15-09-2025, 03:42 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
SOME TIME LATER AT YOD INDUSTRIES
Hemant returned to the factory as thunder cracked over the port, the storm mirroring the storm within him. He moved with purpose through the dimly lit hall until he stood once more inside the chamber he had left earlier. His hand pressed firmly on the concealed panel, and with a hiss of old gears, the wall slid aside, revealing the hidden sanctum he had built in silence.
Rows of weapons glistened under the cold fluorescent lights — pistols with custom grips, rifles he had rebuilt from Mastaan’s old caches, knives balanced for precision. All made from the replenished oldcollege weaponry from the factory’s forgotten basement, leftovers from Mastaan’s anti-smuggling days. Weapons that once moved across the world under the AZRAEL network, funneled through Mumbai’s docks. Hemant had seized them, not to sell, but to reinvent. To turn shadows of crime into instruments of justice.
But beyond the weapons, his eyes fixed on the sealed glass chamber at the far wall. He pressed another switch, and the case slowly rotated forward. Inside stood the legendary sword — The Inquisitor, now placed there like a cosmic weapon. It was heavier, sharper, more resilient. The Blade's reflection glared back at him, its shiny and sharp metal shaped for ending evil. And at the handle of the sword burned the sygil of a crown , a reminder of a path he walked of blood and death , now he was going to walk again , this time more stronger and more focused. Hemant reached out, fingertips brushing the Inquisitor's crown hilt. Tonight — The sword was not just a weapon that represented Michael King — it was a tool of justice to be used by one man with two personna in him , fusing his past and present. Hemant Kumar, the builder, the father. Michael King, the executioner, the avenger. Together, they made something stronger. Not a relic of the past, not a mask of vengeance, but a force reborn to right the wrongs tearing through his life.
A grin crossed his face as thunder rolled overhead. The Inquisitor wasn’t just a sword — it was resolve, a promise etched in steel and gold. The vibration of his phone broke the stillness. Raquel’s voice crackled through when he answered:
"Bhaijaan, I’ve tracked Rafique. He’s at an abandoned factory on the city outskirts — that’s their AZRAEL hub"
Hemant’s eyes narrowed, his hand still pressed against the chestplate.
"Good. I’ll handle it. Be ready for my word"
He ended the call without hesitation.
He looked one last time at his sword, and his grin hardened into grim determination. It was time for the Legend Of Michael King to rise again. Outside, the storm roared, lightning carving the horizon as if the heavens themselves acknowledged his rebirth.
SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE MUMBAI
The abandoned factory stank of rust and oil, the walls echoing with drunken laughter and the clink of bottles. Rafique sat on a broken chair, chewing gutka, his eyes narrowed as he questioned one of his men. Rafique had an old college radio set which was playing an FM station.
"Who were those bastards who delivered Sonarika tonight? I don’t recognize them"
His tone carried suspicion, sharp and cutting. The goon shrugged, spitting on the floor.
"Does it matter, bhai? Whoever they were, they gave Dilawar bhai his prize. Tonight he gets what he’s wanted for so long"
The men around them broke into coarse laughter, raising their drinks, filling the air with arrogance. But their laughter couldn’t drown out the sound from the backyard. In the container that reeked of sweat and rust, Shraddha curled into herself, her cheeks red and swollen from endless crying. She clawed at the steel walls, whispering broken pleas through her sobs.
"Mamma… please… I want to go home"
Her voice faded into the whimpers of the other girls, a chorus of despair too weak to rise above the factory walls. Some girls tried to comfort , while the bickering one stated.
"Let her cry....she must get used to it. No one is coming here for us......this is our fate....forever locked in this box......a slow death......there is no one coming to save us!"
AT DILAWAR'S COLONY
Meanwhile, at the bungalow, Dilawar arrived. His body stretched against his shirt, his gold chains gleaming, and that smug smile twisting his face. He leaned toward one of his men.
"Who brought her to me? Those weren’t my boys" The man shook his head nervously.
"No idea, bhai. They just said she’s yours now" Dilawar chuckled, licking his lips.
