[3RD PERSON POV]
[NEXT NIGHT]
Somewhere in the Arabian Sea…
A lone island. A forgotten tapu shrouded in mist. The crashing waves echoed in the distance like a constant drumbeat of nature's rage. The island wasn't far from Mumbai, but it might as well have been a world apart.
Inside a colossal mansion perched at the island's edge, chaos reigned. Gunfire rattled the air like unrelenting thunder. Explosions sent tremors through the ground, rattling the walls and shattering glass windows into deadly shards. Smoke and the metallic tang of blood filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. But in one place, it was worse.
The washroom.
Dim, flickering light from a single overhead bulb bathed the room in an eerie, stuttering glow. Each flash illuminated a scene that could have been pulled straight from a nightmare. Blood. Blood everywhere.
Thick, viscous red liquid pooled across the cracked tiles, soaking into every crevice. The drains were clogged with chunks of flesh, leaving the blood to spread like a flood. The stench was suffocating. It wasn't just blood; it was death, decay, and despair. The coppery tang clung to the air like an invisible fog, sharp enough to sting the back of the throat.
Bodies lay scattered across the room in grotesque disarray. Torsos without heads. Arms without bodies. Legs bent at unnatural angles. Limbs had been severed so cleanly it looked as if a master butcher had done the work, the edges too sharp, too perfect. Blood still seeped from fresh wounds, staining the air with the warmth of something that had only just died.
One body was slumped against the wall, eyes wide open, his mouth frozen in a scream that would never come. Another lay face down in the pool of blood, his spine visibly severed at the neck, his head missing entirely. The head lay on the other side of the room, eyes still open, empty, lifeless.
The floor tiles were broken, shattered pieces crunching underfoot. The porcelain sink had been smashed to bits, its jagged edges jutting out like teeth ready to bite. Cracks ran up the walls like veins, and in some places, the tiles had fallen away, revealing raw concrete beneath.
But it wasn't the destruction that made it terrifying. It was the way the walls were painted with blood. Handprints smeared down the length of the wall as if someone had tried to claw their way to freedom. Arcs of blood sprayed in wide, sweeping patterns, evidence of something violent, something fast. It wasn't war. It wasn't battle. It was slaughter.
And in the center of it all, she stood.
Her figure was framed in the dim, flickering light. Her shadow danced against the wall, warped and jagged, mirroring the broken chaos around her.
She stood motionless. Her head tilted slightly to the side, the air around her seemed unnaturally still.
A woman in pink.
Her cropped pink top hugged her figure, adorned with intricate designs, glimmers of sequins catching the light like tiny stars in a blood-red sky. Her black high-waisted shorts had silver buttons running up the side, the frayed edges swaying lightly as if the air itself feared to touch her. Her legs, long and lean, stood firm in high-heeled black sandals, the narrow heels coated in streaks of red.
Her jacket hung loosely on her shoulders, swaying with each subtle movement she made. The woman stood there, her fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the cold, steel barrel of the gun. Her knuckles were white from the pressure, but her expression remained calm, albeit with a hint of nervousness flickering in her eyes. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the man in front of her. The room smelled of iron, the unmistakable stench of blood hanging thick in the air, and the sight before her was beyond belief. The floor, a gruesome carpet of crimson, seemed to stretch into infinity. Bloodied limbs, dismembered bodies scattered around, their lifeless eyes staring into the void. The walls, once pristine, were now splattered with a chaotic, splintered design that only blood could create.
But through all this, the man didn't seem to care. He was washing his hands nonchalantly in the basin, as though nothing had happened, as though the carnage surrounding him was just a minor inconvenience. His casual black pants and full-sleeve shirt, once probably crisp and neat, were now soaked with blood. The sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, revealed forearms. A small, bloodied axe lay beside the basin, the tool that had created this horrific scene, now resting against the counter as if exhausted from its work.
