King's dagger hovered just above Vikram's throat.
One more inch—
—and it would be over.
But suddenly—
He stopped.
A strange shift in the air.
King's eyes flicked upward.
The sky howled.
A violent gust of wind crashed down like an invisible force—
BOOM.
King was blasted backward, his body skidding across the road before he flipped and landed on his feet several meters away.
Dust swirled.
Silence followed.
Then—
A figure stood between him and Vikram.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
A bird-like man.
Wings folded behind him—massive, jet black.
An eagle's head crowned a human body, broad and muscular. His claws dug into the broken road beneath him, sharp and unnatural.
His red eyes glowed faintly.
Protective.
Dangerous.
King straightened, wiping blood from his lips.
"…Who are you?"
The figure folded his arms calmly.
"I am Paksha Tamas," he said, voice steady. "From the Uncanny Valley Agents."
King narrowed his eyes, studying him carefully.
A bird…? Never seen anything like this.
Another Mudra user? Or something else?
Paksha spoke again, tone unchanged.
"Leave Vikram. I will not harm you."
A vein pulsed on King's forehead.
He pointed at him, furious.
"No one orders me around."
Paksha's wings spread wide—
A shadow fell over the street.
King lowered his stance, grounding himself, preparing for impact.
Paksha's voice remained calm.
"Understanding does not guarantee obedience."
Then—
He launched.
A blur of black.
IMPACT.
King endured it.
His feet dragged across the ground, concrete cracking beneath him as he absorbed the force.
His hand shot up—
grabbing Paksha's head at his side.
Paksha struggled, wings beating violently—
But King's grin widened.
"Got you."
A crimson aura flickered.
Berserk.
His elbows came down again and again—
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Each strike hammered into Paksha's back.
Paksha rose into the sky.
King didn't let go.
He hung from Paksha's neck, dangling mid-air.
Wind screamed around them.
"HEY!" King shouted. "Put me down, you KFC meal!"
Paksha's eyes flared.
He grabbed King by the neck—flipping him, suspending him upside down.
Then—
PUNCH.
Straight to the chest.
King gritted his teeth, veins bulging.
"If I had wings… I'd have shown you," he growled.
His legs snapped around Paksha's arm—
CRACK.
The shoulder dislocated.
Paksha's vision blurred for a second.
But he didn't stop.
Punch after punch rained down on King.
"You leech! Let go!"
Suddenly—
Paksha folded his wings.
And dived.
The building rushed up.
BOOM.
King's body slammed into the rooftop, punching straight through it.
Floor after floor—
Concrete shattered.
Walls exploded.
Glass rained like knives.
King crashed deep inside the structure.
Air burst from his lungs.
Above—
People gathered near the holes forming across floors.
Shocked.
Terrified.
"What just happened—?!"
Paksha hovered in the sky.
His wings trembled—
Then—
They fired.
Feathers shot downward like bullets.
RATATATAT—
Screams erupted.
People ran.
Some fell.
Blood splattered across the floors.
Paksha's eyes narrowed.
He flew toward the building's core—
and struck.
Support pillars cracked.
Then broke.
One by one.
Outside—
The structure groaned.
Tilted.
Collapsed.
CRASHHHH.
Dust exploded into the sky.
People screamed.
Phones came out.
Chaos spread.
Paksha hovered above the wreckage.
Looking down.
"Too weak."
Then—
The rubble moved.
No—
Exploded.
Chunks of concrete blasted outward, smashing cars, cracking walls.
A refrigerator spun through the air—
straight toward a child.
Frozen.
Too scared to move.
A man dashed forward.
Grabbed the boy—
pulled him away.
They hit the ground hard.
Saved.
Chandra looked up—
eyes wide.
From the rubble—
A crimson aura rose.
Heavy.
Violent.
Alive.
King stood.
Slowly.
Dust falling from his shoulders.
He pointed upward.
At Paksha.
Paksha frowned.
What is he—
A feather shot forward.
Red.
Faster than sight.
PIERCE.
Straight through Paksha's chest.
Blood spilled from his beak.
His eyes widened.
"…What—"
More feathers followed.
Piercing.
Tearing.
Ripping through him.
King smirked below.
"He's… strong…" Paksha coughed.
His strength faded.
His wings faltered.
And he fell.
Like a dead bird.
King exhaled slowly.
Satisfied.
Then turned—
toward Vikram.
A hand grabbed his leg.
Weak.
Shaking.
"Save… my kid…"
King didn't even look.
He stomped.
BOOM.
The ground cracked again.
Bodies were thrown aside.
Cries filled the air.
He walked forward.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Chandra stood in front of the child.
Trembling.
King stopped.
Looked at them.
Smirked.
Then—
Walked away.
A step.
Another—
Then—
He stopped.
Something was wrong.
Behind him—
Paksha.
Standing.
Barely.
A feather pressed against King's forehead.
King's eyes widened—
Then went blank.
He collapsed.
Paksha staggered.
"…You're troublesome to keep alive."
He raised his claw.
"To eliminate the variable—"
Then—
Everything went dark.
Cold.
Silent.
Heavy.
Paksha froze.
His blood ran cold.
In the void—
A presence.
Unfathomable.
Watching.
A voice echoed.
Ancient.
Absolute.
"Leave him alone… bird."
Paksha didn't hesitate.
He spread his wings—
and fled.
Evening settled heavily over the city hospital.
Ambulances kept arriving one after another, their sirens fading into the background as stretchers were rushed through the glass doors. The smell of antiseptic mixed with blood and panic hung thick in the air.