"Then let them stay nameless. Tonight, she becomes mine"
He shoved open the bedroom door. Sonarika sat in the corner, her body trembling, her eyes red but burning with anger. When Dilawar stepped closer, she forced the words out through a shaking throat:
"There’s still a restraining order against you. You have no right to be anywhere near me"
Dilawar laughed, low and mocking.
"Then go to the court, beautiful. File another paper. See if that saves you tonight"
When she tried to dart past him, he caught her wrist in a crushing grip, pulling her back. He forced his lips against hers, his kiss violent, tasting of alcohol and smoke. She thrashed, clawing at him, her voice breaking into sobs and fury. He grinned, tightening his grip.
"Feisty… I like that. You’ll scream louder when I take you"
He threw her toward the bed, his shadow falling over her as she struggled to crawl away.
AT THAT ABANDONED FACTORY
The factory stood like a skeletal beast in the storm, its rusted frame groaning against the wind. Inside, Rafique paced with a restless swagger, his men laughing and smoking as if the cries from the locked container were just background music to their filth. Shraddha pressed her little hands against the cold steel walls, her tears mixing with the dirt on her cheeks. Beside her, Nidhi whispered.
"Climb. Up there—there’s a crack. Maybe we can see"
The two girls scrambled up, tiny fingers gripping the edges until they peeked out into the darkness.
Rafique's radio set playing an FM station announcement
'And now on 98.5 , we will have the next hour be the Anirudh special , starting with this amazing track from his south sensational hit film 'Vikram' its , 'Once Upon A Time''
Outside, the storm swelled. Rafique glanced up at the rattling ceiling and growled.
"Where the hell is this storm coming from? Summer’s not even started yet"
One of his goons chuckled darkly.
"Maybe nature knows Dilawar bhai’s gonna have his special night with Sonarika. Even the skies want to celebrate"
Laughter erupted, crude and cruel, bouncing off the factory’s rusting beams. Inside the container, Shraddha buried her face into her knees, the laughter of those men searing her ears. The older girls were broken, silent in their misery, but Shraddha whispered.
"Mamma… please come"
Suddenly, the lights in the factory flickered—then died. A suffocating blackness swallowed the place. The men cursed, fumbling for their torches. Then came the scream. Sharp. Blood-curdling. A man’s cry of agony, cut off by a wet, gurgling sound. Rafique and his men sprinted to the source, their torches casting erratic beams. There on the ground, one of their brothers thrashed, blood pumping from a slit across his throat. He spasmed, then stilled.
"What the—?!"
Another shouted, but before the words finished, another scream ripped through the night from the other side of the hall. The goons rushed again, finding another comrade lying in a pool of blood, eyes wide, body twitching.
"Bastard!" Rafique roared, his voice cracking with fury.
"Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows! Fight me face to face like a man!"
The heavens answered. A lightning bolt struck the trees beyond the factory walls, igniting them in a burning blaze. The thunder’s roar shook the ground, and the fire began to spread, casting hellish light through the windows. Shraddha, peering through the crack, gasped. Through the flames, a silhouette appeared—tall, broad, walking slow. The fire behind him turned him into a shadow demon. The sky split with another crack of lightning. For an instant, the figure’s face was revealed. Her heart leaped.
"Hemant uncle…" she whispered, trembling with relief and awe.
But this was no ordinary Hemant. No quiet family man. No grieving husband. He walked as Michael King—the scourge of underworlds from London to Shanghai—his black coat billowing, the sword Inquisitor gleaming in his hand. Rafique sneered, spitting to the ground.
"Ha! All this build up , for your useless ass? You’re nothing but a failed husband. A loser. A man whose wife will warm my brother’s bed tonight"
His men laughed nervously, hiding their unease. Hemant said nothing. He raised the sword with one hand, its blade catching firelight and lightning, and with the other, he gestured with two fingers:
BRING IT ON
And at that moment , the radio was playing the song that resonated with the events happening here.
'Once Upon A Time
There Lived A Ghost
He Was Known To Be A Killer
And Feared The Most!!'
