The Alambagh branch of EdBridge Tutorials, as everyone had already predicted, didn’t truly exist either.
Yet there they were—Yug, Rishabh, Tarun, Kritika, Manav, and Vivek—standing in front of another abandoned construction site.
But this one was different from the others.
Too complete.
Too clean.
Too deliberate.
They stepped inside cautiously, watching pigeons scatter across the scaffolding—wings brushing against loose wires, their cries echoing across the hollow structure.
Each step stirred dust into the air like smoke, every breath sounding louder than it should.
Then they saw it.
A half-finished room.
A picture frame hanging far too neatly at its center.
Something about it was really odd—just odd enough to draw Tarun’s attention.
Without warning, he dashed forward, lifted the painting, and pointed sharply.
“Look in the middle!”
Behind it pulsed a faint green light.
Vivek stepped back instantly, eyes widening as he was hit with memories.
“T-that’s the same green light! The same one near the speakers in every branch!”
Yug moved toward it, careful, steady. He inspected the small device and touched the casing with the tip of his finger.
“It’s… a camera.”
But before anyone could react—
A harsh, rasping breath crackled through the device.
Yug jerked back violently, nearly crashing into the wall, his heart pounding like a drum.
Everyone froze.
And then the arguments exploded.
Rishabh was the first to speak.
“This is clearly a trap. We’re walking right into it. Why hide a camera like this unless they wanted us to find it?”
“Oh please. You think you’re Sherlock or something?" Manav stepped forward, grabbing the camera. "We’re already wasting time out here. Your plans get us nowhere.”
“Stop it! We need to think before we move. This isn’t the moment to attack each other.” Kritika pushed herself between them.
Yug, voice tight with urgency, added, “We’re not here to crack jokes. We need to act before someone hunts us.”
Tarun turned sharply toward him.
“Don’t start lecturing. You’ve barely done anything from the start. And you want us to walk into danger?”
“And what have you done?" Yug stepped closer, unsteady but defiant. "Besides irritating the entire group like a headache?”
“I… I knew it. I knew I’d get you all in trouble…”
Vivek’s voice broke from behind them.
“Oh, here we go again! You’ve been nothing but a burden! You bring problems and then cry about it!” Manav whirled, grabbing Vivek by the collar.
“Seriously? Is this the time?" Kritika shoved Manav away hard. "And don’t forget what you tried to do at school. So let’s stop dragging up past mistakes and focus on the threat right in front of us!”
Tarun rubbed his forehead, the exhaustion visible in his eyes.
“Exactly. We don’t even know what BLC is doing now. They might—”
——————————————
“—erase the evidence. All complaints, all social media posts… and nothing reaches the news. I will handle the rest.”
Delhi’s skyline stretched endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass. Sunlight glinted off flawless marble tiles. Nothing was out of place—
not a paper, not a pen, not a shadow.
Every corner, every reflection screamed power—
the kind no one dared question.
And at the center of it sat Vikrant Chauhan.
Seamlessly tailored suit.
Tie pinned with a golden C.
Expression calm… almost bored.
He typed rapidly on his sleek laptop, the blue glow highlighting the scar on his right eye—
a past he never spoke of.
Across from him sat one of India’s top investigative reporters—
a man feared by ministers, CEOs, and political dynasties.
But not today.
Today, he was the one afraid.
The silence stretched, thin and tense, until—
Snap.
Vikrant snapped his fingers without even looking up.
Two men entered instantly—black suits, blank expressions.
They each placed a matte-black briefcase on the desk and opened them in perfect sync.
The reporter flinched at the sight.
Stacks of money.
Layered like gold bricks.
A small fortune staring back at him.
“This,” Vikrant said flatly, “is for keeping your mouth shut.”
The reporter inhaled sharply. A thousand questions formed in his head, but none of them escaped his lips. He simply nodded, clutching the briefcases like lifelines, and backed toward the door.
But just as he crossed the threshold, something made him stop.
He turned.
Vikrant was dialing a number.
The reporter froze.
His pulse hammered.
He didn’t even know who the call was for—
or if the money guaranteed his safety.
Vikrant noticed the fear without even trying.
Their eyes met.
And Vikrant let out a short, low laugh—
cold, rich, the kind that chilled the entire room.
“Relax,” he said, voice smooth like steel,
“It’s not for you.”
He leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting to the glittering Delhi skyline as the call connected.
A beat of silence.
Then he said, softly, almost casually.
“I’m sending men… to clear the mess.”
——————————————
Vivek sat hunched over his desk, the only illumination a flickering fluorescent tube that buzzed like an irritated insect.
His notes weren’t neat—loose sheets sprawled across the table, books stacked in crooked towers. His mind felt just as messy.
He rummaged through the pile with a tired sigh, finally pulling out what he had been searching for—his chemistry book.
A distraction.
Anything to get his mind off everything happening around them.
But for Vivek, peace didn’t even last a second.
The moment he opened the book, the colour drained from his face—mirroring the pages staring back at him.
Every single one of them was smeared with thick, black paint.
Not splashed.
Not spilled.
Smudged, dragged across the page like someone had taken their time ruining it.
He flipped one page.
Then another.
Then another.
All of them—every single page—was fused together by greasy, wet paint.
His throat tightened.
His fingers trembled.
Vivek shot up from the chair, chest rising and falling rapidly as he scanned the room, searching for even the smallest sign of movement.
Nothing.
Nobody.
The paint lines were too deliberate, too precise—
as if a hand had pressed firmly down on the paper, smearing away every word, every diagram, every piece of knowledge one stroke at a time. Standing right over his shoulder.
A thin bead of ink slid down the spine of the ruined book, dripping onto the floor at the exact moment a drop of sweat rolled off Vivek’s temple and hit the ground beside it.
The room remained silent.
——————————————
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The xerox shop was almost empty, but the shop owner waited for his final customer’s work to be done— Manav, standing there with the computer, waiting for his printouts.
“Kid, be fast. I need to go home,”
the owner urged, rubbing his tired eyes.
“Calm down, old man,” Manav looked at him with a face that was both tired and pissed off,
“Nobody’s going to steal your wife if you’re late.”
He quickly plugged in the pendrive, dragged the files, and hit ENTER.
Nothing happened.
Manav frowned.
“Oh man… I guess your wife’s gone.”
He clicked the command again.
Still nothing.
But then—
The screen flickered.
Once.
Twice.
On the third blink, every window abruptly minimised on its own.
Manav stiffened.
A harder flicker followed, like the screen was being punched from the inside.
The cursor jerked violently, zipping across the desktop, opening random folders, slamming into settings, dragging icons like someone invisible was wrestling over control.
“What the—?!” Manav whispered, stepping back, eyes glued to the chaos.
For a split second—
in the top-right corner—
a faint green pixel blinked.
Then the entire screen went blank.
Not dead.
Not off.
Just… blank.
Behind him, a mechanical whir cut through the silence.
Manav turned.
The printer erupted— spitting blank pages at a furious speed.
Empty, white sheets blasted out like a hailstorm, slamming onto the floor, brushing his legs, circling him in a messy whirlwind.
The shopkeeper yelped and backed into the wall.
Manav swallowed hard, throat dry as dust, eyes wide as the papers kept pouring.
——————————————
Kritika and Rishabh sat shoulder-to-shoulder, the laptop between them glowing like the only living thing in the room.
The tube-light above them fizzed and dimmed every few seconds, each flicker carving sharp shadows across their faces.
Rishabh scrolled through folders, his fingers moving fast.
Kritika leaned closer.
“Open that one. It looks corrupted.”
“Yeah, one second—”
He clicked.
The cursor didn’t move.
Not an inch.
“What…?”
Rishabh tapped the trackpad again, harder.
Nothing.
Kritika frowned and tried it herself.
“Not responding?”
The cursor twitched.
Just once.
Then froze again.
Rishabh’s breathing slowed, controlled and tense.
“Kritika… don’t touch anything.”
The laptop screen flickered.
A single glitch— like a pulse.
Then another.
Then the entire screen rippled as if something had scraped across the inside.
Kritika’s hand stopped halfway in the air.
“Rishabh… what is happening?”
Before he could answer, the cursor sprang to life— darting across the screen in sharp, deliberate movements.
It opened folders they didn’t click.
It highlighted files they hadn’t touched in days.
Then it began typing.
Lines and lines of random symbols, numbers, characters—
pouring across the screen as if someone was hammering invisible keys.
Rishabh froze.
“That’s… that’s not possible.”
