Chapter 3: The First Kill
774 Words
The night was thick with the scent of rain and blood.
Anant stood in the shadows of a crumbling alleyway, his newly awakened senses sharpening the world around him. He could hear the distant rumble of engines, the low murmur of conversations in the streets, and—most importantly—the heavy laughter of the men gathered in the warehouse ahead.
Junaid Bhatt’s men.
Lucifer had given him the name of the first target—Salman Khurana. The man was a lieutenant in Junaid’s gang, responsible for handling the logistics of their arms trade. He was the one who had ordered the strike on Anant’s family, the one who had given the final signal before the m******e began.
Anant’s fingers twitched. Rage coiled in his chest, dark and hungry.
Inside, they were celebrating.
A deal closed. A life stolen.
They had no idea the devil was knocking on their door.
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The Silent Execution
Anant moved without a sound. His new power made him faster, stronger—his footsteps barely disturbing the puddles on the ground. He reached the back entrance of the warehouse, where a lone guard stood smoking a cheap cigarette.
The man barely had time to react before Anant struck.
A sharp twist. A sickening snap.
The body slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Anant stared at his hands, flexing them. The kill had been effortless. Too easy. His heart should have raced, his stomach should have churned with guilt.
But all he felt was cold satisfaction.
This was just the beginning.
He dragged the body into the shadows and stepped inside.
The warehouse was dimly lit, crates stacked in uneven rows. At the center, a group of five men sat around a wooden table, laughing, drinking, counting stacks of cash.
Salman was among them.
Anant’s lips curled into a snarl.
He stepped forward.
One of the men turned, eyes widening. “Who the f—”
Anant moved before he could finish.
His fist struck the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe. He collapsed, gasping for air that would never come. The others shot to their feet, hands reaching for their weapons—
Too slow.
Anant twisted, grabbing the nearest man by the wrist, snapping it backward until the bone pierced through the skin. The man screamed, but it was cut short as Anant drove his elbow into his skull.
Two down.
A gun fired. The bullet whizzed past his ear.
Anant turned just in time to see Salman fumbling with his pistol, his face contorted in terror.
Anant grinned.
He wanted this one to suffer.
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A Monster is Born
Salman ran.
Anant followed.
The chase didn’t last long—Salman was too slow, too panicked. He crashed through the warehouse doors, stumbling into the empty lot outside. Rain poured from the heavens, drenching the ground in slick mud.
Salman slipped.
Anant was on him in seconds, pinning him to the ground with one hand wrapped around his throat.
“Please—” Salman gasped. “I—It was just business!”
Anant’s grip tightened. “So was this.”
Salman’s eyes bulged as the air was stolen from his lungs. He clawed at Anant’s arm, his nails digging into flesh that felt… unyielding. Inhuman.
Lucifer’s voice echoed in Anant’s mind. You are more than a man now. You are my hand of vengeance.
Anant let the power take over.
The shadows around him twisted, pulsing with dark energy. He felt something shift inside him—an instinct, a hunger.
Salman’s struggles weakened. His body convulsed, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
And then—
A burst of energy exploded from Anant’s palm.
Salman’s body withered before his eyes, his skin tightening over his bones as if something was draining the very life from him. His eyes rolled back, his veins turned black—
And then he was still.
Lifeless.
Anant exhaled, his breath coming out in a ragged whisper. He looked down at his hands. The power felt… intoxicating.
He had never felt more alive.
---
A Message in Blood
Anant didn’t just leave the bodies.
He arranged them.
By the time the first of Junaid Bhatt’s men arrived, the warehouse had turned into a scene from a nightmare.
Bodies were nailed to the walls, their limbs twisted in grotesque angles. The floor was painted in blood, symbols carved into flesh. And at the center of it all—
Salman’s corpse, his hollowed-out skull resting on a throne of bones.
And written in blood, across the walls:
"I AM COMING FOR YOU."
Junaid Bhatt would know.
He would know that death had arrived.
And its name was Anant.
- Writer