The first two goons charged, screaming. In a blur, Hemant moved—not striking to kill, not yet. With surgical precision, he swept their legs out, sending both crashing to their knees. One howled as his arm bent the wrong way. The other spat blood.
"Y-you bastard" Rafique stammered, realizing this was no ordinary fight.
"He’s… he’s been fooling us this whole time!"
Another four men came at once, blades and pipes flashing. This time Hemant shifted. The Inquisitor sang through the air, each strike deliberate, each movement efficient. One man’s chest split open. Another lost his hand in a spray of blood. A third’s scream ended as the sword punched through his throat.
While this mayhem was going on , the radio continued playing the song symbolizing Hemant at the moment.
'The eagle is comin
You better start runnin
His blood is rushin
Stunnin and gunnin
The eagle is comin
You better start runnin
His blood is rushin
Stunnin' and gunnin'
The factory floor turned red. The storm raged louder. One by one, Rafique’s men fell until only corpses surrounded him.
"No… no, this isn’t possible…"
Rafique stumbled back, his bravado gone. He turned and bolted for the office room upstairs, his boots pounding against the old stairs. Behind him, Hemant walked. Step by step. Sword dripping, eyes burning with the cold fire of judgment. He was no husband. No father. No friend. He was Michael King, and tonight, he had come to collect
AT DILAWAR'S COLONY
At the bungalow, Sonarika’s cries echoed off the gaudy walls. Dilawar pinned her down, his weight crushing, his gold chains cutting into her skin as he bit into her neck. She sobbed and clawed at him, the fabric of her kurta ripping apart under his grip.
"Stop! Don’t touch me!" she screamed, but he only laughed, leaving red marks across her body.
"The more you fight, beautiful, the sweeter it gets!"
He tore another strip of cloth, exposing her trembling flesh. Her voice cracked into broken pleas, but his laughter drowned them, obscene and triumphant.
THE ABANDONED FACTORY
Back at the factory, bodies littered the ground, their moans of pain mixing with the rumble of thunder. Rafique staggered backward, the last man standing, his gut twisting with fear. He stumbled into the office section, slamming the door shut and fumbling for his phone.
"Come on, come on!"
His trembling fingers dialed Dilawar’s number. The first call rang out unanswered. The second too. By the third, Dilawar, annoyed at the interruption, finally picked up, his breath heavy, irritation thick in his voice.
"What is it?!"
Rafique’s scream cracked through the receiver.
"Bhai! This man—he’s a psycho! A deranged animal! He’s killing us all—!"
He choked mid-sentence, dropping the phone as Hemant kicked the door open. Rafique stumbled back, eyes wide with terror as his terrifying form stepped inside, his sword drenched in blood and lightning’s glow. Dilawar sat upright, suddenly tense, his smile gone.
"Who is it?! Rafique, who?!"
Through the phone, the sounds of violence erupted — thuds, grunts, the crunch of bones. Rafique’s terrified voice cried out.
"Bhai! Help me! He’s—aghhh!"
His words cut into screams as Hemant’s fist cracked across his jaw, slamming him into the desk. Dilawar shouted into the phone, panic now cracking his arrogance.
"Rafique! RA-FIQUE!"
The line was filled with the brutal rhythm of Rafique’s beating — the thuds of armored fists, the groans of a man being destroyed. And then silence. Hemant’s gloved hand reached down, dragging Rafique by the collar across the floor, his screams fading into the distance as the phone clattered uselessly. In the bungalow, Dilawar’s face turned pale. For the first time, fear gnawed at him. He shoved himself off Sonarika, grabbing his shirt and chains in a frenzy.
"Get the vehicles!" he barked at his men.
"Now! To the old factory! My brother’s in trouble!"
His men scrambled, weapons in hand, while Sonarika lay trembling on the bed, her body bruised, her clothes torn, her dignity shredded. She pulled the torn pieces to herself, shivering uncontrollably, her mind too numb to process what had just been spared — or postponed. And far away, thunder roared as Hemant stood over Rafique, bloodied and broken, the Inqisitor glowing brighter in the dark.
