15-09-2025, 03:28 PM
CHAPTER 23
ABOUT 15 MINUTES LATER
The crowd around Karan had grown, murmuring but doing nothing. The boy’s tiny frame shook with sobs as he tried to stand, his cheek swollen red, his knee bleeding. Suddenly, a sleek black car slowed down near the commotion. The door flung open and out stepped Vikram Bajaj, sharp in his evening suit, his presence commanding immediate attention. His eyes widened as he saw the battered child.
"Karan? My God… what happened to you?" he exclaimed, rushing forward.
Karan blinked through tears, his voice breaking.
"Dance Uncle… they took Mumma… they took her!"
Vikram’s heart clenched. He knelt, brushing dust from the boy’s face, his voice trembling despite his composed exterior.
"Who took her? Tell me, Karan"
The child sniffled, clutching Vikram’s sleeve with desperation.
"Bad men… they hit Mumma… they threw me away… they put her in a big car and drove fast!"
His small words cracked under the weight of terror. Pedestrians exchanged uneasy glances but none dared confirm. Vikram’s jaw tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.
"Bastards…" he muttered under his breath.
But Karan staggered again, wincing as his wounds bled. Vikram immediately scooped him into his arms.
"Shh, it’s okay… I’ve got you. We’ll get her back, I promise. But first, we need to take care of you"
Karan weakly protested, his little fists against Vikram’s chest.
"No! Mumma’s gone! We have to find her!"
Vikram’s tone hardened, though still gentle.
"You can’t fight for her if you’re broken, kiddo. Trust me—let me help you"
Without waiting, he carried Karan swiftly to his car, the boy sobbing into his shirt. Minutes later, Vikram rushed through the doors of Sanjeevani Hospital with the boy in his arms. Doctors immediately took Karan in, placing him on a stretcher, nurses swarming to clean his cuts and check for internal injuries. Vikram paced outside the room, running a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with unease. His phone buzzed with business calls, but he silenced them all. His mind was consumed by one image—Sonarika being dragged away, screaming for help.
"Soni… where could you be?" he whispered to himself, anger mixing with fear.
As the doctor emerged, assuring him Karan was stable but traumatized, Vikram finally sat down, his face buried in his hands. The weight of the situation pressed down—Sonarika was out there, captive, in danger, and he couldn’t waste another moment. He looked at his phone, hesitation flickering. Then, with a long breath, he dialed a number he never thought he would: Hemant’s. The screen lit up with her husband’s name, the man she had betrayed. As the call rang, Vikram muttered grimly.
"He should know......after all.....she is Karan's mother"
AT YOD INDUSTRIES
At the edge of Mumbai’s abandoned port, the headquarters of YOD Industries rose like a fortress of steel and glass, a stark contrast to the crumbling warehouses around it. Inside his office on the top floor, Hemant sat at a desk littered with blueprints for the new BTR prototype and reports from ANVIL. A half-finished cup of black coffee sat beside a closed folder marked Classified. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the window — not the rising industrialist everyone saw, but a man still haunted by betrayal. When his phone buzzed, flashing Vikram Bajaj, his first instinct was disgust. He let it ring, his jaw tight, before finally swiping to answer.
"Why are you calling me Vikram?"
Hemant’s voice was low, edged with venom. On the other end, Vikram’s reply was urgent, stripped of its usual arrogance.
"Hemant… it’s Sonarika. She’s been kidnapped" Hemant’s hand froze midair.
"Say that again" he growled. Vikram pressed on, voice cracking.
"Some goons dragged her away in the market. Karan tried to stop them—he’s hurt. I brought him to Sanjeevani Hospital. He needs you"
For a long moment, all Hemant could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat. Then came the fury. Hemant’s eyes narrowed, rage burning behind them. He slammed the folder shut and grabbed his keys, muttering under his breath.
'Dilawar… Rafeeque… you bastards'
The buried predator inside him stirred, the shadow of Michael King clawing back toward the surface. In the dim underground parking bay, two beasts waited for him — the custom dark green Thar Off Road and his daily companion, the silver Mahindra BE 6E. He chose the silver one without hesitation, its engine roaring to life as he slid behind the wheel. No chauffeur, no guards. Just him and the storm brewing in his chest.
The Mahindra shot out of the port and into Mumbai’s clogged arteries of traffic. Hemant’s hands gripped the wheel like iron, weaving through rickshaws and taxis with precision born of another life. Memories of Sonarika’s laughter clashed with the cold betrayal of her confession, but the thought of her being brutalized by goons cut through the bitterness. His mind went to Karan — his son, his blood — lying hurt and alone in a hospital bed.
"Hold on, champ" he whispered, eyes fixed on the road.
