82."GODFATHER"

[3RD PERSON POV]

The air inside the luxurious room was thick with tension. The faint thudding of distant gunfire echoed through the heavy walls like a distant drumbeat of war.

Around the circular table sat three men, each carrying a presence as sharp as the weapons on their belts. Lucas leaned forward, his jaw clenched tight, veins bulging on his temples. His restless fingers tapped rhythmically on the table's edge, each tap louder than the last. His eyes burned with barely contained rage. Across from him sat Abdul, his fingers interlocked, his gaze sharp but patient. Beside him was Jaidev, his eyes darting around the room.

The room was surrounded by Lucas' bodyguards, each of them standing tall like unyielding statues, their hands gripping sleek black rifles. Their eyes shifted toward every creak and thud from beyond the thick, reinforced door. The constant distant blasts only served to remind them how close the danger was.

Bang! Bang! Boom!

The faint echoes from outside grew louder. Closer. The sound of rapid gunfire mixed with heavy blasts rumbled like an oncoming storm.

"How much longer do you expect me to sit here, Abdul?!" Lucas snapped, his voice sharp with fury. He shot to his feet, his chair screeching against the marble. His wild eyes darted toward the door. "We should be out there fighting! This isn't a damn waiting room!"

Abdul didn't even flinch. His gaze remained steady, like a monk in meditation. "Hold your horses, Lucas," he said, his tone calm. He leaned back, resting his arms on the chair. "I told you, I'll handle everything. Sit. Down."

But Lucas wasn't having it. He ran a hand through his short hair, exhaling sharply. "Tch. Handle it, you say? You think that door's gonna hold forever?!" he spat, pointing at the steel door. "Listen to that!" he shouted as another distant explosion made the ground beneath them rumble. The sound of men shouting orders echoed faintly, followed by another sharp burst of gunfire. Lucas's eyes darted toward the door.

Thud.

Everyone froze.

The sound wasn't distant anymore. It was right outside the door.

Jaidev's head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes narrowing with razor-sharp focus. "That wasn't distant," he muttered.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound grew heavier. Closer. Footsteps. Heavy boots. Slow. Deliberate.

"Someone's here," one of the bodyguards muttered, his grip tightening on his rifle.

Lucas's eyes locked onto the door like a predator spotting prey. Without a second thought, he reached for his gun on the table, cocking it with a swift, practiced motion. His lips curled into a snarl. "That's it. I'm done waiting."

He glanced at Abdul and Jaidev. "Let's go," he barked, his tone brooking no argument.

Abdul sighed deeply but didn't protest. He signaled to the guards with a nod, and one by one, the bodyguards raised their rifles, eyes glued to the entrance. Each step they took toward the door felt like an oath — a promise to greet whatever lay beyond it with unrelenting force.

Jaidev stayed back for a second, eyeing the steel frame of the door. His instincts told him something was off.

Everyone was now gathered in front of the door, guns raised, barrels pointed directly at the center. Each man's breathing grew shallow, their fingers hovering just over the triggers.

A moment of stillness.

Then—

BOOM!

The entire world seemed to shatter at once.

A deafening explosion ripped through the room as the reinforced steel door was torn from its hinges. The blast hurled it through the air like a battering ram from hell, the door spinning violently before crashing into the far wall, smashing into the ornate marble and splitting it into jagged chunks.

The dense cloud of smoke lingered in the air, curling like serpents over the wreckage. Bits of shattered marble crunched beneath slow, deliberate footsteps. Each step echoed through the room, cutting through the ringing in everyone's ears like a sharp blade.

From the haze, a figure emerged. His broad, well-built frame moved with an unsettling calmness, his posture too relaxed for a man walking into a battlefield. His sharp eyes scanned the room with quiet authority, like a lion surveying its prey. His left hand was casually tucked into the pocket of his pants, as if he had all the time in the world. His face, though calm, bore a hint of danger, like a storm brewing on a still ocean.

Abdul's eyes widened in disbelief. His breath hitched in his chest as recognition hit him like a punch to the gut. "M-Masoom Bhai…?" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. His shock was palpable. His fingers twitched toward his side, but he didn't reach for his gun. He knew better.

Masoom's lips curled into a slow, wolfish smile. His eyes locked onto Abdul with a warmth that didn't match the danger in his presence. "Hello, brother," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia mixed with veiled threat. His words weren't loud, but they echoed louder than the explosion that had shattered the door.

