Crimson Fangs Hideout – 22:46 HRS
The hideout felt different tonight.
Not louder. Not busier. Just heavier.
Like the air itself had taken on the weight of what was coming. Every sound—every scrape of a chair, every shuffling footstep—felt sharper, closer. You could hear the sound of breathing in the far corners.
Kiyaan stood by the old war board, arms crossed, his eyes following the blue pins we'd set earlier. He didn't move when I entered, didn't even look at me—just kept staring at the routes like they were pieces on a chessboard.
Only when the door closed behind me did he speak.
"You're quiet tonight."
I leaned against the wall. "I'm thinking."
"You should be."
His tone wasn't sharp, but it cut.
"This mission, Amit… there won't be a second chance. Everyone going in will give everything. I expect nothing less from you."
I frowned. "You'll have it."
Finally, he turned.
"You've heard the stories, haven't you? About my era."
I nodded. "They called you the strongest."
He gave a humorless chuckle. "In my time, that title meant something. The only people who could stand against me… you could count them on one hand."
His gaze drifted, like he was seeing faces that weren't here anymore.
"One of them was your father."
I blinked. "…You knew him?"
"Never met him," Kiyaan said, "but I knew the kind of man he was. Strongest cop I ever heard of. A man who could bend a room with his sheer presence. People like that…" he paused, "…don't come around often."
His eyes locked on mine.
"And I see that same potential in you."
I didn't know what to say.
So I didn't say anything.
He stepped closer, voice low. "But potential is useless without the right sharpening. You're good, Amit… but not good enough. Not for what's coming."
"Then what do you suggest?"
He smiled—just barely. "You're going to meet someone. An old comrade of mine. One of the few who rivaled me."
"Name?"
"You'll get it when you see him."
---
Abandoned Industrial Zone – 23:31 HRS
The place Kiyaan sent me to didn't look like a training ground.
It looked like a graveyard for machines. Rusted cranes. Broken conveyor belts. Empty oil drums littering the cracked pavement. The wind howled through busted windows, carrying the scent of old grease and rain.
I found him inside a gutted factory floor—sitting on an overturned crate, sharpening a machete with slow, deliberate strokes.
He looked… wrong.
Not weak. But Strange.
Bald head, scar down his left cheek, eyes like they were made of obsidian—cold and reflective. His posture was loose, almost lazy, but there was a tension in his arms that made my skin crawl.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"I wasn't given a time."
He stopped sharpening. Looked at me. And smiled.
It wasn't a warm smile.
"You've got your father's eyes."
"Everyone says that," I replied flatly.
"They say it because it's true. But those eyes don't mean a damn thing if you can't back them up."
I crossed my arms. "Kiyaan said you could help me reach my potential."
At that, he chuckled—a low, dark sound.
"Kiyaan Malik." He leaned back, resting the machete on his shoulder. "You know, in his prime, I saw him take down a gorilla and a wild bear at the same time."
I raised an eyebrow. "…You're exaggerating."
"No." His eyes didn't flinch. "It wasn't even a fight. He made it look like a child's game. That's the difference between 'strong'… and 'legend.'"
I didn't answer.
He stood, stepping into the flickering light.
"My name is Raghav Singh. Remember it. Because by the time I'm done with you… you'll either hate me or thank me."
---
Training – Day One
I didn't get warm-ups.
Raghav handed me a rope the thickness of my wrist and told me to climb it, with a 50 kilogram weight attached to me. No harness. No knots.
It went up into the shadowed rafters, disappearing into black.
Halfway up, my arms were screaming. My palms burned raw.
"Keep going," Raghav called. "If you fall, you start over."
When I reached the top, there was no platform—just another rope leading down to the far end of the factory. I nearly slipped twice before hitting the ground again, chest heaving.
No break.
Next came push-ups—with a 100 kilogram steel plate on my back. Each time I slowed, he added another plate. By the time I collapsed, my arms felt like molten lead.
"You think this is strength training?" he said. "This is survival training. I'm teaching your body to obey long after it's begging you to stop."
Then came more training
Raghav had me push an abandoned truck across the cracked floor. I thought he was insane—until I realized the wheels were rusted solid. Every inch felt like a war. My legs shook, my lungs burned, but he never let me quit.
By the end, I was lying on the ground, vision swimming.
He crouched next to me.
"Your father would've finished this without a second thought."
"I'm not him," I gasped.
"Good." His smile was razor-thin. "Because you can be worse."
---
That Night
I stumbled back to my room in the hideout, muscles screaming, knuckles split open.
When I closed my eyes, I saw Kiyaan's nod. My father's smile. And Raghav's cold, unblinking stare.
Somewhere between those three men… was who I needed to become.
And I wasn't sure yet if that man would still be human.
---
TO BE CONTINUED