"Papa’s coming"
By the time he pulled into the Sanjeevani Hospital lot, the silver SUV screeched to a halt, its headlights blazing. Hemant stepped out, his figure sharp in the harsh glow, his face carved into grim stone. Inside, the antiseptic air couldn’t mask the scent of fear. Down the corridor, Vikram stood outside a ward, his expression tense. Their eyes locked — bound now by one woman. Neither spoke. Then, from behind the door, a faint, broken word reached Hemant’s ears:
"Papa…"
His chest tightened. Without another glance at Vikram, he pushed past him, striding toward his son.
The door to the ward slid open, and Hemant stepped in. Karan looked up from his hospital bed, his face bruised and his arms wrapped in fresh bandages. The moment his eyes met his father’s, the boy broke down.
"Papa!" he cried, reaching out.
Hemant rushed forward, gathering him into his arms, kissing his temple, holding him tight against his chest.
"I’m here, champ. Papa’s here" he whispered, his voice cracking despite his usual iron control. Karan sobbed against him, guilt spilling out.
"They took Mumma… I couldn’t stop them… they threw me away"
Hemant shook his head firmly.
"You were brave, Karan. Braver than most men I’ve known. Don’t ever blame yourself"
After a long silence, Hemant gently pulled back and asked,
"Champ? Did you see their car? Anything you remember?" Karan wiped his nose, struggling to recall.
"It was green… an old Tata Sumo. Like in Singham… when it blows up. That one, Papa"
Hemant’s eyes narrowed instantly, the detail lodging like a knife in his brain. A green Tata Sumo. Rare. Distinctive. He knew exactly what that meant. He squeezed his son’s hand and whispered.
"Good boy. You’ve given me enough. Mumma will be okay , Papa will bring her to you ok?"
The door opened again, and Vikram entered cautiously. Hemant shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. Vikram ignored it.
"Hemant, any idea on who it might be? Each time passed is trouble for Soni....I mean Sonarika."
Hemant stood, his voice cold and heavy.
"It's definitely Dilawar. Him and his brother Rafeeque. They’ve been circling for months, their filthy eyes were on Sonarika… and on Anjali too. I kept them in check, but tonight they struck"
The words hung in the room like poison. Vikram’s face twisted, rage flooding him.
"Then they’re dead men walking" he hissed, turning sharply.
"Tonight is their last night alive"
Without another word, he stormed out of the ward, his footsteps echoing like thunder. Hemant didn’t try to stop him. His mind was already racing. If Dilawar and Rafeeque had taken Sonarika, Anjali was surely next. He pulled out his phone, his voice taut with urgency when she answered.
"Anjali, don’t leave your institute. Stay inside until my men reach you"
Confusion and fear crackled on the other end.
“Bhaiya… why? What happened"
"I’ll explain everything when you’re here" Hemant cut in, firm but protective.
"For now, just listen to me"
Ten minutes later, a black SUV bearing the YOD insignia rolled up outside the institute gates. The door opened to reveal Raquel Ali Muhammad, tall, broad-shouldered, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow.
"Miss Anjali" he said calmly.
"Your brother sent me"
She hesitated only a moment before stepping inside. As the car pulled away, Raquel glanced at her in the mirror, his expression unreadable. Unlike anyone else, Raquel knew who Hemant really was. He knew the name whispered across continents, feared by underworld empires — Michael King. And as the hospital drew closer, Raquel silently wondered if his old master was about to rise again.
The door burst open, and Anjali rushed in with Raquel behind her. The sight of Karan’s bandaged body broke her instantly.
"Karan!" she cried, running to his side and cradling him gently.
Her voice shook as her eyes turned to Hemant.
"Bhaiya… what happened? Where’s Didi?"
"She has been kidnapped Anju"
She gasped, tears streaming down.
"No… no, not her. WE NEED TO FIND HER , SHE IS IN TROUBLE!"
The anguish in her voice cracked like glass, the grief spilling over into anger. Karan flinched at her raised tone, shrinking back against his pillows. Hemant’s hand shot up, firm yet steady.
"Anjali. Stop"
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of command. She froze, breathing ragged, and looked down at Karan, who was clutching the sheets, frightened. The realization hit her like a blade. Softening immediately, she pulled the boy close, kissing his hair.
"I’m sorry, champ. I didn’t mean to scare you" She rocked him gently, whispering.
"We’ll be okay. Mumma will be okay. Papa will bring her back"
Her eyes lifted toward Hemant, shimmering with desperation.
"Bhaiya Please… save her, Bhaiya"
Hemant crouched beside Karan and looked him square in the eyes.
"Remember London?" he asked quietly. Karan blinked, confused, then nodded slowly.
