In the aftermath of Srestha's confrontation with his brother, the Sen mansion fell into a tense silence. The ripples of this newfound understanding between the once-estranged siblings would echo through the halls, changing the dynamic of the family forever.
Meanwhile, across the globe in Oswestry, England, a man in his thirties with black hair and piercing brown eyes entered the British Ironworks Centre. He presented an ID card, bearing the name Azazel, age 35, male, and his designation: Anti-Hero.
The worker at the ironworks, recognizing the title, looked relieved and informed Azazel that a recent work of art had caused the death of three people. Azazel, unfazed, lit a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the worker. "Show me where it happened."
The worker nodded, leading Azazel outside to the Forge Falconry Experience Centre. The air was thick with the weight of the impending investigation, the consequences of the Anti-Hero's actions looming large.
Meanwhile, back in Narayanganj, Srestha's journey to the Grand College was fast approaching. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but he was determined to face them head-on. Durga's words, both of encouragement and concern, lingered in his mind, serving as a reminder of the weight of his decisions.
As the Sen family prepared for Srestha's departure, Soruvo seethed inwardly, his jealousy growing with each passing day. He knew that his own path, intertwined with the Anti-Hero division, was destined to lead him down a different road. The divide between the brothers, once a chasm of disdain, now bridged by a tentative thread of affection, would prove to be a turning point in their relationship.
As the Sen family prepared for Srestha's departure, Soruvo seethed inwardly, his jealousy growing with each passing day. He knew that his own path, intertwined with the Anti-Hero division, was destined to lead him down a different road. The divide between the brothers, once a chasm of disdain, now bridged by a tentative thread of affection, would prove to be a turning point in their relationship.
The twin forces of the Anti-Villain Organization, the Hero and Anti-Hero divisions, continued to operate in the shadows. Their allegiances, while nominally to the government, often shifted with the wind, driven by their individual convictions and moral compasses.
Azazel's eyes narrowed as he listened to the worker's description of the Knife Angel, a 100,000-knives-strong work of art that had claimed three lives. "What was the name of this 'work of art'?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion.
The worker hesitated before replying, "It's called the Knife Angel."
Azazel's gaze lingered on the man, his mind racing with possibilities. "And how did the deceased look?"
The worker swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly. "Their bodies had multiple holes, made by knives."
Azazel's eyes widened, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like someone cursed it, and it's now a vengeful spirit."
Azazel's expression softened, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Yes, and maybe it had one. It's turned into a vengeful spirit, and some people intentionally did it."
The worker's eyes widened, his face pale. "You mean...?"
Azazel's gaze never wavered. "Yes, I mean that. Someone wanted this to happen."
The worker took a step back, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"
Azazel's lips curled into a sinister smile. "That's what I'm here to find out."
As the worker led Azazel through the Forge Falconry Experience Centre, the weight of the investigation hung in the air, the shadow of the Knife Angel looming large. Azazel's presence seemed to draw the very life out of the room, leaving only the cold, hard truth of the incident.
The worker shook his head vigorously. "But objects need a spirit to become cursed by anyone."
As Azazel and the worker made their way through the Forge Falconry Experience Centre, the Anti-Hero's phone rang, startling the man. Azazel, unperturbed, answered the call. "Sachi, what's up?"
A beautiful Japanese woman, 18 years old, with long, black hair and piercing blue eyes, appeared on the screen. She held a katana in her left hand, the phone in her right, perched atop a roof in Narayanganj. "Things are looking good here. How's it going on your end?"
Azazel's expression softened, a teasing glint in his eye. "Oh, I see. Have you found a boyfriend?"
Sachi scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Azazel, be serious."
Laughing, Azazel replied, "Well, things are looking quite interesting over here. I'll fill you in when I'm done."
The call ended, leaving the worker to puzzle over the cryptic exchange between the two. As Azazel resumed his investigation, the threads of the Knife Angel's story began to unravel, revealing a sinister plot that went far beyond the simple act of vengeance.
Meanwhile, in Narayanganj, Sachi returned to her post, her katana resting comfortably in her hand. The tension in the air was palpable, the threat of danger looming on the horizon. She knew that her role as an Anti-Hero was a precarious one, but she was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
In the Sen mansion, Srestha and Durga found themselves alone, the rest of the family having left for their respective jobs and universities. As Durga lay on the bed, scrolling through her phone, Srestha sat in the chair, his eyes fixed on her. The silence between them was palpable, the tension simmering just below the surface.