A FEW MINUTES LATER AT THE ABANDONED FACTORY
The air at the abandoned factory still carried the metallic sting of blood and gunpowder when the flashing red-and-blue lights of Mumbai Law Enforcement vehicles cut through the night. Doors slammed, boots hit the ground, and a squad of armed officers fanned out, weapons drawn. At their head strode Deputy Commissioner Sanjana Ranawat, her expression sharp, scanning the wreckage like a hawk.
Beside her, clinging nervously to her dupatta, was Tamanna. Her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes burned with desperate hope as she followed the officers deeper into the site.
And then the horror revealed itself.
Corpses of Dilawar’s men lay scattered across the dirt and broken concrete, their bodies slashed, beaten, riddled with wounds that screamed of a ruthless hand. Some slumped against walls, others sprawled in puddles of their own blood, their weapons lying uselessly beside them. The sheer brutality silenced even the most hardened constables.
"Madam….this place looks like a massacre" One officer muttered.
Sanjana crouched near a body, her gloved fingers brushing the splintered jaw and shattered ribcage. Her trained eye recognized the precision.
"Not a mob. This wasn’t chaos. Whoever did this… knew exactly where to strike"
She rose, her jaw tightening. Just then, the roar of approaching engines echoed down the road. Dilawar’s convoy screeched to a halt near the gates. Several SUVs idled, headlights glaring, but the men inside froze when they saw the wall of security officer vehicles and rifles aimed their way.
"Bhai… so many security officer" one of Dilawar’s lieutenants whispered.
Dilawar, half-dressed, his face still flushed from his vile attempt with Sonarika, slammed his hand against the dashboard.
"We don’t back down now! Rafique is inside!"
But his men shifted uneasily, fear outweighing loyalty. One finally shook his head.
"Bhai , going inside is basically going behind bars.....and judging from the security officer presence, Rafique....is probably..."
"SHUT UP!"
Dilawar roared, but his fury couldn’t anchor them. One by one, his SUVs began to turn, their engines revving as they retreated into the night. Much to his anger as his men restrained him as they escaped the place.
Back inside the compound, a fragile sound cut through the silence.
A child’s scream.
"Ma!"
Tamanna froze, her breath caught in her chest. She knew that voice.
"Shraddha!" she cried, breaking into a run.
Sanjana’s head snapped toward the sound, her officers following with raised rifles. At the far end of the yard, half-hidden behind rusted crates, stood a massive shipping container. From the narrow ventilation slits, small hands clawed through.
Tamanna’s knees buckled, but she pushed forward, sobbing, her words spilling out incoherently.
"Open it! Please open it!"
The officers rushed in, cutting through the lock with bolt cutters. The heavy doors groaned open — and the stench of captivity wafted out. Dozens of young women and girls cowered inside, their clothes torn, their eyes hollow with trauma. Some whispered prayers, others stared blankly, too broken to react.
But Shraddha burst free, sprinting across the dirt.
"Ma!"
Tamanna fell to her knees, arms wide open, catching her daughter in a trembling embrace. She wept uncontrollably, clutching Shraddha’s small frame as if she would never let go again.
"My baby… my angel… oh god, thank you, thank you!"
Shraddha buried her face in her mother’s chest, her little body shaking.
"Ma, I was so scared… I thought… I thought I’d never see you again"
Then Shraddha looked upward, her tear-streaked face catching a sound. A piercing cry of a bird. An eagle sat perched in its nest on a rusted beam high above the yard, its wings outstretched, calling to the night sky now cleared of storm. Its cry echoed, powerful, defiant. Her gaze flicked toward the eagle, its silhouette cast against the moonlight, and for the first time since that whole ordeal, her lips curved into the faintest hint of a knowing smile.
Then the other girls stepped out , the cops gave them cover and supported them. Eventually Sanjana came close to Nidhi who was looking relieved feeling the open air. She asked her.
"Do you know who saved you and killed these people?"
"Yes!"
"Who was it"
Nidhi looked up and pointed to the giant banner nearby , that movie poster still remained , the image of a giant eagle with the tagline 'He is Coming'. Sanjana then noticed Shraddha looking at a screaming eagle in its nest high above the banner. She just had a feeling that tonight , everything was happening for a reason!