"When those bad men attacked… I told you to count" Hemant nodded.
"And while you counted, Papa went out and made sure everything was safe"
The boy’s lips quivered.
"Will I have to count again?" Hemant shook his head and cupped his face.
"Not this time. This time, you’ll stay here with Anju Didi. No counting. Just wait. I’ll bring your Mumma back. That’s my promise to you"
He rose, turning toward Anjali.
"Nothing will happen to her. Trust me"
His voice was iron, unshakable, leaving no room for doubt. Anjali’s eyes brimmed with tears but she managed a nod, holding Karan close as if her grip could shield him. Hemant gave them one last look — father, uncle, protector — then turned on his heel. The corridor stretched ahead of him, long and dim, the air thick with tension.
As he walked, his fingers brushed against the two rings on his hand — the Archangel ring, symbol of the feared Michael King, and beside it, the Garuda ring Anjali had once given him. Two lives, two identities, merging again. With each step, the old fire stirred in his blood. By the time he pushed open the hospital doors, the wind outside had shifted, cool and heavy. The streetlights flickered against a sky churning with dark clouds. Across the city, weather broadcasts crackled with warnings of a sudden storm forming over Mumbai. To Hemant, it wasn’t just weather. It was a sign — the storm inside him was waking.
Hemant sat inside the silver Mahindra parked outside the hospital, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. He pulled out a secure phone and dialed a number.
"Kamya"
A woman’s brisk voice answered instantly, the faint clatter of a keyboard in the background. "Sir?"
Hemant didn’t waste time.
"Use the Mazgaon Dock device. I want every CCTV within range pulled. Look for a green Tata Sumo that passed the highway in the last two hours"
There was a short pause before Kamya replied.
"On it. I’ll have Vaibhav assist"
The line filled with rapid keystrokes, encrypted channels cracking open one by one.Minutes later, Kamya’s voice came alive with urgency.
"Sir, I’ve got a stream. Zooming in now… yes. Green Tata Sumo. Old model. It crossed the Darukhana signal heading northeast"
Hemant’s eyes narrowed.
"Darukhana… that direction leads toward the colony" His gut tightened; he already knew.
"Note the plate number" he ordered.
Kamya read it off quickly, and Hemant immediately relayed it to Raquel. His lieutenant’s voice was steady.
"Few minutes, Bhaijaan"
By the time Hemant reached the gates of his factory, Raquel was calling back.
"I checked. Vehicle’s stolen, yes… but I traced it. It’s being run by street rats tied to Rafique and Dilawar. No doubt about it. They have her"
Hemant’s grip tightened around the phone until his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked, confirming what he already knew in his bones. He stepped into the shadows of his facility, already planning the conflict ahead.
AT DILAWAR'S COLONY
Meanwhile, in the heart of Darukhana, Sonarika was dragged through narrow alleys into Dilawar’s colony, her wrists bruised from struggling against the goons’ grip. The residents turned away, some whispering, others smirking, none daring to help. Her sandals scbangd against broken concrete as she screamed.
"Let me go! Somebody help me!"
They shoved her through the gates of a large bungalow in the middle of the colony, its gaudy lights mocking her terror. The air inside Dilawar’s bungalow reeked of smoke, sweat, and cheap perfume. The walls were gaudy with red velvet dbangs and golden mirrors, a grotesque attempt at grandeur. But what froze Sonarika’s heart was the room they dragged her into — a bedroom decorated like a grotesque wedding chamber. The bed was littered with rose petals, incense burned in the corners, and garlands of marigold hung like chains.
She struggled against the men who shoved her inside, her wrists aching from the grip of their calloused hands. Her knees scbangd against the floor as she fell, but she pushed back, spitting through tears.
"Let me go! You bastards!"
A backhand across her face silenced her, the copper taste of blood filling her mouth. She clutched her cheek, her eyes darting like a trapped animal’s, searching for escape. The goons only laughed. One of them leaned close, his breath sour, whispering,
"Don’t waste your strength, memsaab. This is your new life now. Dilawar bhai wants you, and when he comes tonight… you will be his begum. The queen of this colony"
Another added, snickering.
"You’ll never leave this room again. This bed will be your throne"
Sonarika’s body trembled, not from their words but from the memory etched into her soul. She could still see Karan — his little legs pounding the road, his voice hoarse as he screamed for her, his small hands reaching out as the green Sumo dragged her away. The image cut deeper than any wound. She curled against the wall, clutching herself, whispering brokenly.
"Karan… my baby, I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect you"
Her tears blurred the garish decorations into a smear of red and gold, but she could still hear the guards’ crude jokes outside the door. Each word a nail hammering the coffin of her hope.