Kritika’s chair made a soft scraping sound as she pushed back, eyes wide and locked on the screen.
“This isn’t a glitch…”
The typing stopped.
The screen went silent.
Then—
Every window slammed shut one by one.
Tak—tak—tak—tak—tak
so fast it sounded like a machine gun.
The wallpaper dissolved into a smear of static.
Rishabh reached forward to shut the laptop—
but the moment his fingers touched it—
The speakers exploded with a metallic screech.
A piercing, distorted signal.
Not loud like a scream—
loud like a warning.
Kritika jolted back so hard her chair nearly tipped.
“TURN IT OFF!” she yelled.
“I CAN’T!” Rishabh’s voice finally cracked.
The screen suddenly went black.
Not a gentle shutdown.
A violent kill—
like someone yanked its soul out through the charging port.
The fan choked mid-spin.
The indicator lights died.
Silence fell— thick and unnatural.
Rishabh’s shaking hand hovered over the keyboard.
Kritika whispered, barely audible—
“Was that… someone hacking us?”
He didn’t answer.
Because the laptop gave one last flicker—
a brief white flash like an eye opening—
before dying completely.
And in that single flash, Rishabh saw a reflection in the screen.
Not a face.
Just the two of them—
frightened, small, and unmistakably watched.
——————————————
The lane leading to Yug’s house was unusually silent.
Not quiet— silent.
As if the whole neighborhood was holding its breath.
Tarun and Yug walked side by side, the only sound the crunch of gravel under their shoes.
The streetlights flickered inconsistently, each blink making the shadows shift like something crawling just out of view.
Yug stopped suddenly.
“You heard that?”
Tarun’s eyes scanned the dark corners.
He didn’t answer.
Which was worse than a “yes.”
They reached the door.
It was open.
Just an inch.
But that inch felt like a scream.
Yug whispered, barely audible,
“I… I locked it, Tarun. With the chain.”
Tarun’s jaw tightened.
He pushed the door open with two fingers—slowly, silently—revealing the dim living room.
That’s when they saw the stains.
Thin, irregular smears on the floor…
leading inside
and then stopping abruptly,
like someone had wiped their shoes before leaving.
Yug’s breath trembled.
“Tarun—my mom—”
He moved forward in panic, but Tarun grabbed his forearm tight.
“Yug.”
His voice was calm, deep, dangerous.
“You rush in now, but stay with me."
Yug froze.
Tarun stepped in first,
body low, shoulders rigid, fists half clenched as he scanned every corner with the slow precision of someone who’d fought too many battles already.
Yug felt his stomach drop.
They walked toward the bedroom, following the faintest glow leaking through the curtains.
And there—
Asha Verma, Yug's mother lay on the bed.
Peaceful.
Steady breathing.
Completely untouched.
“Ma…” Yug whispered, his voice cracking.
He touched her wrist—warm, normal, calm.
Relief flooded his face—
but Tarun wasn’t relieved.
He was staring at the room like a soldier reading a battlefield.
The pillow had been shifted.
The closet door slightly open.
The curtains moved a little too smooth, like someone had brushed past them recently.
Nothing stolen.
Nothing damaged.
But everything… disturbed.
Yug clenched his fists, staring at the stains again, chest rising and falling too fast.
He didn’t move— just stared at his sleeping mom with a mix of fear and fury burning behind his eyes.
——————————————
The store room was dim, a single tube light buzzing like it was seconds away from dying. Dust motes floated in the stale air as the six of them stood in a crooked circle— no one close, no one comfortable.
Everyone's eyes screamed the same thing:
Something is wrong. Someone is slipping. And maybe… everyone is.
Kritika was the first to speak, but her voice trembled more than she expected.
“Three attacks in one night,” she whispered, “and none of us has a clue what’s going on. We’re not even moving smartly anymore.”
Rishabh snapped, louder than he meant to,
“Because half of you want to rush into everything like heroes! This is not a movie— if we mess up once, it’s over.”
Manav immediately shot back, stepping forward,
“And playing detective got us what? Nothing. Great job, Sherlock. Real productive.”
Rishabh’s jaw tightened.
“At least I try to think. You? You don’t think, Manav. You just react.”
Yug cut in sharply,
“We don’t have the luxury to sit and think every time, Rishabh. Sahil is moving faster than us.”