Before anyone could process his arrival, another voice rang out from the smoke. Smooth. Playful.

"What a lovely atmosphere we have here," the voice teased.

More footsteps echoed from the fog, this time lighter, more playful. A second figure stepped out of the smoke, his hands in the pockets of his coat, his head tilted slightly as if he were admiring the artwork in a gallery. He had sharp features and a mischievous grin, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous charm. Every step he took seemed too casual for the situation, as if this destruction was a stage set up just for his entrance.

Abdul's heart sank further. His face twisted into a grimace of disbelief. "D-Daniyal?" he stammered, eyes darting between the two men.

Daniyal's grin widened, revealing perfect teeth that seemed far too clean for a man like him. He opened his arms slightly, as if welcoming an old friend to a reunion. "Hello to you too, Abdul," Daniyal said, his voice smooth like silk but sharp enough to cut. "Looks like you've been busy. Running with these jokers now, huh?" He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I thought you had better taste."

Abdul's fists clenched at his sides. "Bhai… Daniyal… Don't interfere," he said firmly, though his voice trembled ever so slightly. His eyes flicked toward Lucas, Jaidev, and the guards, all of whom had their weapons raised but weren't foolish enough to fire. Everyone in the room knew the names Masoom and Daniyal. And those names were never spoken lightly.

But Masoom raised his hand casually, his fingers still in his pocket, his other hand loose by his side. His eyes narrowed just a bit, the smile on his face growing colder. "Don't interfere, huh?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. He took a step forward, his boots crunching against the broken marble. "That's rich coming from you, Abdul." His eyes met Abdul's, sharp as a blade pressed to the neck. "You're running errands for these clowns and telling me not to interfere?" His smile faded, and his eyes grew colder. "I taught you better than that, brother."

Abdul swallowed hard. His heart felt like it was thudding in his ears. "This is… our matter," he said, his voice firmer this time. "Don't make it more complicated than it has to be."

Daniyal tilted his head, his grin never faltering. "Oh? So you think you can start a drug trade in India—our turf—and then tell us not to interfere?" He let out a small laugh, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Abdul, I expected stupidity from the small-timers, but from you? I'm disappointed."

Masoom's eyes gleamed with amusement, his gaze fixed on Abdul. His wolfish grin widened. "A personal matter, you say?" he repeated, his voice carrying a slow, dangerous drawl. His eyes flicked toward Jaidev, watching him like a lion stalking prey. Slowly, he tilted his head, his gaze returning to Abdul. "This is no longer a personal matter, Abdul," Masoom said, his smile stretching into something far more sinister. His eyes held a weight that could crush a man's resolve.

He took a step to the side, his eyes never leaving Abdul. "This," he said, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet, "is family business now."

Abdul's brows furrowed in confusion. His eyes darted toward Jaidev, then back to Masoom. "Whose family?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine bewilderment. His breathing grew heavier, heart drumming in his chest. His gut was telling him something, but his mind refused to accept it.

Masoom tilted his head slightly, his eyes sharp like the edge of a finely honed blade. "Your big brother's…" He paused, letting the words sink in, savoring the growing confusion on Abdul's face. His grin stretched further as he leaned forward just enough for his next words to hit like a sledgehammer. "Big brothers, Abdul."

Abdul's eyes widened. His mind raced to make sense of it. His breath caught in his throat as he took a half-step back, glancing around the room as if he'd missed something. "Big brother's big brothers…?" he muttered under his breath, trying to piece it together. "What do you—"

Before he could finish, the sound of slow, heavy footsteps echoed from the smoke beyond the blasted door.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The footsteps were slow, deliberate, and each one struck the ground like a war drum. With every step, the tension in the room thickened. Everyone's attention snapped toward the source of the sound, their eyes narrowing, bodies tensing. Even Masoom stepped aside, his grin never fading as he glanced at the entrance.

Out of the swirling gray mist, another figure emerged.

The first thing they saw was the long, heavy barrel of a gun—no, a cannon. A sleek, black shotgun rested on the man's broad shoulder like it weighed nothing. His other hand hung loosely by his side, his steps slow but purposeful. Each step was like thunder. His rugged figure became clearer as the smoke thinned. His sharp, chiseled features came into view, framed by a neatly trimmed beard. But what drew everyone's attention wasn't his face or his shotgun.

It was the cigar.