"Dilawar bhai will enjoy breaking her" one sneered.
"After tonight, she’ll forget her old life"
Sonarika buried her face in her hands, her mind spinning between terror and despair. She thought of Hemant — the cold distance in his eyes after her confession, the love she had shattered. And yet, somewhere in the pit of her heart, she wished he would come. That somehow, against everything, he would walk through that door and tear this nightmare apart.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the barred window for a split second. Sonarika lifted her head, trembling, her tears mixing with blood. She whispered into the silence, a prayer or a plea — she didn’t know.
"God… someone, please… don’t let him take me"
And outside, the storm grew louder, as though answering her.
AT YOD INDUSTRIES
Hemant entered his private chamber at the factory, its walls lined with prototypes and weapons sealed behind glass. He approached a panel on the far side, fingers brushing the edge of a concealed sliding door. Just as he was about to open it, his phone buzzed. He frowned when the name lit up the screen — Tamanna. Her voice came through immediately, cracked with fear.
"Hemant… Shraddha isn’t home yet"
Hemant froze.
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.
Tamanna’s sobs spilled over the line.
"Her coaching teacher said she left long ago… the institute said the same. No one knows where she is!"
Hemant’s grip on the phone tightened.
"Tammu, listen to me. Breathe. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t panic"
The silver Mahindra BE 6E roared down the road, and soon Hemant stood at Tamanna’s doorstep. She was a wreck, pacing, her eyes swollen red. The moment she saw him, she collapsed against his chest, crying. He wrapped his arms around her, steadying her trembling body.
"We’ll find her" he whispered, firm but gentle.
"Right now, we go to law enforcement. It’s the only way to move fast"
She nodded through her tears, clinging to him like a lifeline. Together they drove through the night until the towering gates of the Mumbai Law Enforcement HQ loomed over them. Inside, Hemant guided her through sterile corridors until they reached the office of Sanjana — sharp, commanding, with fire in her eyes — looked up, surprise flashing briefly when she saw Hemant. Old wounds lingered unspoken between them.
"What’s happened?" she asked.
Hemant wasted no words, explaining Shraddha’s disappearance. Sanjana led them into the surveillance control room, screens glowing with the pulse of Mumbai’s streets.
"We’ll find out"
She said, nodding to her officers. The cameras around Shraddha’s institute rewound to evening. The footage showed Shraddha stepping out, backpack on, walking alone. Then, suddenly, a black Omni van pulled up beside her. A side door slid open, rough hands yanked her in, and the van sped away. Tamanna collapsed into tears, her scream filling the control room. Sanjana held her, steady and firm.
"We’ll find her. I swear she’ll come back safe"
Officers scrambled to log the van’s number, radios crackling as alerts went out across the city. Hemant stood silently, memorizing the digits, his jaw set like stone. Guilt gnawed at him — he had turned his back on Michael King, but his past hadn’t turned its back on him. Everyone around him was now prey.
As they exited HQ, Sanjana caught his arm.
"Where are you going, Hemant?" He looked at her with the weight of truth.
"Sonarika’s been kidnapped. Karan is in Sanjeevani Hospital. I can’t waste time"
Tamanna, stunned, gripped his hand.
"Even now… you came for me? For Shraddha?"
Her tears flowed anew. Hemant pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"I promise you, Shraddha will be safe. She’ll come back to you"
He walked away, leaving her crumpled in Sanjana’s arms.
Somewhere in an abandoned factory yard, Shraddha was shoved into a container filled with terrified girls and women. The air was foul, heavy with despair. She pounded on the metal walls, crying out.
"Mummy! Help me!"
But only the weak voices of the others answered, echoing her terror in the dark.
As Hemant stepped out of Law Enforcement HQ, the sky above Mumbai rumbled. Dark clouds gathered, lightning splitting the heavens. He glanced down at his hand — the Archangel ring glinted alongside the Garuda ring. He shut his eyes and saw it: himself as Michael King, sword dripping with blood in a warehouse in Azerbaijan, enemies screaming as they fell. When he opened them, he no longer resisted. Michael was a part of him. He clenched his fist, lightning cascading above as though answering his resolve.
Far across the city, at a temple, the poojari who had given Anjali the Garuda ring looked skyward. Lightning twisted into the shape of a massive eagle, wings stretched across the horizon. Another priest gasped.
"Is this a storm?"
The poojari’s voice was grave, almost reverent.
"No. This is not a storm… it is a warhorn. The battle has begun"
And across the seas in London, chaos erupted as an unnatural storm struck Causeway. Inside St. Michael’s Church, Father Dominic stared at the glowing statue of the Archangel. His lips trembled as he whispered.