The man didn't flinch at the gun pointed directly at him. In fact, he seemed entirely oblivious to the threat. He continued washing his hands with a strange, almost detached rhythm, humming to himself. His voice was light, carefree, as if singing to himself in the midst of a regular day. "Blast baby, blast baby, blast baby, come on, baby," he sang, the words flowing with unsettling ease, as if this were a moment of complete normality.
His gaze shifted to the broken mirror in front of him, his reflection barely visible through the cracks. There was a streak of blood across his face, a thin line that marred his otherwise smooth complexion. Without missing a beat, he reached for a cloth, casually wiping the blood away, his movements as smooth and deliberate as if he were preparing for an important meeting. The man's eyes, dark and unfazed, never left the reflection, but his movements betrayed a certain calmness. He seemed to be almost enjoying this moment, this strange lull amidst the chaos he had created.
This man, standing unfazed in the middle of the carnage, was none other than Krishna himself. His presence was the very definition of paradox—a calm, almost eerie demeanor in a scene so violent that it made the walls themselves seem to weep with blood. Warina, the woman pointing the gun at him, stood rigid, her body trembling with the tension of the moment. Her breath was shallow, her mind running a thousand miles an hour, trying to make sense of the scene she was witnessing.
The gun in her hand felt heavier by the second, but Krishna remained impassive, his attention focused on his reflection in the broken mirror. His movements were slow, deliberate, each action as casual as if he were washing his hands after a long day, not after having slaughtered dozens of people. Warina's fingers twitched, ready to pull the trigger at any moment. But her mind... her mind was in turmoil.
How had Krishna ended up in this situation? What had led her—Warina, a skilled RAW agent, one trained to neutralize threats—to this moment, where she stood in a bloody washroom, gun pointed at him, frozen in place?
To understand how things had come to this, we must go back... back to the beginning.
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[3RD PERSON POV]
[FLASHBACK]
[TIME WHEN JAIDEV RUN FROM ANDHRA PRADESH AND HIS CRIME COME OUT]
[DELHI]
Inside the stark, dimly lit conference room of the RAW secret base, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The high-ranking officials sat around the long, polished table, their faces grim, as the weight of the moment settled over them. The cold, artificial light from the overhead bulbs cast long shadows, highlighting the seriousness of the meeting.
At the head of the table sat RAW Chief Kulkarni, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. He locked eyes with the Army Chief, VK Nair, and the National Security Advisor, Charan Ramaswamy. The silence stretched for a few moments, thick with the gravity of the information that was about to be shared. Kulkarni's voice finally broke the silence, a calm but authoritative tone that echoed in the room.
"Lucas is coming to India."
The words landed like a bomb. A ripple of shock spread across the room, palpable in the sudden tension that gripped the three men. Army Chief Nair was the first to speak, his voice a low growl of disbelief.
"The information is confirmed?"
Kulkarni nodded once, sharply. His gaze never wavered as he continued, each word carefully measured, each syllable laden with meaning. "Hundred percent. According to the intel we've received, the recent surge in illegal activities across India is linked to Lucas. He's set up a base near Mumbai, on a remote tapu, and his man, Abdul, is the one running operations there."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Charan Ramaswamy, the National Security Advisor, leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. "After the disaster in Andhra Pradesh, it's clear they're up to something big. And now, Lucas himself is coming?"
Kulkarni's gaze turned steely, his voice unwavering. "Yes. It seems Lucas is coming to meet Jaidev tomorrow. We believe they are planning something major, and it's our chance to strike. If we can capture Lucas, we can dismantle the entire drug operation that's been plaguing this country."
Ramaswamy's voice broke the silence, his words sharp and questioning. "So, what do you suggest, Kulkarni?" His gaze was fixed on the RAW Chief, anticipation heavy in the air. There was a certain calm in Kulkarni's demeanor, a silent intensity that seemed to speak volumes. He wasn't just another bureaucrat—he was a man who understood the stakes, who had lived and breathed the country's security, who knew that sometimes, a split-second decision could change everything.
Kulkarni exhaled slowly, his gaze unwavering. "A mission."