Tarun glared at Yug,
“And you think running around blindly will save us? You act brave but half the time you’re shaking. You can barely decide anything.”
Yug’s eyes widened with hurt,
“At least I’m not pretending to carry the world on my shoulders! You think being strong means you always know best?”
Kritika raised her voice, pointing at Tarun,
“You are constantly trying to control everything. You never trust anyone else’s decisions!”
Tarun fired back instantly,
“Because every time I let someone else decide, things fall apart!”
Vivek finally spoke, but quietly— too quietly.
“And every time something goes wrong… everyone looks at me.”
Everyone turned.
Vivek’s hands were trembling again.
“You all keep thinking I’ll mess it up. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I really am the weak link.”
Manav threw his hands up,
“Oh please, don’t play the victim! If you hadn’t freaked out that day, half of this wouldn’t have even started!”
Kritika stepped toward Manav, furious.
“Shut up, Manav! You use anger to hide the fact that you’re scared too!”
Manav stepped closer, not backing off,
“And you hide behind morals every time things get tough! Not everything can be solved with being ‘nice’!”
Rishabh pointed at Manav and Vivek,
“This is what I’m talking about. NO discipline, NO planning, just chaos. We can’t work like this.”
Yug pointed right back,
“And sitting in front of laptops won’t magically give you answers, Rishabh! Sometimes you need to run. Fight. Chase.”
Kritika cut in,
“We can’t chase blindly! Not without knowing what’s after us.”
“And we can’t waste time overthinking either!” Manav shouted.
Now everyone was shouting at once.
“You’re too slow!”
“You’re too reckless!”
“You never listen!”
“You never trust anyone!”
“You freeze up!”
“You explode for no reason!”
“You keep secrets!”
“You pretend you’re fine when you’re not!”
Tarun finally snapped, voice echoing through the metal racks:
“ENOUGH!”
Silence crashed over the room.
But something had already broken.
Rishabh wiped his face with a shaky breath.
“If we keep doing this together… we’re going to get each other killed.”
Manav crossed his arms.
“So what? We split?”
Yug looked between them, torn.
“Maybe we need… different approaches.”
The decision formed on its own.
No one agreed…
But no one disagreed either.
——————————————
Group 1—Yug, Vivek, and Manav—sat hunched over their laptops. Screens lit up their tired faces in the dark corner of an alley.
The camera from Alambagh had been recovered, but now the real work began. Its IP address was moving, jumping from place to place as if it were alive.
Vivek scrolled through lines of code, muttering all he could hardly make out, “It’s changing… again. Every time we think we’ve got it, it moves.”
“They think they can hide." Manav’s fingers flew across the keyboard, hacking through layers of encryption. "They think they’re smart. But we’ll find it.”
“Sector by sector. It's hopping around full speed. We can't stop until we know where it is.” Yug leaned closer, eyes fixed on the map on the screen.
"Stop giving us orders like you're the protagonist." Manav gritted his teeth in frustration.
Hours passed. The room was silent except for the clicking of keys, the occasional sigh, and the faint hum of the laptops.
Sweat ran down their temples. Fingers cramped. Eyes burned. But no one moved to stop.
Finally, the IP paused. A small dot blinked steadily on the map. Yug’s eyes widened. “Sector 17,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Vivek’s head snapped up. “It’s going there. I guess… we should move."
Manav stood, slamming the laptop shut. “No more waiting. Let’s go losers.”
They grabbed their bags and headed out, adrenaline making their hearts pound. The night outside was still, but inside, the air felt electric, as if something was waiting for them at the end of this chase.
——————————————
Meanwhile, Rishabh’s group—Rishabh, Tarun, and Kritika—sat in a cramped CCTV control room near one of the EdBridge branches.
The low hum of the monitors mixed with the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, making the small space feel almost suffocating.
Rishabh leaned forward, scanning the screens like a hawk. “Pause that. Zoom in. No, the other feed. Frame by frame. Look for irregularities.”
Tarun leaned back, spinning in his chair, staring at a frozen screen. “Uh… uh… wait. Are these cameras… broken?" He tapped the screen lightly. “Hello? Hello? Anyone home?”
“They’re not broken, Tarun. Some files are frozen. Some are gone completely. Whoever is behind this knows exactly what they’re doing.”
Kritika pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes flicking between her notebook and the screens.
“Exactly. Evidence is being erased in real-time. We need to stay methodical." Rishabh didn’t look up.