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
Hemant returned to the factory as thunder cracked over the port, the storm mirroring the storm within him. He moved with purpose through the dimly lit hall until he stood once more inside the chamber he had left earlier. His hand pressed firmly on the concealed panel, and with a hiss of old gears, the wall slid aside, revealing the hidden sanctum he had built in silence.
Rows of weapons glistened under the cold fluorescent lights — pistols with custom grips, rifles he had rebuilt from Mastaan’s old caches, knives balanced for precision. All made from the replenished oldcollege weaponry from the factory’s forgotten basement, leftovers from Mastaan’s anti-smuggling days. Weapons that once moved across the world under the AZRAEL network, funneled through Mumbai’s docks. Hemant had seized them, not to sell, but to reinvent. To turn shadows of crime into instruments of justice.
But beyond the weapons, his eyes fixed on the sealed glass chamber at the far wall. He pressed another switch, and the case slowly rotated forward. Inside stood the legendary sword — The Inquisitor, now placed there like a cosmic weapon. It was heavier, sharper, more resilient. The Blade's reflection glared back at him, its shiny and sharp metal shaped for ending evil. And at the handle of the sword burned the sygil of a crown , a reminder of a path he walked of blood and death , now he was going to walk again , this time more stronger and more focused. Hemant reached out, fingertips brushing the Inquisitor's crown hilt. Tonight — The sword was not just a weapon that represented Michael King — it was a tool of justice to be used by one man with two personna in him , fusing his past and present. Hemant Kumar, the builder, the father. Michael King, the executioner, the avenger. Together, they made something stronger. Not a relic of the past, not a mask of vengeance, but a force reborn to right the wrongs tearing through his life.
A grin crossed his face as thunder rolled overhead. The Inquisitor wasn’t just a sword — it was resolve, a promise etched in steel and gold. The vibration of his phone broke the stillness. Raquel’s voice crackled through when he answered:
"Bhaijaan, I’ve tracked Rafique. He’s at an abandoned factory on the city outskirts — that’s their AZRAEL hub"
Hemant’s eyes narrowed, his hand still pressed against the chestplate.
"Good. I’ll handle it. Be ready for my word"
He ended the call without hesitation.
He looked one last time at his sword, and his grin hardened into grim determination. It was time for the Legend Of Michael King to rise again. Outside, the storm roared, lightning carving the horizon as if the heavens themselves acknowledged his rebirth.
SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE MUMBAI
The abandoned factory stank of rust and oil, the walls echoing with drunken laughter and the clink of bottles. Rafique sat on a broken chair, chewing gutka, his eyes narrowed as he questioned one of his men. Rafique had an old college radio set which was playing an FM station.
"Who were those bastards who delivered Sonarika tonight? I don’t recognize them"
His tone carried suspicion, sharp and cutting. The goon shrugged, spitting on the floor.
"Does it matter, bhai? Whoever they were, they gave Dilawar bhai his prize. Tonight he gets what he’s wanted for so long"
The men around them broke into coarse laughter, raising their drinks, filling the air with arrogance. But their laughter couldn’t drown out the sound from the backyard. In the container that reeked of sweat and rust, Shraddha curled into herself, her cheeks red and swollen from endless crying. She clawed at the steel walls, whispering broken pleas through her sobs.
"Mamma… please… I want to go home"
Her voice faded into the whimpers of the other girls, a chorus of despair too weak to rise above the factory walls. Some girls tried to comfort , while the bickering one stated.
"Let her cry....she must get used to it. No one is coming here for us......this is our fate....forever locked in this box......a slow death......there is no one coming to save us!"
AT DILAWAR'S COLONY
Meanwhile, at the bungalow, Dilawar arrived. His body stretched against his shirt, his gold chains gleaming, and that smug smile twisting his face. He leaned toward one of his men.
"Who brought her to me? Those weren’t my boys" The man shook his head nervously.
"No idea, bhai. They just said she’s yours now" Dilawar chuckled, licking his lips.