The words landed with a quiet finality, but the room seemed to hold its breath. The shock was immediate, though none of the men dared to show it outwardly. Charan Ramaswamy and VK Nair exchanged glances, their eyebrows rising in unison, both questioning whether they had heard Kulkarni correctly.
Nair's voice was cautious but firm. "But if we're to execute this mission, we'd need permission from the Prime Minister and the Principal Secretary. Without their go-ahead, this operation is dead in the water."
Before Nair could finish, Kulkarni interjected, his voice as steady as ever, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "We can't. It's election time. You know as well as I do that neither the PM nor the Principal Secretary will give us the green light. Not in this period. They'll play it safe and refuse, and by the time the elections are over, it'll be too late. This is our best chance to capture Lucas."
Ramaswamy's jaw tightened as he glanced at Nair. He could feel the weight of Kulkarni's words pressing on his chest. "We can't do this, Kulkarni," he said, his voice laced with apprehension. "The risk is too high. If this mission fails, we won't just be facing defeat. We'll be facing something much worse. The responsibility will fall on us, and we can't afford that kind of failure. Not at this level."
Nair, ever the realist, nodded solemnly. "Ramaswamy's right. We cannot afford to act without their explicit permission. The consequences will be disastrous."
Kulkarni leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, but there was fire in his eyes. "Why don't you both understand? This is our chance. If we let it slip through our fingers, if we wait for the bureaucracy to make a move, we'll never get another shot at Lucas. This—" he gestured sharply towards the map of India, "—this is the moment we've been waiting for. And we can't afford to waste it."
His words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, the only sound in the room was the hum of the lights above them. The tension was palpable, the weight of the decision looming like a storm cloud, ready to burst.
The room was thick with a quiet tension, the decision hanging in the air like a heavy fog. After what felt like an eternity, Ramaswamy sighed deeply, the sound carrying the weight of a reluctant agreement. He ran a hand over his face, his mind still racing with the consequences of the decision, but there was no turning back now.
"Who's going to lead this mission, Kulkarni?" he asked, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. The question seemed simple, but beneath it lay the uncertainty of the mission's success, the enormity of the risk they were about to take.
Kulkarni, ever composed, nodded slowly. He stood up from his seat with a quiet authority, the lines of his face etched with years of experience. Without saying another word, he gestured to the door.
Moments later, two men and two women walked into the room, their movements purposeful, eyes sharp with the focus of agents who had been briefed and were prepared for what was to come. The air seemed to hum with their presence.
Kulkarni gestured to the first man, a tall figure with a chiseled jaw and an intense gaze. "This is Agent Arjun," Kulkarni began, his voice steady and confident. "He's one of our best field operatives, sharp under pressure and relentless when it comes to tracking targets. He's been in situations where others would've folded, but Arjun doesn't know the meaning of surrender."
Arjun gave a small nod, his expression impassive, but there was a fire in his eyes.
Next, Kulkarni turned to the woman standing beside Arjun. She was tall, with an almost ethereal presence. Her dark eyes seemed to observe everything and nothing at once, her calm exterior hiding a mind that was always five steps ahead. "This is Agent Warina," Kulkarni continued. "She's a master of strategy and negotiation, and her ability to blend in and gather intel is unmatched. She's the reason we've been able to track Lucas for this long."
Warina's lips quirked into a small, almost imperceptible smile, acknowledging the praise without letting it affect her. She didn't need words—her reputation was already etched in the shadows of the missions she had completed.
Kulkarni turned to the other two agents now standing behind Arjun and Warina. "Along with them, Agent Aadi and Agent Vaishnavi will be accompanying them on this mission. Aadi is one of the best when it comes to hacking and surveillance, while Vaishnavi excels at combat and handling high-risk situations. Together, they will form the backbone of this operation."
Agent Aadi, a wiry man with sharp features and a quiet intensity, gave a small but respectful nod, his fingers tapping a subtle rhythm against his leg. Vaishnavi, on the other hand, exuded a calm yet steely confidence, her eyes never leaving the others as if assessing every detail in the room.