As Durga noticed that they were alone, she slowly sat up and closed the door behind her. Without warning, she leaned forward and bit Srestha's neck, her fangs piercing his skin. Before he could utter a word, she pulled back and captured his lips in a passionate kiss.
"I should apologize to you, so I'll do it by taking your virginity," she whispered against his lips, her voice husky with desire. Srestha couldn't resist her, and he found himself nodding in agreement. "Okay, then show me what you've got."
Srestha unzipped his pants, revealing his throbbing member. Durga gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. "It looks bigger than I thought," she murmured, her hands trembling slightly.
Srestha grinned wickedly at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "What happens if you get scared?"
Durga's cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know."
The air was thick with tension as Srestha reached for her, his fingers brushing against her skin. Durga shivered, her breath catching in her throat. She knew that she was in over her head, but she couldn't resist the allure of Srestha's offer.
Srestha's hands traced the outline of Durga's body, his fingers brushing against her bra. Without warning, he unclasped it, revealing her luscious breasts to his eager gaze. He marveled at the sight, her nipples a perfect shade of pink, erect and inviting.
"Wow, these are amazing," he whispered, his voice thick with desire as he fondled her breasts.
Durga looked surprised but made no move to resist. "Do you like them?" she asked, her heart hammering in her chest.
Srestha answered her in a different way, bending down and taking one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking it roughly. Durga gasped, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. "Hey, don't go so rough!" she protested, her voice laced with a hint of pleasure. "It hurts... but it feels good."
Lost in the haze of lust, they continued to explore each other, their senses heightened, their desires consuming them. Durga, feeling the dampness between her legs, knew that she was ready. "Let's do it on the bed," she whispered, her voice breathless. "I think I'm wet."
Srestha, his eyes never leaving hers, withdrew from her embrace. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom, tearing the package open with trembling fingers. The two of them, two souls entwined by fate, were about to embark on a journey that would forever alter the course of their lives.
As they lay down on the bed, the world outside faded into insignificance, the only reality the heat of their bodies, the intoxicating scent of their sweat, and the soft rustle of the bedsheets. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and the whispered promises of pleasure to come.
And so, in the secluded tranquility of the Sen mansion, Srestha and Durga surrendered to the fire that burned within them, the flames of passion consuming their inhibitions, their fears, and their doubts.
In the dimly lit room, Srestha and Durga found themselves entwined on the bed, the weight of their desires pressing down upon them. They chose the missionary position, Srestha positioning himself over her, his throbbing member poised at her entrance.
"Are you ready, Durga?" he whispered, his voice a husky murmur, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.
Durga nodded, her eyes never leaving his. She was ready, willing to face the unknown territory that awaited her. Srestha, taking her nod as confirmation, slowly pushed his cock inside her. Durga gasped, her eyes widening as the pain of penetration coursed through her. A single tear rolled down her cheek, the sting of the invasion mingling with the overwhelming sensation of pleasure.
"Srestha... it hurts," she whimpered, her voice shaky.
He looked at her, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?"
Durga swallowed hard, her voice wavering. "Yes, it hurts, but it feels good. Please, continue."
Srestha, his heart swelling with love and protectiveness, kissed her gently, his lips tender against hers. He began to move, his thrusts slow and measured, allowing her body to adjust to the invasion. Durga clung to him, her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist.
Their moans filled the room, a symphony of passion as they found rhythm together. Durga pulled him closer, their lips meeting in a searing kiss, her tongue intertwining with his. Srestha, lost in the haze of desire, continued to move, his hips grinding against her, their bodies slick with sweat.
The pain began to recede, replaced by waves of pleasure that washed over Durga, her body arching with each thrust. Srestha, feeling her tight walls contracting around him, knew they were both approaching the precipice.
{**Knife Angel**
-The Knife Angel is a contemporary sculpture formed of 100,000 knives created by artist Alfie Bradley and the British Ironworks Centre, based in Oswestry, England. Completed in 2018, the structure of the angel stands at 27 ft tall.
-Following an increased prevalence of knife crime within our media back in 2014, Clive Knowles, the Chairman of the British Ironwork Centre, developed the idea of creating an Angel made entirely from knives to highlight the issue of knife crime, but more importantly all forms of violence, plaguing the nation.
C.C: it nice. But as i heard that some of knives are involved in many crime case like robbing, murder. So in chapter if many people having question why that work of art have spirit inside of i?. That because some of kinves have spirit of criminals or victims which are involved in crime. And originally it have only arura of spirit them someone curse it making it into curse spirit.}