"Then let them stay nameless. Tonight, she becomes mine"
He shoved open the bedroom door. Sonarika sat in the corner, her body trembling, her eyes red but burning with anger. When Dilawar stepped closer, she forced the words out through a shaking throat:
"There’s still a restraining order against you. You have no right to be anywhere near me"
Dilawar laughed, low and mocking.
"Then go to the court, beautiful. File another paper. See if that saves you tonight"
When she tried to dart past him, he caught her wrist in a crushing grip, pulling her back. He forced his lips against hers, his kiss violent, tasting of alcohol and smoke. She thrashed, clawing at him, her voice breaking into sobs and fury. He grinned, tightening his grip.
"Feisty… I like that. You’ll scream louder when I take you"
He threw her toward the bed, his shadow falling over her as she struggled to crawl away.
AT THAT ABANDONED FACTORY
The factory stood like a skeletal beast in the storm, its rusted frame groaning against the wind. Inside, Rafique paced with a restless swagger, his men laughing and smoking as if the cries from the locked container were just background music to their filth. Shraddha pressed her little hands against the cold steel walls, her tears mixing with the dirt on her cheeks. Beside her, Nidhi whispered.
"Climb. Up there—there’s a crack. Maybe we can see"
The two girls scrambled up, tiny fingers gripping the edges until they peeked out into the darkness.
Rafique's radio set playing an FM station announcement
'And now on 98.5 , we will have the next hour be the Anirudh special , starting with this amazing track from his south sensational hit film 'Vikram' its , 'Once Upon A Time''
Outside, the storm swelled. Rafique glanced up at the rattling ceiling and growled.
"Where the hell is this storm coming from? Summer’s not even started yet"
One of his goons chuckled darkly.
"Maybe nature knows Dilawar bhai’s gonna have his special night with Sonarika. Even the skies want to celebrate"
Laughter erupted, crude and cruel, bouncing off the factory’s rusting beams. Inside the container, Shraddha buried her face into her knees, the laughter of those men searing her ears. The older girls were broken, silent in their misery, but Shraddha whispered.
"Mamma… please come"
Suddenly, the lights in the factory flickered—then died. A suffocating blackness swallowed the place. The men cursed, fumbling for their torches. Then came the scream. Sharp. Blood-curdling. A man’s cry of agony, cut off by a wet, gurgling sound. Rafique and his men sprinted to the source, their torches casting erratic beams. There on the ground, one of their brothers thrashed, blood pumping from a slit across his throat. He spasmed, then stilled.
"What the—?!"
Another shouted, but before the words finished, another scream ripped through the night from the other side of the hall. The goons rushed again, finding another comrade lying in a pool of blood, eyes wide, body twitching.
"Bastard!" Rafique roared, his voice cracking with fury.
"Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows! Fight me face to face like a man!"
The heavens answered. A lightning bolt struck the trees beyond the factory walls, igniting them in a burning blaze. The thunder’s roar shook the ground, and the fire began to spread, casting hellish light through the windows. Shraddha, peering through the crack, gasped. Through the flames, a silhouette appeared—tall, broad, walking slow. The fire behind him turned him into a shadow demon. The sky split with another crack of lightning. For an instant, the figure’s face was revealed. Her heart leaped.
"Hemant uncle…" she whispered, trembling with relief and awe.
But this was no ordinary Hemant. No quiet family man. No grieving husband. He walked as Michael King—the scourge of underworlds from London to Shanghai—his black coat billowing, the sword Inquisitor gleaming in his hand. Rafique sneered, spitting to the ground.
"Ha! All this build up , for your useless ass? You’re nothing but a failed husband. A loser. A man whose wife will warm my brother’s bed tonight"
His men laughed nervously, hiding their unease. Hemant said nothing. He raised the sword with one hand, its blade catching firelight and lightning, and with the other, he gestured with two fingers:
BRING IT ON
And at that moment , the radio was playing the song that resonated with the events happening here.
'Once Upon A Time
There Lived A Ghost
He Was Known To Be A Killer
And Feared The Most!!'
The first two goons charged, screaming. In a blur, Hemant moved—not striking to kill, not yet. With surgical precision, he swept their legs out, sending both crashing to their knees. One howled as his arm bent the wrong way. The other spat blood.
