
exhaled the smoke slowly,
and placed it into the mouth of a corpse.
"People like you all share the same problem,"
he said through clenched teeth,
pride and rage fused in his voice.
"You start believing you're a god."
From his belt, he drew a heavy combat blade—
metal singing through the hall.
At that very moment,
hidden doors behind the walls opened.
Elite guards.
Silent.
Lethal.
Trained for one man alone—Faris.
"But even gods have to spill blood,"
Faris said,
and without wasting a second,
he attacked.
CLANG!
Sword and blade collided.
The impact was so violent
that a shockwave rippled through the hall.
Rohan's foot slid back—
half a step.
For the first time.
A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
Faris was fast.
Terrifyingly fast.
A punch.
An elbow.
A reverse blade strike—
THUD!
Rohan slammed into a pillar.
Cracks spread through the concrete.
Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth,
dripping onto the floor
and merging with the red already there.
Faris laughed in rage, mocking him.
"That's it?"
"This is the boy
my men were scared of?"
Without pausing,
he signaled two guards.
No bullets—
only blades.
Personal.
Cruel.
Rohan steadied himself and stood.
He raised his sword.
But this time—
his hands were shaking.
Every strike from Faris
wasn't meant to wound—
it was meant to erase.
He fought with fury—
and fury was his strength.
Rohan's shoulder was cut.
Then his ribs.
Then his thigh.
Blood dripped steadily,
each drop making time feel heavier.
For a moment—
Rohan dropped to his knees.
Faris grabbed his hair
and forced his head up.
"You came to clean India, didn't you?"
he whispered near his face.
"Look at yourself."
And then—
Images flooded Rohan's mind.
Slums.
Children standing outside schools.
No sleep in their eyes—
only hunger.
Injection marks.
Tablets.
Powder.
A mother
shaking her nineteen-year-old son—
"Wake up, beta… wake up…"
But Faris's product
had already taken him away.
College students.
Broken families.
Dreams sold cheap.
And at the end of every supply chain—
one name.
Faris Al-Haq.
Rohan slowly lifted his eyes.
And then—
A creepy, evil smile formed on his face.
A smile the living never give.
A smile only death recognizes.
Faris froze for a second.
A cold sensation crawled up his spine.
"That's why,"
Faris said quietly,
"you never matched the guy in the video."
"You were calm…
but that man—
he looked like a monster."
"Now I remember,"
Rohan said softly,
a faint laugh escaping behind that smile.
"Who you people really are."
His grip on the sword tightened.
The very next second—
Rohan vanished.
Faris's mind never got the chance to understand.
SHRAAAK!
One guard's chest split clean in two.
The second didn't even turn—
CHAAK!
His head separated from his body.
Blood splashed across Faris's face.
He screamed, rage exploding.
"KILL HIM—!"
But now—
Rohan was no longer one who stopped.
Laughing—
like a madman,
he butchered the guards.
As if they weren't human.
As if their lives had no value.
Every strike precise.
Every movement final.
Bones snapping.
Steel tearing flesh.
Screams—
cut off halfway.
Faris threw his final punch—
Rohan severed his arm in one clean motion.
THUD!
The arm hit the floor.
Faris collapsed to his knees.
His breathing was wild.
For the first time—
fear filled his eyes.
Rohan grabbed his hair
and pulled out a camera.
Record: ON.
"This is Faris Al-Haq,"
Rohan said calmly,
"the murderer of India's youth."
He raised the sword.
Faris screamed—
in rage,
in helplessness.
The blade fell.
The screen flooded with blood.
The video was uploaded.
Dark Web.
The title was only one line—
"This is what happens to those who poison India."
Rohan stood drenched in blood.
The smile still on his face.
But his eyes—
completely empty.