Tarun groaned, dramatically flopping onto the chair. “I mean… can we at least take a snack break? No? Fine.”
Kritika muttered, exasperated, “Focus, Tarun. We don’t have the luxury of breaks.”
Hours passed as they traced feeds, rewinding and pausing endlessly. Occasionally, the operators appeared on the cameras—adjusting lenses, typing commands, oblivious to the trio watching.
Suddenly, the back door slammed open. Two CCTV personnel had noticed them, rushing in with shouts and frantic movements.
Before anyone could react, Tarun sprang forward. With surprising strength and speed, he shoved both men toward the exit, slamming the door behind them.
The metallic thud echoed through the room.
He turned around, chest heaving, to find Rishabh frozen mid-step, staring wide-eyed at him, and Kritika standing stiff, jaw dropped in disbelief.
Tarun, clueless about the shock he caused, simply raised a hand and gave an innocent thumbs up.
——————————————
Sector 17 looked weirdly different at night.
The streetlights buzzed with a dull, sickly yellow glow, spilling uneven patches of light across the empty road. Stray dogs lay curled near the gutter, and the cool breeze carried the distant honking of trucks from the highway.
But none of that mattered to the three boys standing across the street, staring at the Sector 17 Police Station like it was a portal to another world.
Vivek gripped the tablet so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“B-Bro… this can’t be the place. Why would the IP lead here? To a police station?”
Manav scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically even the darkness couldn’t hide it.
“Relax, genius. That’s exactly why it’s here. Who the hell would question a police station? Hide in plain sight. Basic villain stuff.”
Yug didn’t react. His face was tense—not scared, but focused enough to make even Manav shut up for a moment.
“We’re not assuming anything. We go in, check everything, get the proof, and leave. That’s it.”
Manav smirked. “Yeah, Captain Serious. Whatever you say.”
Vivek gulped. “A-At night? Shouldn’t we… wait till morning?”
Yug glanced at him sharply.
“If the IP is stationary now, tomorrow it might not be. We move now.”
And that was final.
They waited for the last officer to step out of the main entrance, stretch, yawn, lock the front doors, and walk off into the night—completely clueless to the three teenagers in the shadows.
Manav stepped forward first, swagger in his walk, nudging the others.
“Watch and learn, kids.”
He walked straight toward the left side of the building where an old metal gate hung crooked, almost broken off its hinges. He pushed it and it swung open with a loud creak.
Vivek almost screamed.
“S-Shhh!! It’s too loud—someone will hear—”
“No one heard anything,” Manav muttered arrogantly, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. “Even the ghosts are sleeping.”
“Manav.”
Yug’s voice was low, controlled.
“Stop running your mouth. Eyes open. Focus.”
Manav snorted but obeyed.
They slipped into the narrow alley running along the police station’s outer wall. Garbage bins. Broken bottles. A half-crushed cigarette packet. The faint humming of a generator.
The alley opened to the backside of the building where there were no cameras—only a few high windows and a rusted staff entrance.
Yug bent down, inspecting the lock.
“It’s old. We can open it.”
Manav grinned. “Let me break it. Left hook? Right hook? Your choice.”
“Touch it,” Yug warned, “and I’ll break your jaw instead.”
Manav backed away dramatically. "Oh, I'm shitting my pants. Chill.”
Vivek hovered nervously, eyes darting everywhere.
“P-Please hurry…”
With a pin lying nearby and two quick twists, Manav unlocked the door.
The three of them slipped inside.
"You have done it before, haven't you?" Yug looked at him with suspicious eyes.
Inside the police station
It was colder than expected.
The corridors were empty, lit only by emergency lights that turned the walls bluish-grey. The air smelled of old paper, metal cabinets, and something faintly metallic.
Vivek whispered, trembling,
“Guys… this is illegal. This is very illegal.”
“Yeah, and so is running a camera network that tracks kids,” Manav replied casually. “Pick your crime.”
Yug walked ahead, eyes scanning every door, every signboard, every shadow.
They passed the evidence room. The interrogation chamber. The holding cell with no one inside.
Nothing unusual.
Until…
Vivek stopped.
His breath hitched.
“Y-Yug… look…”
Behind a stack of dusty chairs at the end of the hallway stood a door.
A door that made no sense.