"Y-you bastard" Rafique stammered, realizing this was no ordinary fight.
"He’s… he’s been fooling us this whole time!"
Another four men came at once, blades and pipes flashing. This time Hemant shifted. The Inquisitor sang through the air, each strike deliberate, each movement efficient. One man’s chest split open. Another lost his hand in a spray of blood. A third’s scream ended as the sword punched through his throat.
While this mayhem was going on , the radio continued playing the song symbolizing Hemant at the moment.
'The eagle is comin
You better start runnin
His blood is rushin
Stunnin and gunnin
The eagle is comin
You better start runnin
His blood is rushin
Stunnin' and gunnin'
The factory floor turned red. The storm raged louder. One by one, Rafique’s men fell until only corpses surrounded him.
"No… no, this isn’t possible…"
Rafique stumbled back, his bravado gone. He turned and bolted for the office room upstairs, his boots pounding against the old stairs. Behind him, Hemant walked. Step by step. Sword dripping, eyes burning with the cold fire of judgment. He was no husband. No father. No friend. He was Michael King, and tonight, he had come to collect
AT DILAWAR'S COLONY
At the bungalow, Sonarika’s cries echoed off the gaudy walls. Dilawar pinned her down, his weight crushing, his gold chains cutting into her skin as he bit into her neck. She sobbed and clawed at him, the fabric of her kurta ripping apart under his grip.
"Stop! Don’t touch me!" she screamed, but he only laughed, leaving red marks across her body.
"The more you fight, beautiful, the sweeter it gets!"
He tore another strip of cloth, exposing her trembling flesh. Her voice cracked into broken pleas, but his laughter drowned them, obscene and triumphant.
THE ABANDONED FACTORY
Back at the factory, bodies littered the ground, their moans of pain mixing with the rumble of thunder. Rafique staggered backward, the last man standing, his gut twisting with fear. He stumbled into the office section, slamming the door shut and fumbling for his phone.
"Come on, come on!"
His trembling fingers dialed Dilawar’s number. The first call rang out unanswered. The second too. By the third, Dilawar, annoyed at the interruption, finally picked up, his breath heavy, irritation thick in his voice.
"What is it?!"
Rafique’s scream cracked through the receiver.
"Bhai! This man—he’s a psycho! A deranged animal! He’s killing us all—!"
He choked mid-sentence, dropping the phone as Hemant kicked the door open. Rafique stumbled back, eyes wide with terror as his terrifying form stepped inside, his sword drenched in blood and lightning’s glow. Dilawar sat upright, suddenly tense, his smile gone.
"Who is it?! Rafique, who?!"
Through the phone, the sounds of violence erupted — thuds, grunts, the crunch of bones. Rafique’s terrified voice cried out.
"Bhai! Help me! He’s—aghhh!"
His words cut into screams as Hemant’s fist cracked across his jaw, slamming him into the desk. Dilawar shouted into the phone, panic now cracking his arrogance.
"Rafique! RA-FIQUE!"
The line was filled with the brutal rhythm of Rafique’s beating — the thuds of armored fists, the groans of a man being destroyed. And then silence. Hemant’s gloved hand reached down, dragging Rafique by the collar across the floor, his screams fading into the distance as the phone clattered uselessly. In the bungalow, Dilawar’s face turned pale. For the first time, fear gnawed at him. He shoved himself off Sonarika, grabbing his shirt and chains in a frenzy.
"Get the vehicles!" he barked at his men.
"Now! To the old factory! My brother’s in trouble!"
His men scrambled, weapons in hand, while Sonarika lay trembling on the bed, her body bruised, her clothes torn, her dignity shredded. She pulled the torn pieces to herself, shivering uncontrollably, her mind too numb to process what had just been spared — or postponed. And far away, thunder roared as Hemant stood over Rafique, bloodied and broken, the Inqisitor glowing brighter in the dark.