"He’s back"
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
The crowd around Karan had grown, murmuring but doing nothing. The boy’s tiny frame shook with sobs as he tried to stand, his cheek swollen red, his knee bleeding. Suddenly, a sleek black car slowed down near the commotion. The door flung open and out stepped Vikram Bajaj, sharp in his evening suit, his presence commanding immediate attention. His eyes widened as he saw the battered child.
"Karan? My God… what happened to you?" he exclaimed, rushing forward.
Karan blinked through tears, his voice breaking.
"Dance Uncle… they took Mumma… they took her!"
Vikram’s heart clenched. He knelt, brushing dust from the boy’s face, his voice trembling despite his composed exterior.
"Who took her? Tell me, Karan"
The child sniffled, clutching Vikram’s sleeve with desperation.
"Bad men… they hit Mumma… they threw me away… they put her in a big car and drove fast!"
His small words cracked under the weight of terror. Pedestrians exchanged uneasy glances but none dared confirm. Vikram’s jaw tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.
"Bastards…" he muttered under his breath.
But Karan staggered again, wincing as his wounds bled. Vikram immediately scooped him into his arms.
"Shh, it’s okay… I’ve got you. We’ll get her back, I promise. But first, we need to take care of you"
Karan weakly protested, his little fists against Vikram’s chest.
"No! Mumma’s gone! We have to find her!"
Vikram’s tone hardened, though still gentle.
"You can’t fight for her if you’re broken, kiddo. Trust me—let me help you"
Without waiting, he carried Karan swiftly to his car, the boy sobbing into his shirt. Minutes later, Vikram rushed through the doors of Sanjeevani Hospital with the boy in his arms. Doctors immediately took Karan in, placing him on a stretcher, nurses swarming to clean his cuts and check for internal injuries. Vikram paced outside the room, running a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with unease. His phone buzzed with business calls, but he silenced them all. His mind was consumed by one image—Sonarika being dragged away, screaming for help.
"Soni… where could you be?" he whispered to himself, anger mixing with fear.
As the doctor emerged, assuring him Karan was stable but traumatized, Vikram finally sat down, his face buried in his hands. The weight of the situation pressed down—Sonarika was out there, captive, in danger, and he couldn’t waste another moment. He looked at his phone, hesitation flickering. Then, with a long breath, he dialed a number he never thought he would: Hemant’s. The screen lit up with her husband’s name, the man she had betrayed. As the call rang, Vikram muttered grimly.
"He should know......after all.....she is Karan's mother"
AT YOD INDUSTRIES
At the edge of Mumbai’s abandoned port, the headquarters of YOD Industries rose like a fortress of steel and glass, a stark contrast to the crumbling warehouses around it. Inside his office on the top floor, Hemant sat at a desk littered with blueprints for the new BTR prototype and reports from ANVIL. A half-finished cup of black coffee sat beside a closed folder marked Classified. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the window — not the rising industrialist everyone saw, but a man still haunted by betrayal. When his phone buzzed, flashing Vikram Bajaj, his first instinct was disgust. He let it ring, his jaw tight, before finally swiping to answer.
"Why are you calling me Vikram?"
Hemant’s voice was low, edged with venom. On the other end, Vikram’s reply was urgent, stripped of its usual arrogance.
"Hemant… it’s Sonarika. She’s been kidnapped" Hemant’s hand froze midair.
"Say that again" he growled. Vikram pressed on, voice cracking.
"Some goons dragged her away in the market. Karan tried to stop them—he’s hurt. I brought him to Sanjeevani Hospital. He needs you"
For a long moment, all Hemant could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat. Then came the fury. Hemant’s eyes narrowed, rage burning behind them. He slammed the folder shut and grabbed his keys, muttering under his breath.
'Dilawar… Rafeeque… you bastards'
The buried predator inside him stirred, the shadow of Michael King clawing back toward the surface. In the dim underground parking bay, two beasts waited for him — the custom dark green Thar Off Road and his daily companion, the silver Mahindra BE 6E. He chose the silver one without hesitation, its engine roaring to life as he slid behind the wheel. No chauffeur, no guards. Just him and the storm brewing in his chest.
The Mahindra shot out of the port and into Mumbai’s clogged arteries of traffic. Hemant’s hands gripped the wheel like iron, weaving through rickshaws and taxis with precision born of another life. Memories of Sonarika’s laughter clashed with the cold betrayal of her confession, but the thought of her being brutalized by goons cut through the bitterness. His mind went to Karan — his son, his blood — lying hurt and alone in a hospital bed.
"Hold on, champ" he whispered, eyes fixed on the road.
