Chapter 6: The Devil's Pact
982 Words
Junaid's Desperation
The city had never seen Junaid Bhatt like this before.
The once-mighty crime lord—feared by gangsters, respected by politicians—was now a man haunted. Anant had destroyed two of his top lieutenants in the span of a few days, tearing through his empire like a wildfire. His men were terrified. His informants refused to speak. Even his most loyal assassins whispered about the thing hunting them.
Because that’s what Anant had become.
Not a man.
A hunter.
Junaid sat in his heavily guarded penthouse, staring at the bottle of whiskey in front of him. His hands shook as he poured a glass, spilling some onto the table.
“Boss…” one of his bodyguards hesitated. “We need to leave the city. Just until—”
Junaid’s glare shut him up.
“This is my city,” he growled. “That boy isn’t forcing me out of it.”
But even as he said it, he felt something gnawing at his bones.
Fear.
Junaid Bhatt—the king of Mumbai’s underworld—was afraid.
And that’s when he made the worst decision of his life.
He sought help from a power he didn’t understand.
---
The Ritual: A Deal with Darkness
The priest was an old man, his face hidden beneath a deep hood. The air in the temple was thick with incense, the flickering flames casting eerie shadows on the walls.
Junaid stood before him, his pride making this moment unbearable. He didn’t believe in black magic. He didn’t believe in devils or demons.
But he believed in survival.
And right now, survival meant fighting fire with fire.
“I need power,” Junaid said, his voice hoarse. “Something that can kill whatever that boy has become.”
The priest chuckled, the sound dry and ancient.
“You do not understand what you are asking for, Mr. Bhatt,” he murmured. “Once you open this door, it cannot be closed.”
Junaid slammed a wad of cash onto the altar. “I don’t give a damn about doors. Just tell me what I need to do.”
The priest sighed.
Then he began the ritual.
Blood. Symbols. Chants whispered in a language older than time. The flames around them turned black, twisting unnaturally. Junaid’s skin burned, but he gritted his teeth and endured.
And then—
The whispers came.
A voice—not the priest’s, not his own—echoed through the chamber. Deep. Amused.
“You wish to fight my chosen one?”
Junaid stiffened. “I—I don’t know who you are, but I need power. I need to kill Anant Malhotra.”
The voice laughed.
“Then I will grant you what you seek. But everything has a price.”
Junaid hesitated. “What price?”
The flames surged, casting the temple into darkness. The voice whispered in his ear, sending a chill down his spine.
“Your soul.”
---
Anant Feels the Shift
Miles away, standing on a rooftop, Anant’s head snapped up.
Something had changed.
The city still breathed, the streets still roared with life—but something felt… off.
Wrong.
Lucifer’s voice slithered into his mind.
“He has made a deal.”
Anant’s grip tightened on the railing. “With who?”
A chuckle. “With something desperate. Something that knows it cannot truly win.”
Anant exhaled, his breath visible in the cold night air. “So what happens now?”
Lucifer’s tone darkened.
“Now, the war begins.”
---
Junaid’s Transformation
Junaid woke up in his penthouse, drenched in sweat. His body ached, his head throbbed, but… something was different.
His breath came slower. Deeper.
He stood and walked to the mirror.
And that’s when he saw it.
His veins—once normal—now pulsed with a dark, sickly glow. His eyes burned red for a brief moment before fading. His body felt… heavier, but also stronger.
He clenched his fist. The glass of whiskey on the table shattered—without him even touching it.
Power.
Raw, untamed power coursing through his veins.
A grin stretched across his face.
The fear was gone.
Now, he was ready for war.
---
The Streets Turn Red
The next night, Mumbai became a battlefield.
Junaid’s men stormed the city, no longer afraid. They attacked Anant’s allies, burnt down his old properties, killed anyone who so much as whispered his name.
But there was something worse.
Junaid himself was different.
Anant watched from the shadows as the crime lord fought—his movements faster, his strength unnatural. He lifted a man by the throat with one hand, crushed his skull against a car, and kept walking. Bullets barely slowed him down.
Lucifer’s voice returned, a rare note of amusement in his tone.
“Interesting. He has become something… broken.”
Anant’s jaw tightened. “Can I still kill him?”
Lucifer chuckled. “Of course. But it will not be easy. He is no longer just a man.”
Anant flexed his fingers.
Neither was he.
---
The Final Message
By dawn, the city lay in ruins. The police had given up. The streets were silent, bodies scattered across the asphalt. The war had begun.
Junaid stood in the middle of the chaos, his new power thrumming through his body. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he never thought he’d use.
Anant’s number.
The line rang.
And then—
Click.
Anant’s voice was calm. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”
Junaid smirked. “Not so easy, boy. You’ve got power? So do I. And now, this city belongs to the devil himself.”
A pause.
Then Anant’s voice, quiet but sharp as a blade.
“No.”
Junaid’s smirk faded.
Anant’s tone dropped lower.
“This city belongs to me.”
The call ended.
And the war truly began.
- Writer
