The night was eerily silent. The dim glow of the bedside lamp barely pushed back the darkness, yet Kanak’s mind was lost in a much darker place.

She closed her eyes… but the moment she did, his face appeared.

The same face that haunted her dreams.

The same voice that whispered through her nightmares.

The same presence that never truly left her.

---

Three Years Ago...

Her hands were trembling, soaked in blood.

Her breath was ragged.

And in front of her… he lay still.

"Samay!!!" Kanak's scream tore through the air.

Everything around her blurred. The sound of sirens. People are shouting. The flashing red and blue lights.

She ran to him, shaking his body, pleading for him to wake up.

"Utho! Tum aise nahi ja sakte! Tumne kaha tha tum mujhe kabhi nahi chhodoge!"

(Get up! You can't leave like this! You promised you'd never leave me!)

But no response came. His body was still warm, yet lifeless.

And then…

They took him away.

She kept screaming his name, kept fighting, but they didn’t let her see him again. They never let her see his body.

And from that moment, a part of Kanak refused to believe he was gone.

---

Present...

"NAHIII!!!"

Kanak woke up with a sharp scream, her chest heaving, her body drenched in sweat. She clutched the sheets, heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears.

The door burst open, and within seconds, her father—Naman Chaturvedi—was by her side.

"Kanak!" His voice was laced with concern as he knelt beside her. "Baccha, look at me. What happened?"

She couldn’t answer. Her throat felt dry, her lips trembled, and her mind was still trapped in that night.

Naman gently stroked her hair, his voice soft yet firm.

"Sab theek hai. Main hoon yahan."

(Everything is okay. I’m here.)

After a few moments, her breathing steadied. She laid back down, exhausted, while Naman sat there, watching her like he always did on nights like these.

Once he was sure she had fallen asleep, he stood up and left the room.

---

Outside Kanak’s Room…

Naman leaned against the wall, running a tired hand over his face. She’s still not over it…

His heart ached for his daughter. She had always been strong, but this… this was breaking her.

"Samay mar chuka hai... fir bhi Kanak use dhoond rahi hai."

(Samay is gone… yet Kanak is still searching for him.)

-----

Kanak’s POV

She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion pulling her under, but sleep never came easy. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Heard his voice. Felt his touch—only to realize it was just an illusion.

She wasn't crazy.

She wasn’t living in some foolish denial.

Because they never found his body.

How could she believe he was gone when there was nothing—no proof, no closure?

"Jab tak tum nahi lautoge… main bhi yahi rukungi, Samay."

(Until you return… I will stay right here, Samay.)

Tears pricked her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Weakness wasn’t an option. Not anymore.

Because if the world had given up on him… she wouldn’t.

-----

Amokshya’s POV

The air smelled of blood.

A man knelt on the cold marble floor, his body trembling, his breaths uneven. The dim light flickered above, casting eerie shadows across the vast, lavishly decorated hall. The silence was suffocating—the kind that came before a storm.

And then…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Boots echoed against the floor, slow, unhurried, sending a chilling sensation through the air.

He was here.

Amokshyavarsha Raghuvanshi.

The devil in flesh.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp black suit, his aura was one of absolute dominance. His presence alone felt like death breathing down your neck. But it wasn’t just his reputation that made men tremble—it was his eyes.

Dark. Cold. Devoid of humanity.

He didn’t speak immediately. He never needed to. His mere existence demanded obedience. And when he finally tilted his head, looking down at the man before him, his voice was slow, almost amused—yet laced with the promise of destruction.

"Maanga tha maine?"

(Did I ask for this?)

The man whimpered. Begging was useless.

"N-nahi… bas ek galti ho gayi… main phir kabhi—"

(No… it was just a mistake… I’ll never—)

A loud crack echoed.

The man didn’t even get to finish his sentence.

Blood splattered across the white marble as Amokshya stepped back, tossing the gun onto the table beside him. No hesitation. No remorse. The air was heavy with the scent of death, but he didn’t even blink.

Someone cleared their throat.

"Humein Shivaay sir ka phone aaya hai."

(We received a call from Shivaay Sir.)

The moment his father’s name was spoken, the amusement in Amokshya’s expression faded. A flicker of something—perhaps the only thing that could be called respect—flashed in his otherwise soulless eyes.

"Lao."

(Give it.)

A phone was immediately handed to him. He pressed it to his ear, his entire demeanor shifting—not softer, just… controlled.

"Ji, Baba?"

The deep baritone of Shaivaay Raghuvanshi came through the speaker. Calm, composed—yet carrying a weight that demanded reverence.

"Tumhe ek kaam diya hai, Amoksha."

(I have given you a task, Amokshya.)

He didn’t question. He never did.

"Hukum kijiye."

(Give the command.)

And just like that, the devil awaited his next move.

----

"Monsters aren’t born; they are created."

Some men rule with power. Some rule with fear. But Amokshyavarsha Raghuvanshi?

He ruled with both.

Blood never made him flinch. Death never made him pause.

Mercy was a word he never learned.

He was the nightmare whispered in the shadows.

The devil who walked among men.

And the only man he ever listened to… was Shivaay Raghuvanshi.

He had no conscience. No soul.

Because monsters don’t need one.

____

Thanku❤