"Papa’s coming"
By the time he pulled into the Sanjeevani Hospital lot, the silver SUV screeched to a halt, its headlights blazing. Hemant stepped out, his figure sharp in the harsh glow, his face carved into grim stone. Inside, the antiseptic air couldn’t mask the scent of fear. Down the corridor, Vikram stood outside a ward, his expression tense. Their eyes locked — bound now by one woman. Neither spoke. Then, from behind the door, a faint, broken word reached Hemant’s ears:
"Papa…"
His chest tightened. Without another glance at Vikram, he pushed past him, striding toward his son.
The door to the ward slid open, and Hemant stepped in. Karan looked up from his hospital bed, his face bruised and his arms wrapped in fresh bandages. The moment his eyes met his father’s, the boy broke down.
"Papa!" he cried, reaching out.
Hemant rushed forward, gathering him into his arms, kissing his temple, holding him tight against his chest.
"I’m here, champ. Papa’s here" he whispered, his voice cracking despite his usual iron control. Karan sobbed against him, guilt spilling out.
"They took Mumma… I couldn’t stop them… they threw me away"
Hemant shook his head firmly.
"You were brave, Karan. Braver than most men I’ve known. Don’t ever blame yourself"
After a long silence, Hemant gently pulled back and asked,
"Champ? Did you see their car? Anything you remember?" Karan wiped his nose, struggling to recall.
"It was green… an old Tata Sumo. Like in Singham… when it blows up. That one, Papa"
Hemant’s eyes narrowed instantly, the detail lodging like a knife in his brain. A green Tata Sumo. Rare. Distinctive. He knew exactly what that meant. He squeezed his son’s hand and whispered.
"Good boy. You’ve given me enough. Mumma will be okay , Papa will bring her to you ok?"
The door opened again, and Vikram entered cautiously. Hemant shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. Vikram ignored it.
"Hemant, any idea on who it might be? Each time passed is trouble for Soni....I mean Sonarika."
Hemant stood, his voice cold and heavy.
"It's definitely Dilawar. Him and his brother Rafeeque. They’ve been circling for months, their filthy eyes were on Sonarika… and on Anjali too. I kept them in check, but tonight they struck"
The words hung in the room like poison. Vikram’s face twisted, rage flooding him.
"Then they’re dead men walking" he hissed, turning sharply.
"Tonight is their last night alive"
Without another word, he stormed out of the ward, his footsteps echoing like thunder. Hemant didn’t try to stop him. His mind was already racing. If Dilawar and Rafeeque had taken Sonarika, Anjali was surely next. He pulled out his phone, his voice taut with urgency when she answered.
"Anjali, don’t leave your institute. Stay inside until my men reach you"
Confusion and fear crackled on the other end.
“Bhaiya… why? What happened"
"I’ll explain everything when you’re here" Hemant cut in, firm but protective.
"For now, just listen to me"
Ten minutes later, a black SUV bearing the YOD insignia rolled up outside the institute gates. The door opened to reveal Raquel Ali Muhammad, tall, broad-shouldered, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow.
"Miss Anjali" he said calmly.
"Your brother sent me"
She hesitated only a moment before stepping inside. As the car pulled away, Raquel glanced at her in the mirror, his expression unreadable. Unlike anyone else, Raquel knew who Hemant really was. He knew the name whispered across continents, feared by underworld empires — Michael King. And as the hospital drew closer, Raquel silently wondered if his old master was about to rise again.
The door burst open, and Anjali rushed in with Raquel behind her. The sight of Karan’s bandaged body broke her instantly.
"Karan!" she cried, running to his side and cradling him gently.
Her voice shook as her eyes turned to Hemant.
"Bhaiya… what happened? Where’s Didi?"
"She has been kidnapped Anju"
She gasped, tears streaming down.
"No… no, not her. WE NEED TO FIND HER , SHE IS IN TROUBLE!"
The anguish in her voice cracked like glass, the grief spilling over into anger. Karan flinched at her raised tone, shrinking back against his pillows. Hemant’s hand shot up, firm yet steady.
"Anjali. Stop"
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of command. She froze, breathing ragged, and looked down at Karan, who was clutching the sheets, frightened. The realization hit her like a blade. Softening immediately, she pulled the boy close, kissing his hair.
"I’m sorry, champ. I didn’t mean to scare you" She rocked him gently, whispering.
"We’ll be okay. Mumma will be okay. Papa will bring her back"
Her eyes lifted toward Hemant, shimmering with desperation.
"Bhaiya Please… save her, Bhaiya"
Hemant crouched beside Karan and looked him square in the eyes.
"Remember London?" he asked quietly. Karan blinked, confused, then nodded slowly.
