Chapter 4: The Shadow War Begins
865 Words
The news spread like wildfire.
By morning, the underworld was buzzing with whispers of what had happened at the warehouse. Junaid Bhatt’s men were shaken—someone had not only killed Salman Khurana but had turned his death into a spectacle. The brutality, the sheer message behind it, sent a wave of fear through the ranks.
But Junaid?
Junaid was furious.
Anant watched from the darkness as the gangster’s men scrambled. More guards, more guns, more paranoia. It wouldn’t save them.
He wasn’t just here to kill.
He was here to dismantle them piece by piece.
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Junaid Bhatt: The King in His Castle
In a high-rise apartment overlooking the city, Junaid sat in his office, his hands clenched into fists. The room was filled with his top enforcers—men who had worked under him for years, men who feared nothing.
But tonight, there was fear in their eyes.
Salman had been one of them. Now, he was dead, his body turned into some kind of twisted warning.
“This wasn’t random,” one of his lieutenants said. “Whoever did this wanted us to know he’s coming.”
Junaid exhaled smoke from his cigar, his jaw tight. “Who would be stupid enough to come after me?”
A tense silence followed.
Then, one of the men hesitated before speaking. “There was one survivor from the Malhotra family… The son. Anant.”
Junaid scoffed. “The quiet one? That boy didn’t have it in him.”
But the room remained silent.
And Junaid felt it too.
Something was different.
If Anant was alive—and if he had done this—then he wasn’t the same boy anymore.
Junaid leaned back, his fingers tapping against the desk. “Find him.” His voice was calm, but the danger in it was unmistakable. “And bring me his head.”
The hunt was on.
But they didn’t realize—
Anant was already hunting them.
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The Next Target
Anant moved like a ghost through the city.
His body felt lighter, faster. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, allowing him to vanish at will. His senses picked up everything—the rhythm of the city, the fear in Junaid’s men, the pulse of the hunt.
He had his next target: Rafiq Sheikh.
Rafiq was Junaid’s right-hand man, the one who handled security and intelligence. If Anant took him out, it would cripple Junaid’s ability to react.
Rafiq operated out of an underground casino—The Crimson Den. A fortress of vice, packed with criminals, gamblers, and hired guns.
A perfect hunting ground.
Anant approached the back entrance. A bouncer stood guard, a mountain of a man with a pistol tucked under his belt.
He never saw Anant coming.
A quick step. A blade through the ribs. A silent fall.
Anant wiped the blood from his knife and stepped inside.
The air was thick with smoke, the sounds of laughter and slot machines filling the room. Men in suits huddled around poker tables, women draped themselves over criminals, and in the VIP section—
Rafiq sat, sipping whiskey, oblivious to the predator in the room.
Anant smiled.
This would be fun.
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Slaughter in the Casino
Anant didn’t just attack—he unleashed hell.
The first bullet took out the bartender, sending glass shattering to the floor. A man turned, reaching for his gun—Anant’s knife buried itself in his throat before he could scream.
Chaos erupted.
Anant moved like a shadow, weaving through the panicked crowd. Gunfire rang out, but the bullets never found him—he was too fast, too precise.
He reached the VIP section in seconds.
Rafiq’s face twisted in shock as he recognized Anant. “You—”
Anant didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Rafiq by the collar and hurled him through the glass railing. The gangster crashed onto the blackjack table below, chips and cards flying everywhere.
Guns pointed at Anant from every direction.
He smiled.
And then he let the darkness take over.
Shadows exploded from his body, tendrils of black smoke lashing out like whips. The men screamed as the darkness consumed them, their bodies twisting in agony.
Anant leapt down, landing in front of Rafiq’s broken form. The man coughed blood, his eyes wide with fear.
“You should have left my family alone,” Anant whispered.
Rafiq tried to beg.
Anant ripped his throat out.
The screams faded. The casino was drenched in blood, the walls painted with death.
Anant turned toward the security cameras.
He knew Junaid was watching.
He raised a single hand, fingers curled into a promise.
You’re next.
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Junaid Feels the Fear
Junaid Bhatt stood in front of the security footage, his cigar burning between his fingers. His men were dead. His empire was under attack.
By a boy.
By something… more than a boy.
For the first time in years, Junaid felt something foreign slither into his chest.
Fear.
He turned to his remaining men. “Kill him. I don’t care how. I don’t care what it takes.”
But deep down, he already knew.
Death wasn’t hunting Anant Malhotra.
Anant Malhotra was death.
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