A FEW MINUTES LATER AT THE ABANDONED FACTORY
The air at the abandoned factory still carried the metallic sting of blood and gunpowder when the flashing red-and-blue lights of Mumbai Law Enforcement vehicles cut through the night. Doors slammed, boots hit the ground, and a squad of armed officers fanned out, weapons drawn. At their head strode Deputy Commissioner Sanjana Ranawat, her expression sharp, scanning the wreckage like a hawk.
Beside her, clinging nervously to her dupatta, was Tamanna. Her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes burned with desperate hope as she followed the officers deeper into the site.
And then the horror revealed itself.
Corpses of Dilawar’s men lay scattered across the dirt and broken concrete, their bodies slashed, beaten, riddled with wounds that screamed of a ruthless hand. Some slumped against walls, others sprawled in puddles of their own blood, their weapons lying uselessly beside them. The sheer brutality silenced even the most hardened constables.
"Madam….this place looks like a massacre" One officer muttered.
Sanjana crouched near a body, her gloved fingers brushing the splintered jaw and shattered ribcage. Her trained eye recognized the precision.
"Not a mob. This wasn’t chaos. Whoever did this… knew exactly where to strike"
She rose, her jaw tightening. Just then, the roar of approaching engines echoed down the road. Dilawar’s convoy screeched to a halt near the gates. Several SUVs idled, headlights glaring, but the men inside froze when they saw the wall of security officer vehicles and rifles aimed their way.
"Bhai… so many security officer" one of Dilawar’s lieutenants whispered.
Dilawar, half-dressed, his face still flushed from his vile attempt with Sonarika, slammed his hand against the dashboard.
"We don’t back down now! Rafique is inside!"
But his men shifted uneasily, fear outweighing loyalty. One finally shook his head.
"Bhai , going inside is basically going behind bars.....and judging from the security officer presence, Rafique....is probably..."
"SHUT UP!"
Dilawar roared, but his fury couldn’t anchor them. One by one, his SUVs began to turn, their engines revving as they retreated into the night. Much to his anger as his men restrained him as they escaped the place.
Back inside the compound, a fragile sound cut through the silence.
A child’s scream.
"Ma!"
Tamanna froze, her breath caught in her chest. She knew that voice.
"Shraddha!" she cried, breaking into a run.
Sanjana’s head snapped toward the sound, her officers following with raised rifles. At the far end of the yard, half-hidden behind rusted crates, stood a massive shipping container. From the narrow ventilation slits, small hands clawed through.
Tamanna’s knees buckled, but she pushed forward, sobbing, her words spilling out incoherently.
"Open it! Please open it!"
The officers rushed in, cutting through the lock with bolt cutters. The heavy doors groaned open — and the stench of captivity wafted out. Dozens of young women and girls cowered inside, their clothes torn, their eyes hollow with trauma. Some whispered prayers, others stared blankly, too broken to react.
But Shraddha burst free, sprinting across the dirt.
"Ma!"
Tamanna fell to her knees, arms wide open, catching her daughter in a trembling embrace. She wept uncontrollably, clutching Shraddha’s small frame as if she would never let go again.
"My baby… my angel… oh god, thank you, thank you!"
Shraddha buried her face in her mother’s chest, her little body shaking.
"Ma, I was so scared… I thought… I thought I’d never see you again"
Then Shraddha looked upward, her tear-streaked face catching a sound. A piercing cry of a bird. An eagle sat perched in its nest on a rusted beam high above the yard, its wings outstretched, calling to the night sky now cleared of storm. Its cry echoed, powerful, defiant. Her gaze flicked toward the eagle, its silhouette cast against the moonlight, and for the first time since that whole ordeal, her lips curved into the faintest hint of a knowing smile.
Then the other girls stepped out , the cops gave them cover and supported them. Eventually Sanjana came close to Nidhi who was looking relieved feeling the open air. She asked her.
"Do you know who saved you and killed these people?"
"Yes!"
"Who was it"
Nidhi looked up and pointed to the giant banner nearby , that movie poster still remained , the image of a giant eagle with the tagline 'He is Coming'. Sanjana then noticed Shraddha looking at a screaming eagle in its nest high above the banner. She just had a feeling that tonight , everything was happening for a reason!
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
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