Kulkarni surveyed them all for a moment, his gaze sharp as he began explaining the mission in detail. As he spoke, each agent absorbed the information, their expressions hardening, their minds already shifting into mission mode.
With the briefing complete, Kulkarni's eyes met theirs once more, his tone unwavering. "Are you all ready?"
The room was silent for a heartbeat, the only sound being the soft shuffle of boots against the floor as the agents exchanged glances. Then, one by one, they nodded, a single, unified motion that spoke volumes more than any words could.
Warina's gaze lingered on Kulkarni for a brief moment, her eyes filled with a quiet determination, before she turned to Arjun. The two shared a look that conveyed more than any verbal exchange could—a shared understanding of what was at stake, a bond forged through years of working together in the shadows.
"I hope you all succeed," Kulkarni said, his voice almost a whisper now, the weight of his words pressing heavily on them all. "You know how critical this is."
Arjun and Warina nodded without hesitation, the understanding between them clear. They turned toward the door, the rest of the team following close behind.
[DAY OF MISSION]
The small boat gently rocked on the Arabian Sea as the sun began to dip lower on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. The water shimmered, reflecting the colors in a way that almost seemed to echo the tension building among the four agents. Arjun, Warina, Vaishnavi, and Aadi sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. The faint hum of the boat's engine was the only sound, aside from the distant calls of seabirds.
Warina broke the silence first, her voice calm but firm. "There's a party happening inside the mansion. I'll go in first and mix with the dancers. You guys stay outside and wait for my signal." She turned her gaze toward them, her expression unreadable.
Arjun, who had always been the cautious one, furrowed his brow. "That's risky, you know, Warina." He leaned forward, his voice low. "You could be spotted. We need to be sure we're not walking into a trap."
Warina met his gaze, her eyes steady, but there was a flicker of uncertainty hidden deep within them. "I know," she said, her tone softening slightly. "But it's the easiest way to get in unnoticed. Once I'm inside, I can gather information and locate Lucas. I can handle myself."
Aadi, sitting on the other side of the boat, crossed his arms over his chest. "It's still dangerous. We're not just dealing with anyone here. Lucas is no ordinary criminal. He's ruthless, and his men are everywhere."
Before Arjun could add anything further, Vaishnavi spoke up. Her voice was calm but sharp, her mind already racing through the possibilities. "What if I go inside instead?" she suggested, looking at Warina with determination. "I can blend in just as easily as you. And you can stay out here to keep an eye on things."
Warina shook her head immediately, her lips pressing into a tight line. "No," she said firmly. "I'll do it. If the situation goes south, I can handle it. I don't want anyone else risking their lives for this mission."
The group fell into a heavy silence as the boat continued its journey toward the mansion. The tension in the air was palpable, each of them understanding the stakes. There were no guarantees, no promises of safety. The mission was a gamble, one that could end in disaster if things went wrong.
Finally, after a long moment, Arjun sighed and sat back, knowing that arguing further would do no good. "Fine," he said, his voice resigned but filled with concern. "Just... be careful, Warina. We'll be waiting for your signal."
Warina nodded once, a silent promise to herself that she would return with the information they needed.
As night fell, the operation began in earnest. The boat slipped closer to the shore, the lights of the mansion casting long shadows across the water. Warina stood, her movements deliberate as she adjusted her attire—her dark dress blending into the night, the mask of confidence slipping into place. She was ready.
Aadi, Arjun, and Vaishnavi stayed behind, hidden in the shadows, their eyes trained on the mansion. The air was thick with anticipation, the sound of distant waves barely masking the adrenaline coursing through their veins.
Kulkarni, back at the command center, monitored every moment. His eyes were sharp as he observed the agents' movements on the screens in front of him. His mind raced as he processed the situation. This was their chance. They couldn't afford any mistakes.
Warina made her move, slipping into the mansion's grand entrance, blending in with the dancers as the music thumped through the walls.