A fat cigar sat between his teeth, its ember tip glowing with every slow drag he took. The faint glow of orange lit up the edges of his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the quiet, dangerous confidence in his eyes. He exhaled a long plume of smoke, letting it snake around him like a living thing.

Abdul's eyes narrowed, confusion and shock battling for control of his expression. "Who…?" he muttered, staring at the man as if he'd seen a ghost.

But Lucas—Lucas knew.

His face went pale. His eyes widened in raw terror. His hands began to tremble, his pupils darting back and forth like a man cornered by a predator. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his temple in slow, frantic trails. His fingers quivered, and slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his gun.

His lips parted as if to speak, but all that came out was a shaky breath. Then, with a voice stripped of all its arrogance, he uttered one name.

"Deva…"

That name hit the room like lightning. Deva. It echoed through the silence like a funeral bell. The guards shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting toward one another. Some swallowed nervously. Others glanced at Lucas, silently questioning if they were still supposed to fight. No one moved. No one breathed.

Deva stopped at the edge of the room, the smoke swirling around his feet like mist on a battlefield. His eyes scanned the room, slow and methodical. He didn't look at anyone in particular. He didn't have to. His presence was like a storm cloud hanging over all of them, ready to strike with thunder and lightning at a moment's notice.

His gaze finally landed on Lucas. His grin was different from Masoom's. There was no wildness in it. No mockery. It was the kind of grin you see on a man who's already buried his enemies and is now just counting the days until the dirt settles. He pulled the cigar from his mouth with two fingers, flicking away the ash. His lips parted, revealing a row of sharp, white teeth.

"It's been a while, Lucas," Deva said, his voice deep, gravelly, and calm—too calm. Each word felt like a hammer driving nails into a coffin. "Didn't think I'd see your face here again."

Lucas licked his lips, his eyes never meeting Deva's. He kept glancing toward the door, toward Abdul, toward his gun, anywhere but Deva. His breathing was shallow now, and he tried to force out a laugh, but it came out as a weak cough. "W-We didn't know you'd be here, Mr.Deva," he stammered. His voice had lost its edge. "We—we didn't know! If we had, I swear we wouldn't have—"

Deva raised one hand, palm facing forward. Lucas shut his mouth instantly.

"Don't waste my time with excuses, Lucas," Deva muttered, tapping the ash off his cigar with a flick of his finger. The ash fell slowly, gracefully, like snow. "You think this place belongs to you?" He took a slow drag from his cigar, the tip glowing bright like the edge of a forge. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling in one smooth breath. His eyes finally met Lucas's. Cold. Empty. Absolute.

"This country," Deva said, taking a slow step forward, his shotgun shifting on his shoulder. "This land..." he let the word hang for a moment, like a hunter savoring the last breath of his prey.

Lucas's legs wobbled. His lips moved, but no words came out. He shook his head frantically, his mouth dry as sand.

Deva's grin widened, his eyes narrowing to half-lidded slits. "This land belongs to me." He let the final word hit like a gavel. "And…" He tilted his head slightly, his voice growing even colder, like the dead of winter. "…To Godfather."

The smoke shifted once more, swirling like a storm brewing in the heart of the room. The faint glow of flames from outside cast long shadows across the cracked walls. The air smelled of burnt metal, gunpowder, and something colder — something far more dangerous than fire or steel.

From the depths of that thick fog, slow, measured footsteps echoed. Each step was calm, deliberate, and echoed with a strange authority. The kind that doesn't need to announce itself but is known the moment it arrives.

A figure emerged from the smoke.

He walked with his hands folded neatly behind his back, his posture regal, his movements as smooth as flowing water. His face was sharp, symmetrical like a sculpture carved by a master craftsman. His eyes, however, were far from serene. They held a weight that could crush mountains — eyes that had seen empires rise and fall. His gaze swept across the room like a king inspecting his court.

It was Brahma.

Brahma didn't say a word. He didn't need to.

He slowly turned his head, his gaze locking onto Lucas with the patience of a predator watching its prey exhaust itself. It wasn't anger. It wasn't hatred. It was certainty. A man who knows how this story ends before it even begins.

Lucas's body went rigid, his shoulders locking up like stone. His eyes darted to his guards, then back to Brahma. His lips quivered, words caught in his throat, but his body moved on instinct. With a sharp, hoarse shout, he barked, "Weapons down!"

