8:00 PM – Blackout Begins in School 15KM Radius
Darkness devoured the sky like spilled ink.
For fifteen kilometers around the hostage school perimeter, every light failed. Street lamps flickered out. Surveillance systems crashed. Phones lost signal. In that abyss, panic swelled. Hostages prayed. Officers cursed. Joseph Fernandez stared into the black, breathing heavy.
But the WOME operatives?
Jabbar laughed. "Cheap tricks! Distribute night vision and stay alert!"
He thought it was standard military operative tactics.
He didn't know.....
The Death Trope had arrived.
8:02 PM – School Gymnasium
Three hundred hostages lay bound, silent, their faces pale against tile flooring. They panicked as the blackout hit. Some girls and boys scream in panic.
Armed WOME soldiers roamed the corridors like jackals, weapons low, egos high. One man whistled as he walked past sobbing students.
Another checked his ammo, muttering, "30mins left before the time given. Hopefully the Government don't make any move so we can begin our feast." they laughed.
No one noticed the shift in air pressure. The faint wind. The door creak. The crawling silence.
Then....
The first scream ruptured the far hallway.
8:03 PM – School Corridor
Operative Vanta dropped from the ceiling like a phantom. His blade slashed clean through two throats before the third could raise a shout.
Blood splashed on the locker walls. A WOME sentry spun to aim but a dart buried itself in his eye.
Ashaka moved forward, clearing corners with smooth precision, rifle silent.
Behind him, Echo-4 fired a pulse grenade into the cafeteria.
Six guards inside jerked upright
Then dropped, twitching on the floor.
8:05 PM – East Wing
Explosives didn't need to be loud to be final.
Karna rigged a sonic disruptor in the medical wing. As guards turned to investigate, their senses collapsed ears bleeding, minds stunned.
Three Death Trope agents walked through the mist, emotionless.
The WOME soldiers tried to crawl away.
They were all finished in under forty seconds.
8:07 PM – Science Lab
One WOME officer held a blade to a teacher's neck.
"I swear, one more move...."
Click.
He turned.
The figure that met his gaze was faceless. Masked. Empty.
Falcon-8 shot a tranquilizer into his throat and stepped forward. The officer tried to scream.
It came out as a gasp.
He fell.
8:10 PM – Main Hallway
Resistance surged - brief, chaotic.
Thirty WOME operatives scrambled together, forming a defensive line. Orders barked. Guns lifted.
Then
The hallway lights flickered.
Then died.
Death Trope entered like shadows returned from hell.
Bullets didn't fly. Not at first. Instead...
Flashbangs.
Smoke grenades.
Sonic darts.
WOME fell in waves.
A few fought back.
A few managed to injure Operative Twelve.
He kept moving. Bleeding, limping, slashing through three bodies before collapsing.
Asthaka step in secure him. But Operative Twelve whisper:
"Leave me and secure the hostages"
Asthaka with firm voice reply.
"No brothers allowed to died to night. Remember the Supreme Commanders order!"
8:15 PM – Principal's Office
Jabbar sat behind the desk watching the smoke rising in the dark. Listening to the comms die.
His face twisted.
"Who the hell is doing this? Someone reply to me!"
Then
The door handle turned.
Jabbar drew his pistol.
But the door didn't open.
The ceiling above him cracked. A figure dropped silently.
Jabbar fired once but missed.
A hand grabbed his wrist, snapped it. The gun skidded across the floor.
Jabbar screamed.
Three more shadows stepped in.
The final one: tall, trench-coated, voice cold.
"Secure him."
DLA troopers slammed Jabbar against the window pane. His body hit the floor with a sickening crunch.
8:18 PM – Interrogation
They didn't shout.
They didn't threaten.
They simply opened their case.
Inside: scalp hooks.
Skin needles.
A frequency injector.
Jabbar was restrained with steel bolts and neuro-clamps. His breathing quickened.
He spat toward one of them.
"I know how a government fights. This isn't them."
One of the agents leaned down slowly, eyes hidden beneath visor.
"That's because we belong to your world."
Jabbar coughed blood.
"Who... who are you? Which organization are you from?"
The leader stepped forward. No name tag. No insignia. Only scars.
"Dead men don't tell the tale."
"We are the Death Trope of Devil Liberation Army."
Jabbar stopped breathing for three seconds.
Then he panic more.
"You're ghosts... You were myths.... No it can be! I don't believe DLA is here in this small country."
A needle pressed into his clavicle.
He screamed.
The man in lead asked again.
"You no need to know why are were here. I only want all the bomb locations. Then i give you painless death. Or else you will know fate worst then death!"
Quickly Jabbar shout in panic. He had listen to the rumors how brutal DLA interrogation methods.
"There are only eleven bombs!
We lied....we multiplied the sites to stall you. Create panic!"
"Only Eleven bombs . That's it! The are no more's!"
The leader said nothing.
He pulled the final pin...direct charge.
Jabbar's chest went still.
Blood pooled.
He blinked. Once.
Then the leader whispered:
"We move out now. Secure the injured brothers. Leave no WOME alive!"
The charge detonated inside Jabbar's rib cage.
He collapsed. Lifeless.
8:20 PM – Final Fade
One by one, the Death Trope operatives retreated.
Their boots didn't echo. Their breaths didn't hitch.
Each passed through the school like a shadow unwelcomed until they reached out of the school perimeter.
They vanished into the dark.
8:21 PM – Light On!
Power flickered back.
The emergency lights returned.
Hostages blinked through tears, slowly realizing...
Every armed terrorist was dead.
No one had touched them.
Not one hostage harmed.
Doors unlocked themselves.
Students and teachers rushed out from classrooms, sobbing, hugging each other. Officers stormed in, trying to assess the miraculous carnage.
One man stood tall among them: Joseph Fernandez. He put down the phone after received a call from Asthaka, DLA Death Trope Operative.
His voice returned with fire.
"Secure the school.
And ready to receive the hostages.
Check if they are wounded.
Sweep the compound."
A few officers hesitated.
Joseph turned to them, eyes wet, voice steely.
"All enemy has been neutralized.
Now we clean it up this facade!"
Inside the school gates...
Smoke curled from shattered windows.
Bodies of WOME operatives lay piled across blood-slick pavement.
There was no sign of the attackers. No trace. No trail.
In just twenty minutes,
312 elite WOME operatives were exterminated.
252 hostages secured.
Zero civilian casualties.
It wasn't a rescue.
It was a reckoning.
And by the time the hostage extraction ended,
Athavan stood at the edge of Chanda's hideout
His eyes burning with unholy fury.
Breath steady.
Hands clenched.
A dragon's reverse scale is forbidden.
And Naraka had touched it.