DJ - The superHero!
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Dj didn't react
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But someone far away from the cave wasn't.
Rony stared at the now calmed battle feed.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then he exhaled slowly and closed the live footage window.
Silence filled his room.
Multiple monitors dimmed to standby screens. System alerts faded, except the one in his left.
He slumped back in his chair.
He survived.
Barely.
His eyes drifted back to the last recorded frame — the spot where the blue-suited man had vanished.
Rony straightened.
Replayed it.
Zoomed in.
Enhanced.
Thermal spectrum — nothing unusual.
Electromagnetic sweep — clean.
Gravitational distortion — negligible.
He isolated the frame where the lift had emerged from solid ground.
He ran structural density mapping.
It showed uninterrupted stone.
No mechanical cavity.
No hidden chamber.
No underground shaft.
He frowned.
Was it really magic? He couldn't help himself and asked.
He pulled up facial recognition software.
Ran the image.
No match.
He increased search depth.
Government databases.
Military.
Corporate black archives.
Still nothing.
He paused.
That alone was strange.
Then he switched to bio-field analysis.
Maybe he was just another Dr Arya's variant.
He had to check it.
Everyone radiates something — heat, EM residue, neural activity signatures.
He found…
Nothing.
No measurable bioelectric signature.
No identifiable energy pattern.
Just a faint, low-level anomaly surrounding the figure.
Something subtle.
Something… unknown.
Rony leaned forward.
He rewound to the moment Raghav said it.
"Magic."
Rony sat back.
He didn't believe in magic.
He believed in physics he hadn't understood yet.
Still…
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
After a few seconds of thinking, he opened a hidden encrypted directory buried deep inside his system.
It required three biometric keys with a ton of passwords.
It opened.
Inside were several folders.
Each one neatly categorized.
How to kill Krish
— Structural analysis
— Energy threshold modeling
— Psychological leverage
— Environmental weaponization
He stared at them.
Then created a new folder.
His typing slowed slightly.
How to kill Maharakshak…..?
He added the question mark deliberately.
Because unlike Krish…
He had nothing.
No data.
No origin.
No power source.
No pattern.
And that unsettled him more than anything.
Rony leaned back again.
Eyes lingering on the screen.
"Magic…" he muttered quietly.
That same day, the truth came out, and the truth did not whisper.
It detonated.
Within hours of the upload, the footage of Sakshi Mehra's murder spread across every platform imaginable. News channels replayed it on loop. Social media fractured into outrage and grief.
People watched.
They saw Samir strike her.
They saw Roy give the order.
They saw John pull the trigger.
The official narrative — that a masked thief had killed her — collapsed overnight.
The public fury was volcanic.
Investigations reopened immediately. Financial records of the Horseman Group were dragged into the light. Illegal mining operations were uncovered beneath the disaster zone — rare ores extracted recklessly beneath unstable ground. Environmental manipulation. Water diversion.
Reporters connected the dots.
Sakshi hadn't died chasing gossip.
She had been investigating the sudden water shortages in Dharavi and surrounding districts — shortages caused by illegal subterranean extraction that destabilized underground water tables.
Pullwater.
Soma.
None of it appeared in any report.
Not a word.
As if it never existed.
Raghav's enchantment had worked flawlessly.
Every document, every broadcast, every leak referred only to illegal mining and corporate corruption.
The glowing blue lake beneath the city remained a secret known to very few.
And the public needed a face for the storm, and face to direct their emotions.
They got one.
The masked figure in the footage release.
The vigilante.
The thief.
DJ.
Authorities officially labeled him:
Extremely Dangerous Vigilante.
The narrative shifted.
From a murderer and a thief to a local personality.
His past multiple counts of theft, property damage, and obstruction were dug up.
Ironically, the same statement confirmed that the evidence exposing Horseman had been provided anonymously by that same masked individual.
Public opinion split instantly.
Some condemned him.
Others were fascinated.
Clips of his past stunts resurfaced. Surveillance videos of him stealing from elite fundraisers and black-money networks went viral. People noticed something:
He stole from the wealthy.
Then donations — anonymous, untraceable — appeared in struggling communities days later.
Medical debt cleared.
Local schools funded.
Relief supplies delivered.
The narrative shifted.
"Robin Hood."
Yeah people were calling him.
The nickname trended within days.
Many believed Horseman had framed him simply because he had targeted them.
The more corruption surfaced, the more popular DJ became.
Fan art appeared.
Edits comparing him to Krish flooded timelines.
That comparison was controversial.
Krish was a symbol.
A protector.
A myth walking openly in daylight.
DJ was shadow.
Improvised.
Flawed.
Human.
But the public loves contrast.
Rumors spread that Krish had fought DJ near the disaster zone over a misunderstanding.
Neither confirmed.
Neither denied.
It only fueled speculation.
As for Roy—
He didn't vanish.
Krish himself had walked into a police station just after the news spread.
Placed the battered chairman of Horseman on the floor.
Said nothing.
Left.
Roy was transferred into high-security custody immediately.
Medical treatment. Armed guards. Media blackout.
The trial that followed was expected to be devastating.
No one doubted the outcome.
The footage was too clear.
The public anger too intense.
Far away near a River side people stood looking at the river water flowing.
The current moved slowly, carrying flowers and ash alike.