It was thick. Reinforced. Metallic. Too new and hidden compared to the building.
Manav frowned.
“Damn… what kind of police station has a panic room in the basement?”
Yug didn’t answer. He stepped forward, placing his hand against the ice-cold steel.
“No lock from outside. Only a strange panel.”
Manav leaned closer.
“So… we’re screwed?”
“No.”
Yug crouched, checking the panel’s wiring.
“It’s external. We can handle it.”
Manav grinned.
“Of course we can. That's why I'm here.”
Vivek protested, voice shaking,
“Guys… seriously… what if someone comes? What if we get caught? What if—”
Manav cut him off.
“If you say ‘what if’ one more time, I’ll throw you down the stairs myself.”
Vivek whimpered.
Manav connected wires, sparked something twice, then—
CLIKK.
The panel flickered.
The gate unlocked with a heavy metallic thud.
The boys exchanged looks.
Manav inhaled sharply. “Alright. Final boss room unlocked.”
Vivek whispered, “We shouldn’t do this…”
Yug pushed the door open.
A cold gust of air rushed up the stairs.
A staircase.
Descending into total darkness.
No signs. No labels. No reason to exist.
Yug whispered, voice steady but hushed,
“This is it.”
Manav smirked nervously.
“If some demon jumps out, I swear I'll let you die of you before I do.”
Vivek clung to the railing, barely able to breathe.
Step by step, they walked down, the darkness growing deeper, colder, heavier with each breath.
At the bottom was another door.
Another gate.
What they didn’t know— was that someone else had already reached this place before them.
Someone they never expected to meet here.
——————————————
Rishabh, Kritika, and Tarun moved from shop to shop, asking anyone they could find about a “tuition centre” supposedly tied to the EdBridge branches.
“Excuse me,” Rishabh started politely at a small tea stall, “do you know anything about a tuition centre nearby?”
The shopkeeper shook his head, frowning. “No… nothing like that. Maybe it moved… maybe it never existed.”
Tarun, standing beside him, leaned on the counter. “Or maybe it’s invisible. You know, like those ninjas you see in movies. Super secret tuition ninjas. Very sneaky.”
Kritika pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tarun, please. Just… observe quietly.”
They moved on, asking multiple locals—shopkeepers, street vendors, a man walking his dog—but no one had seen anything. Some gave vague answers, some shook their heads, and a few even laughed at Tarun’s random comments.
Rishabh let out a long breath. “Nothing. All of this—gone. Deleted. Stalled. Covered up. We need a different approach.”
Kritika nodded, shoulders slumping. “We’ve asked everyone we can. The next logical step is… the police station nearby. Maybe there’s an FIR or some record we can trace.”
Tarun perked up instantly, sitting up on the bench. “Ooh! Police! Maybe they have a snack cupboard too. Or coffee. And we could talk to the… files… I mean, humans… maybe both.”
Rishabh gave him a look, half exasperated, half amused. “Let’s just go, Tarun.”
Kritika whispered under her breath, “Please don’t trip over the curb this time.”
They walked silently, the glow of Sector 17’s streetlights guiding them. The police station loomed ahead—its walls official, intimidating, and alive with the faint buzz of late-night activity.
——————————————
Yug’s group stepped cautiously into the basement, the air thick and damp, echoing each footstep. Shadows clung to the walls like living things, and the faint flicker of a light far ahead drew their eyes.
Straight ahead, a gate stood, distant but unmistakable, the flickering light dancing across its cold metal.
Suddenly, soft footsteps echoed behind them. Each member froze, alert. Heartbeats thudded loudly in the silence that followed.
Then—the light went out. Darkness swallowed the gate. But the group didn’t stop. They moved carefully, tension coiling like a spring in their chests, muscles taut, senses on edge.
A scraping sound came from the floor. Something heavy dragged across the concrete—metallic, deliberate.
The light snapped back on.
Before them stood a bat, nails hammered viciously along its length, clutched in hands that held it with a strange, eerie calm. The figure moved slightly, and a flash of recognition struck Yug like lightning.
The voice came, smooth, sarcastic, familiar.
“Why are you here?!" The figure paused, breathing unevenly, "But still… you took long enough, Yug.”
Time seemed to stop. The group’s eyes widened, the horror and surprise mingling. The light fully revealed the person wielding the weapon.
Anaya Kapoor.