One by one, rifles, pistols, and submachine guns were lowered, their metal frames tapping lightly against the floor. Guards hands remained raised, their eyes refusing to meet Brahma's. Not a single man argued. Not a single man hesitated. Their instincts screamed at them louder than their pride.

Even the air seemed to grow colder.

Jaidev's eyes darted around in disbelief. His breaths grew faster, his pulse hammering against his ears. No. No. This isn't right. What's going on? His mind was struggling to comprehend the shift in the room. They put down their weapons? Just like that?! His eyes darted from Lucas, to Deva, to the guards, and finally back to Brahma. His frustration boiled over.

"What the hell are you all doing?!" Jaidev shouted, his voice sharp and wild like a man on the edge of madness. Veins bulged in his neck, his face turning red with rage. His breathing came in short, rapid bursts, like a cornered animal. "Are you all cowards?!" His eyes locked on Lucas, his face twisted in fury.

"Lucas, what are you waiting for?!" he yelled, his voice cracking under the pressure. His hand shot out, pointing at Brahma like a judge condemning a criminal. His eyes blazed with desperation. He jabbed his finger forward with every word. "He's the reason for all of this! He's the one behind every goddamn thing that's happened!"

The guards looked at him, but none of them moved. Their eyes shifted toward Lucas, waiting, unsure.

Jaidev's voice became shriller, more unhinged. "Kill him! KILL HIM NOW!" he howled, his voice echoing off the walls like a banshee's wail. His breathing was ragged, each breath like broken glass in his chest. His eyes twitched, wild with fear disguised as rage.

But Lucas didn't move.

He turned slowly toward Jaidev, his movements mechanical, his face shadowed by disbelief. His jaw clenched tightly, his teeth grinding together. His eyes, which had always held that predatory sharpness, were now hollow.

His lips curled upward, but it wasn't a smile. It was the kind of grin you see before the axe falls.

"Kill them?" Lucas repeated, his voice low, grating like stone on stone. He let the words hang in the air, twisting them like a noose around Jaidev's neck.

"Do you even know who they are" Lucas hissed, his voice razor-sharp.

Lucas's gaze darted between Brahma and Deva, his breath hitching in his chest. His eyes, once sharp and predatory, now held only fear. His lips quivered as if they'd forgotten how to form words. Slowly, like a man approaching a noose, he took one hesitant step forward… then another.

His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

With a sudden drop, Lucas fell to his knees, his legs giving out beneath him like they were pulled by invisible chains. His palms hit the cold, hard floor. Sweat dripped from his forehead, mixing with the grime on the ground. His throat bobbed as he swallowed his pride — the taste of it bitter and humiliating.

With trembling hands, he reached for Deva. His eyes, wide and desperate, gazed up at the man who stood before him like a mountain of flesh, muscle, and power. Slowly, Lucas took Deva's hand, his fingers brushing against the rough calluses on Deva's palm.

He bent his head low, pressing his lips against the back of Deva's hand.

"The God of Death..." Lucas whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his own words. His lips trembled against Deva's skin as he uttered the name. "Mr. Deva."

For a moment, nobody spoke. The silence wasn't empty — it was heavy, suffocating. It wasn't the absence of sound, but the presence of dominance.

Lucas released Deva's hand as if it were made of molten iron and turned toward Brahma. His movements were frantic now, driven by raw survival instincts. He reached for Brahma's hand with both of his, clutching it as if clinging to salvation itself. His eyes were glossy with fear, his breathing fast and shallow.

He bent his head once more. His lips pressed softly, almost reverently, against the back of Brahma's hand. His body shook as though lightning had struck him. His forehead nearly touched the ground.

"And our one and only Godfather..." His voice was hoarse but clear, each word laced with desperation. "Mr. Qureshi."

The name hit the air like thunder.

Jaidev's breath caught in his throat. His eyes went wide, disbelief clawing at his mind. His body went slack, and before he realized it, he collapsed onto the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him. His back hit the wall with a dull thud. The world around him spun like a broken carousel.

Godfather…?

He blinked rapidly, trying to process what he just heard. His eyes flicked to Brahma, then to Deva, then back to Brahma. A pit formed in his stomach. The name "Godfather" wasn't just a title. It wasn't a label you tossed around lightly. It was the title. The man who held it wasn't just a king in the underworld — he was the kingmaker.