Krishna stood knee-deep in the water, hands trembling slightly as he released the final handful of Sakshi's ashes into the river. Beside him stood Priya. Supriya. And Rohit Mehra — a father who looked like a man who had aged ten years in ten days.
No cameras.
No speeches.
Just them and quiet grief.
From a distant hillside, an engine idled softly.
DJ sat on his bike, a bike helmet resting on the handlebar. His face was uncovered, wind brushing against tired eyes.
He watched silently.
He didn't move.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't belong there.
The red scarf around his neck fluttered gently. He looked down at it.
The same scarf he had used to wipe sand off the lens.
He swallowed.
Down by the river, Krishna let the ashes slip through his fingers. The grey dust dissolved into the current.
For a moment, Krishna lifted his head.
His eyes shifted toward the hillside.
Toward where DJ sat.
Their gazes didn't fully meet — too much distance, too much unsaid — but something passed between them.
Acknowledgment.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
Just recognition.
Above them, a streak of blue light cut across the sky.
Fast.
Clean.
Maharakshak.
Watching.
Then gone.
DJ exhaled slowly.
He put the helmet back on.
Started the bike.
The engine roared softly as he turned it downhill.
Rony's voice crackled through the earpiece.
"So… what now?" he asked lightly. "Back to your thieving days?"
The road curved ahead.
City skyline in the distance.
DJ didn't hesitate.
"No," he said calmly.
"Not anymore."
The bike accelerated.
Dust rose behind him.
The river kept flowing.
And somewhere between grief and resolve—
A thief decided what kind of man he wanted to be next.
End credit.
A dimly lit, highly modified lab breathes with a low mechanical hum.
Transparent screens float mid-air. Some engineering marvels and some ancient relics and scriptures . Energy conduits glow faint blue beneath a glass floor. The room feels less built… and more engineered. A mix of modern tech and ancient history.
At its center—
A metal box hovers inside a translucent spherical containment shield.
Intricate symbols are carved across every surface. Not decorative. Intentional. Precise.
The box radiates something unexplainable.
Majesty.
Power.
Wisdom.
Will.
Yet it seems to our eyes it has nothing to it, but our soul sees deeper.
in his slow rotation.
Calm as a jade statue.
Slowly—
One face turns toward the viewer.
A lightning insignia etched deep into the metal.
Sharp. Clean.
Identical in style to the groove engraved on the top of Krish's mask.
Low Greek war chants echo faintly in the background.
Ancient.
Rhythmic.
The box rotates again.
Another face comes into view.
An Omega symbol.
Carved deeper than the rest.
Final.
The air vibrates slightly as the chanting grows louder.
In the silence—
Footsteps.
Soft.
Controlled.
Hardly audible.
A figure emerges from the shadows.
DJ.
Mask on.
Red scarf resting against dark armor.
He steps forward slowly, eyes fixed on the hovering box.
The containment field flickers.
The lab lights tremble.
Even the red LEDs of his mask flicker irregularly.
DJ stops.
He studies the symbols.
The lightning.
The Omega.
The chanting grows heavier, as if the box itself is the source.
Suddenly—
A gust of wind sweeps across the sealed lab.
Impossible.
DJ feels it first.
Then hears fabric shift behind him.
He turns sharply—
His view is blocked.
A black-masked figure stands inches away.
Still.
Silent.
Krish.
The music stopped.
The lights went out.
The music started again.
Heavy.
Louder.
Something has awakened.
Something was coming.
Something big .
POST-CREDIT SCENE.
Silence.
Then—
The cold vacuum of deep space.
Far beyond constellations known to Earth, a colossal black spacecraft drifts between dying dwarf stars. Its surface absorbs light rather than reflecting it. Ancient symbols pulse faintly along its hull like sleeping veins.
Inside—
Endless corridors of obsidian marble stretch beneath towering arches. Burning red energy flows through crystalline conduits in the walls. The air hums with restrained power.
A lone figure walks across the polished black floor.
Her heels click rhythmically.
Elegant.
Unhurried.
She wears a flowing purple robe stitched with silver runes. Ash-blonde hair cascades down her back—except for one longer strand that she idly twirls around her finger as she walks.
She stops before a vast throne carved from something that looks like solidified night and war drums.
Seated upon it—
A shadowed figure.
Massive.
Still.
She tilts her head slightly and speaks in a smooth Swedish accent.
"We found it."
The man on the throne pauses.
His voice, when it comes, carries a restrained German tone.
"What?"
She smiles faintly.
"We found Pandora's Box. ARES."
A beat.
"It's in Midgard."
The chamber grows quieter.
The name hangs heavy.
Ares leans forward slightly. His face remains mostly in shadow, but his eyes burn faint crimson.
Midgard.
Earth.
Gaia.
He considers this.
Then answers calmly—
"Then we go back."
A slow pause.
"…Loki."
The woman in purple lets the longer strand of hair slip from her fingers.
Her smile widens.
Dangerous.
"Word from my mouth," she replies softly.
She turns away from the throne.
At that exact moment—
The entire spacecraft shudders.
Fire engines ignite like awakening beasts.
Massive mechanical gates open.
Deep within the ship, dormant entities begin to stir.
Roaring echoes through the corridors.
Ancient warriors.
Sleeping constructs.
Things that should have remained myth.
Stars distort outside the viewport.
The ship moves.
Toward Midgard.
Cut to black.
To Be Continued…
Stories never end.
Next Story — Dhira The End : The Mahayodha.