"When those bad men attacked… I told you to count" Hemant nodded.
"And while you counted, Papa went out and made sure everything was safe"
The boy’s lips quivered.
"Will I have to count again?" Hemant shook his head and cupped his face.
"Not this time. This time, you’ll stay here with Anju Didi. No counting. Just wait. I’ll bring your Mumma back. That’s my promise to you"
He rose, turning toward Anjali.
"Nothing will happen to her. Trust me"
His voice was iron, unshakable, leaving no room for doubt. Anjali’s eyes brimmed with tears but she managed a nod, holding Karan close as if her grip could shield him. Hemant gave them one last look — father, uncle, protector — then turned on his heel. The corridor stretched ahead of him, long and dim, the air thick with tension.
As he walked, his fingers brushed against the two rings on his hand — the Archangel ring, symbol of the feared Michael King, and beside it, the Garuda ring Anjali had once given him. Two lives, two identities, merging again. With each step, the old fire stirred in his blood. By the time he pushed open the hospital doors, the wind outside had shifted, cool and heavy. The streetlights flickered against a sky churning with dark clouds. Across the city, weather broadcasts crackled with warnings of a sudden storm forming over Mumbai. To Hemant, it wasn’t just weather. It was a sign — the storm inside him was waking.
Hemant sat inside the silver Mahindra parked outside the hospital, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. He pulled out a secure phone and dialed a number.
"Kamya"
A woman’s brisk voice answered instantly, the faint clatter of a keyboard in the background. "Sir?"
Hemant didn’t waste time.
"Use the Mazgaon Dock device. I want every CCTV within range pulled. Look for a green Tata Sumo that passed the highway in the last two hours"
There was a short pause before Kamya replied.
"On it. I’ll have Vaibhav assist"
The line filled with rapid keystrokes, encrypted channels cracking open one by one.Minutes later, Kamya’s voice came alive with urgency.
"Sir, I’ve got a stream. Zooming in now… yes. Green Tata Sumo. Old model. It crossed the Darukhana signal heading northeast"
Hemant’s eyes narrowed.
"Darukhana… that direction leads toward the colony" His gut tightened; he already knew.
"Note the plate number" he ordered.
Kamya read it off quickly, and Hemant immediately relayed it to Raquel. His lieutenant’s voice was steady.
"Few minutes, Bhaijaan"
By the time Hemant reached the gates of his factory, Raquel was calling back.
"I checked. Vehicle’s stolen, yes… but I traced it. It’s being run by street rats tied to Rafique and Dilawar. No doubt about it. They have her"
Hemant’s grip tightened around the phone until his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked, confirming what he already knew in his bones. He stepped into the shadows of his facility, already planning the conflict ahead.
AT DILAWAR'S COLONY
Meanwhile, in the heart of Darukhana, Sonarika was dragged through narrow alleys into Dilawar’s colony, her wrists bruised from struggling against the goons’ grip. The residents turned away, some whispering, others smirking, none daring to help. Her sandals scbangd against broken concrete as she screamed.
"Let me go! Somebody help me!"
They shoved her through the gates of a large bungalow in the middle of the colony, its gaudy lights mocking her terror. The air inside Dilawar’s bungalow reeked of smoke, sweat, and cheap perfume. The walls were gaudy with red velvet dbangs and golden mirrors, a grotesque attempt at grandeur. But what froze Sonarika’s heart was the room they dragged her into — a bedroom decorated like a grotesque wedding chamber. The bed was littered with rose petals, incense burned in the corners, and garlands of marigold hung like chains.
She struggled against the men who shoved her inside, her wrists aching from the grip of their calloused hands. Her knees scbangd against the floor as she fell, but she pushed back, spitting through tears.
"Let me go! You bastards!"
A backhand across her face silenced her, the copper taste of blood filling her mouth. She clutched her cheek, her eyes darting like a trapped animal’s, searching for escape. The goons only laughed. One of them leaned close, his breath sour, whispering,
"Don’t waste your strength, memsaab. This is your new life now. Dilawar bhai wants you, and when he comes tonight… you will be his begum. The queen of this colony"
Another added, snickering.
"You’ll never leave this room again. This bed will be your throne"
Sonarika’s body trembled, not from their words but from the memory etched into her soul. She could still see Karan — his little legs pounding the road, his voice hoarse as he screamed for her, his small hands reaching out as the green Sumo dragged her away. The image cut deeper than any wound. She curled against the wall, clutching herself, whispering brokenly.
"Karan… my baby, I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect you"
Her tears blurred the garish decorations into a smear of red and gold, but she could still hear the guards’ crude jokes outside the door. Each word a nail hammering the coffin of her hope.