His gaze locked onto Brahma, his heart racing. This man… this man is Qureshi? He looked at Deva, blinking as if reality had played a cruel trick on him. But he looks like Vikramaditya, the businessman…

His heart sank into a bottomless pit.

Brahma tilted his head, his gaze falling on Lucas like a parent gazing at a wayward child. Slowly, with the grace of a king bestowing favor, Brahma pulled his hand away from Lucas's grip. His eyes, dark and calculating, softened with a touch of mock compassion.

He raised that same hand slowly, resting it lightly atop Lucas's head. Lucas flinched at the contact, his entire body going tense like a man awaiting his judgment.

Brahma's fingers moved with a deceptive gentleness, running slowly over Lucas's hair. It was the kind of gesture one might offer a beloved son or a loyal pet. But everyone in the room knew better. It wasn't affection. It was control.

"Lucas…" Brahma's voice was soft, yet it carried the weight of a mountain crashing into the earth. His voice was steady, his words precise, like each syllable was a verdict being written in stone. "Did you think that just because we disappeared from the underworld, we were dead?"

The room grew still. The sound of distant gunfire faded into the background, like a distant memory of chaos. Every pair of eyes was on Brahma now.

"No, no, Mr. Qureshi…" Lucas's head shook so fast it was almost a blur. His words were frantic, stumbling over each other. "How could I think that?! I would never… never think that, sir!"

Brahma didn't speak. He just kept stroking Lucas's head, slow and deliberate. The silence stretched on for too long. The longer it went, the more Lucas's breathing grew erratic. Sweat poured down his face, soaking the collar of his shirt. His heart was slamming against his ribs.

Deva, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, suddenly chuckled. His deep, gravelly laugh echoed like the distant growl of thunder.

"Oh?" Deva's smile was wide, his teeth flashing like fangs. He pushed himself off the wall, his broad shoulders rolling with ease. His eyes glowed with mischief as he stepped toward Lucas. "If you never thought that, then why, Lucas? Why did you dare to set up a drug trade in India, huh?"

Deva's voice was casual, almost playful, but the undercurrent of danger was sharp enough to cut steel. He tilted his head, his smile still plastered on his face. "Answer me, Lucas."

Lucas's eyes darted toward Deva, his lips trembling as he struggled to find the right words. He raised his hands, his fingers spread in surrender. "It… It was a mistake, Mr. Deva! I swear! I-It wasn't supposed to be like this! Please, please forgive me!"

Deva crouched down, his face inches from Lucas's. His grin never wavered, but his eyes went cold.

"Mistake?" Deva repeated, the word hanging in the air like a blade above Lucas's neck. "A mistake is spilling your drink, Lucas. But this?" He pointed to the ground, his finger like a dagger. "This is treason."

Lucas's lips quivered as tears welled in his eyes. "Please, please, Mr. Deva… I-I was desperate. I didn't mean to—"

But Brahma's hand suddenly pulled away from Lucas's head. The warmth vanished, and with it, every ounce of hope Lucas had left.

Brahma gazed down at Lucas like a god gazing at a sinner on judgment day. His eyes, devoid of mercy, locked onto Lucas's soul. His next words were calm, but each one cut deeper than any blade.

"I see," Brahma said softly. His gaze never left Lucas. "But this isn't the only mistake you've made, Lucas."

The softness in his tone vanished. It was replaced by something colder than winter itself.

"You helped a man who tried to destroy my family."

Those words hit Lucas harder than a bullet. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes went wide with panic as he shook his head, his mouth flapping open and shut like a fish out of water.

The air in the room grew colder. A chill ran down Lucas's spine, sharp and sudden, like icy fingers dragging down his back. His breath hitched. He glanced nervously at Jaidev, then back at Brahma, his eyes darting like a trapped rat searching for an escape.

"P-Please forgive me, Mr. Qureshi," Lucas stammered, his voice cracking with every word. His head dipped so low it was almost pressed against the ground. "I-I didn't know about this! I swear on my life, if I knew—"

"Calm down, Lucas," Brahma's voice was smooth and cold, like steel sliding across silk. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, pierced right through Lucas's heart.

"It's not just us," Brahma continued, his tone soft but laced with an edge that could cut through bone. His gaze bore down on Lucas, unblinking and absolute. "There's someone else who's coming to meet you."

Those words hung in the air like a guillotine blade poised to drop.

