While Arjun was copying the key, a monster attack broke out near the neighborhood.
Rudra sprinted toward the commotion without hesitation. The distress signals from other hunters had reached him just minutes ago, and now, rounding the corner of a narrow lane, he understood why. This was no ordinary creature. Standing at the far end of the street was a hyena-like monster, massive in build, with enormous jagged spikes jutting from its back like broken blades. Its matted fur was a sickly grey-brown, and its eyes — pale, almost white — locked onto Rudra the moment he stepped into view.
The creature did not wait. It lunged forward with terrifying speed, low to the ground, jaws snapping.
Rudra threw himself sideways, barely clearing the beast's path as it crashed past him and tore a chunk out of a concrete pillar. He steadied himself, breathing hard. His training kicked in — stay grounded, read the movement, find the weak point. The hyena circled him slowly now, as if recalibrating. Rudra watched its legs, the way it shifted its weight before a strike. He feinted left and drove a heavy blow into the creature's knee joint.
The hyena staggered but did not fall. It snarled, a guttural sound that rattled the air, and retaliated with a wide swipe of its claws. Rudra caught a glancing blow across his forearm and felt the sting immediately, but he kept his footing.
The fight stretched on — ten minutes, then thirty, then over an hour.
Both of them were wearing down. Rudra's legs ached, his lungs burned, and the wound on his arm had begun to throb with every heartbeat. The hyena was no better off. Its movements had grown sluggish, its breathing ragged. But sluggish did not mean safe. If anything, a wounded beast was more desperate.
The hyena pulled back a few paces, and for a brief moment Rudra thought it might retreat. Then it launched itself forward with a sudden burst of speed, mouth stretched wide, fangs aimed directly at his arm.
Rudra reacted on instinct. Instead of dodging, he stepped into the attack and grabbed the creature's jaw with both hands — one on the upper, one on the lower. The impact nearly drove him off his feet. They strained against each other, Rudra's boots scraping against the asphalt, the hyena's claws scrabbling for purchase. Every muscle in his body screamed.
Then something shifted in his mind. He stopped fighting the creature's strength and started using it.
He let the hyena push forward, redirecting its momentum, and with every last reserve he had, he lifted the beast off the ground and drove it headfirst into the solid concrete of the road barrier beside them. The crack of the impact was sharp and final. The hyena went still immediately, its neck broken, its white eyes going dark.
Rudra stood over it for a long moment, chest heaving, arms trembling. The street was quiet again except for the distant sound of wind and the faint creak of a damaged signboard swinging overhead. The long battle was finally over.
He checked the time. It had been far too long. Going back to Mr. Agrawal's house now made little sense — Arjun should have finished copying the key by now, and both he and Raj would likely be heading home. Rudra decided to return to his own apartment first and rest. His body was demanding it.
---
When Rudra arrived at the apartment building, he expected to find both Arjun and Raj waiting inside. Instead, he found only Arjun, standing alone near the entrance door with a look of quiet unease on his face.
"Where's Raj?" Rudra asked, frowning.
Arjun looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Wasn't he supposed to be with you?"
Rudra went still. He replayed the last few hours in his mind — the alert coming through, the decision to respond, leaving Raj behind with Arjun. He had assumed Raj would stay close. He had assumed Arjun would know.
"There was a monster attack," Rudra said slowly. "I had to go. I left Raj with you."
"When I came out of the house," Arjun replied, his voice careful now, "you were both gone."
A silence settled between them. Neither spoke for a few seconds, both turning the situation over in their heads.
"Maybe he had something urgent to take care of," Arjun offered, though his tone lacked conviction. "You know how he gets."
Rudra pulled out his phone and called Raj. It rang out. No answer. He tried again. Same result.
They went inside and tried to settle, but the unease clung to the room like smoke. Hours passed. Raj did not return. His phone continued to go unanswered. The silence where his replies should have been felt heavier with each passing minute.
By evening, neither of them could pretend anymore that everything was fine.
They went back out and began searching — retracing familiar streets, checking the spots Raj was known to frequent, calling mutual friends one by one. Nobody had seen him. Nobody knew where he had gone. The search dragged on without answers, and the tension between them mounted until it became something neither could name.
Then Rudra's phone buzzed. Unknown number.
He answered it immediately.
The voice on the other end was calm — too calm — and instantly recognizable. It was the horn creator.
"You picked the wrong side," the voice said.
Rudra's grip tightened around the phone. "What do you mean? What do you want this time?"
"Sector 12," the voice continued, unhurried, as though delivering a casual piece of news. "There's been another monster attack. You'll find him there."
The line went dead.
Rudra stared at the screen for half a second, then both he and Arjun were already moving. He tried calling the number back — it was unreachable, as expected. There was no time to think about that now.
They ran.
---
Sector 12 was on the far side of the district, a stretch of older buildings and narrow industrial roads that saw little foot traffic at night. By the time they arrived, the air already carried the metallic scent of blood and dust. The fight — whatever it had been — was long over.
The aftermath spread before them like a scene from a nightmare.
Debris littered the street. A section of wall had been caved in, and claw marks raked across the surface of the road in deep parallel lines. Scattered across the ground were bodies — some hunters, some civilians who had been in the wrong place. Emergency responders had not yet arrived. The silence was the kind that only came after violence.
Rudra and Arjun moved through the scene carefully, each scanning the fallen figures. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them wanted to be the first to say what they were both dreading.
Then Rudra stopped.
There, among the others, was Raj.
He was lying face-up on the broken asphalt, one arm outstretched, eyes closed. His jacket was torn, and dark stains spread across his side. For one suspended, terrible moment, Rudra could not move. The world seemed to contract around that single image — his friend, motionless, on the cold ground.
Arjun reached him first and dropped to his knees. His hands moved quickly, checking for a pulse, checking the wounds, his expression shifting through fear and focus in the span of a breath.
Rudra stood above them both, jaw tight, the weight of those words pressing down on him.
*You picked the wrong side.*
He had not fully understood what that meant when he first heard it. Now, staring at Raj lying in the wreckage of Sector 12, he was beginning to.
This was a message. Not a random attack. Not a coincidence. Someone had orchestrated this deliberately, and Raj had paid the price for choices that were not even his own. Rudra's choices. Rudra's side.
The guilt arrived all at once, cold and sharp. But underneath it, something else was forming — something harder and quieter, the kind of feeling that does not burn out but settles in and stays.
He knelt down beside his friend, placed a hand on his shoulder, and made a silent promise that he intended to keep.
This was far from over.