"Dilawar bhai will enjoy breaking her" one sneered.
"After tonight, she’ll forget her old life"
Sonarika buried her face in her hands, her mind spinning between terror and despair. She thought of Hemant — the cold distance in his eyes after her confession, the love she had shattered. And yet, somewhere in the pit of her heart, she wished he would come. That somehow, against everything, he would walk through that door and tear this nightmare apart.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the barred window for a split second. Sonarika lifted her head, trembling, her tears mixing with blood. She whispered into the silence, a prayer or a plea — she didn’t know.
"God… someone, please… don’t let him take me"
And outside, the storm grew louder, as though answering her.
AT YOD INDUSTRIES
Hemant entered his private chamber at the factory, its walls lined with prototypes and weapons sealed behind glass. He approached a panel on the far side, fingers brushing the edge of a concealed sliding door. Just as he was about to open it, his phone buzzed. He frowned when the name lit up the screen — Tamanna. Her voice came through immediately, cracked with fear.
"Hemant… Shraddha isn’t home yet"
Hemant froze.
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.
Tamanna’s sobs spilled over the line.
"Her coaching teacher said she left long ago… the institute said the same. No one knows where she is!"
Hemant’s grip on the phone tightened.
"Tammu, listen to me. Breathe. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t panic"
The silver Mahindra BE 6E roared down the road, and soon Hemant stood at Tamanna’s doorstep. She was a wreck, pacing, her eyes swollen red. The moment she saw him, she collapsed against his chest, crying. He wrapped his arms around her, steadying her trembling body.
"We’ll find her" he whispered, firm but gentle.
"Right now, we go to law enforcement. It’s the only way to move fast"
She nodded through her tears, clinging to him like a lifeline. Together they drove through the night until the towering gates of the Mumbai Law Enforcement HQ loomed over them. Inside, Hemant guided her through sterile corridors until they reached the office of Sanjana — sharp, commanding, with fire in her eyes — looked up, surprise flashing briefly when she saw Hemant. Old wounds lingered unspoken between them.
"What’s happened?" she asked.
Hemant wasted no words, explaining Shraddha’s disappearance. Sanjana led them into the surveillance control room, screens glowing with the pulse of Mumbai’s streets.
"We’ll find out"
She said, nodding to her officers. The cameras around Shraddha’s institute rewound to evening. The footage showed Shraddha stepping out, backpack on, walking alone. Then, suddenly, a black Omni van pulled up beside her. A side door slid open, rough hands yanked her in, and the van sped away. Tamanna collapsed into tears, her scream filling the control room. Sanjana held her, steady and firm.
"We’ll find her. I swear she’ll come back safe"
Officers scrambled to log the van’s number, radios crackling as alerts went out across the city. Hemant stood silently, memorizing the digits, his jaw set like stone. Guilt gnawed at him — he had turned his back on Michael King, but his past hadn’t turned its back on him. Everyone around him was now prey.
As they exited HQ, Sanjana caught his arm.
"Where are you going, Hemant?" He looked at her with the weight of truth.
"Sonarika’s been kidnapped. Karan is in Sanjeevani Hospital. I can’t waste time"
Tamanna, stunned, gripped his hand.
"Even now… you came for me? For Shraddha?"
Her tears flowed anew. Hemant pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"I promise you, Shraddha will be safe. She’ll come back to you"
He walked away, leaving her crumpled in Sanjana’s arms.
Somewhere in an abandoned factory yard, Shraddha was shoved into a container filled with terrified girls and women. The air was foul, heavy with despair. She pounded on the metal walls, crying out.
"Mummy! Help me!"
But only the weak voices of the others answered, echoing her terror in the dark.
As Hemant stepped out of Law Enforcement HQ, the sky above Mumbai rumbled. Dark clouds gathered, lightning splitting the heavens. He glanced down at his hand — the Archangel ring glinted alongside the Garuda ring. He shut his eyes and saw it: himself as Michael King, sword dripping with blood in a warehouse in Azerbaijan, enemies screaming as they fell. When he opened them, he no longer resisted. Michael was a part of him. He clenched his fist, lightning cascading above as though answering his resolve.
Far across the city, at a temple, the poojari who had given Anjali the Garuda ring looked skyward. Lightning twisted into the shape of a massive eagle, wings stretched across the horizon. Another priest gasped.
"Is this a storm?"
The poojari’s voice was grave, almost reverent.
"No. This is not a storm… it is a warhorn. The battle has begun"
And across the seas in London, chaos erupted as an unnatural storm struck Causeway. Inside St. Michael’s Church, Father Dominic stared at the glowing statue of the Archangel. His lips trembled as he whispered.
"He’s back"
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
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