Lucas's pupils shrank, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Sweat poured down his face, soaking his collar as he desperately tried to process Brahma's words. Someone else? His mind raced, each possibility more terrifying than the last.

Then it hit him.

His eyes widened with pure, unfiltered terror. His lips parted, but no words came out. His throat was dry, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. No... No, no, no... It can't be him…

There was only one man who could evoke this level of fear — a man whose name was spoken in hushed whispers even among the most hardened criminals. A name that had become legend. A phantom. A myth. A nightmare.

Vincenzo.

Lucas's entire body began to tremble. His fingers twitched as his mind spiraled into panic. His breath turned shallow and fast. He remembered every story he'd ever heard — how no one ever saw him coming, how he vanished from the underworld as if he'd never existed, and yet his influence lingered like a curse. A man who didn't need to show himself, but when he did... death followed.

No... not him... not him… anyone but him!

The distant echoes of gunfire outside suddenly ceased. The blasts stopped. The chaos faded into nothing. Silence. A dreadful, unnatural silence that crept into the room like a fog. It wasn't peaceful. It was suffocating.

Then, from that silence, a sound.

A voice.

It was distant at first, like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. But it grew louder with each step. It wasn't a chant or a command. It was... a song.

> "My life is in this town,

And I ain't going down,

You think that I'm CRAAAZY,

But I don't want the crown."

The voice was calm but carried a strange weight, a charisma that demanded attention. It wasn't loud, yet it echoed through every inch of the room, filling every shadow and every hollow corner.

> "I'm just an ordinary person,

Yeah... just a peace-loving soul.

Ohh... hoo..."

Lucas froze, his eyes snapping toward the entrance. His heart nearly stopped. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move.

The sound of footsteps echoed alongside the song, each step slow and deliberate, as if whoever was walking had no reason to hurry. It wasn't the heavy, commanding stomp of Brahma or the measured, calculated pace of Deva. No, these footsteps had a rhythm, a calm, almost carefree swagger.

Jaidev's eyes went wide with disbelief. No. No, it can't be him.

His heart thudded in his chest, the realization striking him like lightning. His eyes darted toward the smoke-covered entrance. His lips parted in shock. Unlike Lucas, who was gripped by fear, Jaidev's face twisted with confusion and dread. Why him? Why is he here?!

He knew that voice. How could he not? He had heard it before, in the quietest corners of his memory. A voice so distinct it was unforgettable.

It was him.

It was Krishna.

The footsteps grew louder. The song continued.

> "I'm just an ordinary person,

Yeah... just a peace-loving soul.

Peace-loving soul…"

Each word reverberated like thunder, the melody strangely soothing yet deeply unsettling. The shadows near the entrance flickered as the light shifted. The smoke parted like curtains being drawn aside, and through it, a figure emerged.

His clothes were stained with blood — not splattered, but soaked, as if he'd walked through a storm of it. The black casual pants and simple black shirt clung to his body, damp with red stains that had yet to dry. His sleeves were rolled up just past his elbows, revealing veins that pulsed with quiet strength.

In his right hand, he held a small axe. Its edge gleamed under the dim light, droplets of blood dripping steadily onto the floor with soft, rhythmic plinks. It wasn't a weapon fit for intimidation. It was a weapon of purpose.

Behind him, Warina followed, her face pale but her eyes steady. She didn't look like a hostage. No, she looked like a woman who had seen a monster — and for some reason, decided to walk beside it.

Krishna face was calm. His eyes... they were not. There was no rage, no fire of anger. There was only stillness. A stillness more terrifying than any outburst. His eyes moved slowly, deliberately scanning the room like a predator observing its prey.

Jaidev's heart was thudding so hard now that he swore everyone in the room could hear it. He pressed his back against the wall, his palms flat against the cold concrete. Why is he here? his mind screamed. Why is Krishna here?!

Lucas's body began to shake violently. His hands pressed flat against the ground, his head hanging low. His lips quivered as he tried to convince himself this wasn't real. This is a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Wake up, wake up, wake up…

But when he raised his eyes to see Krishna standing there, blood-soaked and unbothered, the truth hit him like a truck. This was no nightmare.

Krishna stopped walking. His sandals left faint red marks on the floor. The echoes of his song slowly faded, but the silence that followed was even heavier.

(A/N: If you'd like to support me, please use this UPI: omgadekar29@oksbi "Om Gadekar". If you do, please let me know your webnovel name so I can recognize you.)

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