Inside—
Vikram lay unconscious on a hospital bed.
A bandage was tightly wrapped around his neck, faint red spreading through the white cloth. His breathing was shallow, uneven… like his body was still fighting to stay alive.
Beside him, his mother sat, clutching his hand with both of hers.
Her fingers trembled.
"Vikram… please…" she whispered, her voice breaking as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Wake up… please…"
No response.
Not even a twitch.
A few steps away, Viraj stood stiffly, his arms crossed, his face tense. His eyes kept drifting toward Vikram… then away… like he couldn't bear to look for too long.
In front of him stood Officer Samradh.
"He just ran out of the house normally. Nothing strange," Viraj said, his voice controlled—but barely. "He looked completely fine."
Samradh watched him silently, his sharp eyes studying every detail—the tone, the hesitation, the fear hiding beneath the surface.
After a moment, he gave a small nod.
"Understood."
He turned, his expression calm… almost too calm.
"Don't worry," he added without looking back. "We will definitely find the culprit."
But there was something cold in his voice.
Detached.
Like he already knew this wasn't something ordinary.
High above the hospital—
The wind howled softly.
Paksha Tamas hovered in the dark sky, his massive black wings barely moving as he observed the building below. His glowing red eyes fixed on one particular room.
Vikram.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—he turned.
With a powerful beat of his wings, he shot across the sky and landed silently on top of an empty building nearby. Dust scattered beneath his claws as he touched down.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
The call connected instantly.
A calm, commanding voice spoke from the other side.
"So… what's the report? Is Vikram safe?"
Paksha exhaled slowly.
"Yes. He's alive."
A pause.
"But King…" his tone hardened slightly, "…he's strong."
He looked down at his own blood-stained feathers.
"Only you and I can take him on. And even then… it won't be easy."
Silence.
Then—
"We need to tell Onna and Nayan to retreat if they encounter him," Paksha continued. "Engaging him right now would be a mistake."
On the other end, the leader spoke again—steady, decisive.
"So the board is set."
A brief pause.
"We can finally make our move."
Paksha's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I will gather Nayan and Onna at the base," the voice continued. "Midnight. Two a.m."
Click.
The call ended.
Paksha lowered the phone slowly, staring into the distance.
The wind picked up again, rustling his feathers.
"…It's starting," he muttered.
Then he spread his wings—
And vanished into the night sky.
The pieces were moving.
Slowly.
Silently.
But inevitably.
Across cities… across countries…
New players were stepping onto the board.
One of them—
Was walking through the quiet streets of Japan.
Midnight.
A lonely streetlamp flickered on a deserted road.
The faint hum of electricity buzzed in the silence.
A drunk man staggered forward, his steps uneven, his breath heavy with alcohol. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and squinted ahead—
Then stopped.
Under the dim yellow light—
A girl stood.
Still.
Unmoving.
Her pale skin seemed to glow softly under the streetlamp. She wore a simple pink dress that swayed gently with the night breeze. Her long dark hair flowed behind her like waves, and her eyes…
Warm.
Inviting.
Almost hypnotic.
For a moment—
Everything felt still.
The man swallowed.
Then, slowly, he began walking toward her.
She didn't move.
Didn't blink.
As he got closer, she lifted a finger and gently placed it against his lips.
"Am I pretty?" she whispered, her voice soft… almost brushing against his skin.
The man's breath hitched.
His eyes roamed over her, desire clouding whatever little sense he had left.
"Yes…" he muttered quickly. "You are…"
A small smile formed on her lips.
She stepped closer—pressing him back against the wall.
"More beautiful than your wife?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
The man hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek—soft, warm.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "Your wife isn't here."
That was enough.
He nodded eagerly.
"Yes… you're beautiful…"
His breathing turned heavy.
Unsteady.
She slowly moved her hands—
"Can I?" she asked gently.
The man didn't even think.
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down forcefully, closing his eyes as anticipation took over his face.
At first—
There was pleasure.
A satisfied grin.
A low exhale.
But then—
Something changed.
His expression twisted.
His body tensed.
Pain.
Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.
His eyes snapped open.
"W-What—?!"
He shoved her back violently.
Blood splattered onto the ground.
His breath hitched in terror as he looked at her—
And froze.
Her face—
Was no longer normal.
Deep cuts stretched across both sides of her mouth, splitting it unnaturally wide. Rows of sharp, jagged teeth glistened in the dim light.
Her smile—
Was monstrous.
The man stumbled back, falling to the ground.
"Help! Help me—someone—!"
He tried to crawl away—
But she was already on top of him.
Her hands pinned him down effortlessly.
Before he could even scream again—
She bit down.
His body jerked violently.
His fingers scraped against the concrete, nails breaking as he tried to pull himself away.
His legs kicked.
His throat choked.
Then—
Nothing.
Silence returned to the empty street.
She sat there for a moment… finishing her meal.
Then slowly stood up.
Her face returned to normal.
Calm.
Beautiful.
Untouched.
She licked her fingers casually.
"Thanks for the meal… molester."
She wiped a small stain from her cheek and turned to leave—
But her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
"Leader."
She answered immediately.
"Yes?"
A single sentence came from the other side.
"Onna, come back to India."
Click.
The call ended.
For a second—
She stood still.
Then—
Her eyes lit up.
"Yeah! Finally going back home!"
Her entire mood shifted instantly.
She spun around happily, almost skipping.
"Now I can be together with everyone again! Hooray!"
With a bright, excited smile—
Onna ran down the empty street, disappearing into the night.