The mansion's grand ballroom was alive with the thumping beats of loud music, the lights flashing in sync with the rhythm as dancers swirled across the floor. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the sharp edge of tension that none of the guests could see. Lucas, Abdul, Jaidev, and their men sat at a long table, their eyes fixed on the stage where performers twirled in extravagant costumes, oblivious to the danger creeping ever closer.
The agents, hidden in their positions outside the mansion, were ready to execute their plan. Warina, already inside, had melted into the crowd of dancers, her eyes scanning the room, alert to every movement. Arjun, Vaishnavi, and Aadi were poised for action, waiting for the signal. Everything was in place—until the world suddenly shattered.
A deafening explosion rocked the air, shaking the ground beneath them, and chaos erupted inside the mansion. The music stopped abruptly, replaced by the violent sounds of gunfire and shouting. Warina's heart skipped a beat. The signal had come far too soon.
Outside the mansion, Arjun's grip tightened on his earpiece, his breath quickening as the sound of bullets rang through the comms. Kulkarni's voice came through, sharp and urgent, "Arjun, what is happening?"
Arjun's voice was steady, but a hint of confusion lingered beneath the surface. "Sir, it seems we're not the only ones after Lucas. Someone else is here, too."
Kulkarni's jaw tightened. The mission had already been complicated enough, but now it seemed someone else had entered the fray—someone who wasn't part of the plan. "What are your orders, sir?" Arjun pressed, his instincts screaming at him to act, but uncertainty clouding his mind.
"Can you tell me who the other party is?" Kulkarni's voice was cold, demanding answers.
"I... I can't see them clearly, sir. It's too dark, and there's too much confusion. I'm trying to make sense of it, but—" Arjun's words were cut off as the sound of another explosion echoed in the background, the ground shaking violently.
Before the conversation could continue, a crackling voice came through the comms, shaking the stillness of the tense atmosphere. Aadi's voice, panicked and breathless, rang through the earpiece. "Ar—Arjun!"
Everyone froze. Aadi's voice was filled with dread, an edge of fear that cut through the chaos.
"Aadi, what happened?" Arjun demanded, his pulse racing as the urgency in his voice rose.
The line was silent for a moment, the sounds of gunfire faint in the background. Then Aadi's voice returned, low and trembling. "Black Lotus."
The mention of "Black Lotus" sent a wave of unease rippling through the group. Silence fell over the agents like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Aadi's panicked voice still echoed in their ears, and the realization of what was unfolding hit them hard. Arjun gripped his earpiece, eyes scanning the chaotic scene outside, his mind struggling to process what he'd just heard.
Vaishnavi, her voice shaking with nervous energy, broke the silence, her words carrying the weight of truth. "Sir, they have the Black Lotus symbol on their backs. They're all covered in black cloth. It's... it's definitely Black Lotus."
A chill crept down Arjun's spine. They were not prepared for this. Not for them. Black Lotus didn't just work in the shadows—they thrived in them. They were ruthless, deadly, and completely unpredictable.
The room fell into a deep, oppressive silence. Beads of sweat dotted everyone's forehead, the tension suffocating. Each of them processed the gravity of the situation in their own way. The calm before the storm had long passed. The storm was here, and they were caught in its center.
Kulkarni's voice finally shattered the stillness, filled with palpable anger and frustration. His words were clipped, each one laced with an urgency that was hard to ignore. He slammed his hand on the table in frustration. "Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, his voice rising. "What the hell are Black Lotus doing here? This is a bad situation."
Arjun's breath caught in his throat as his mind raced to formulate a plan. He could already feel the weight of the decision that was about to be made, but he had to keep it together for his team. "Arjun, where is Warina?" Kulkarni snapped, his voice sharp, demanding an answer.
Arjun hesitated, dread creeping into his chest. He pressed his fingers against his ear, trying once more to establish contact with Warina. His hands were steady, but his mind was a storm of uncertainty. "Sir... I can't contact her. We've lost her signal." The words tasted bitter on his tongue. The silence that followed was deafening. It was like the world had paused for just a second, leaving only the chaos outside to fill the void.
Kulkarni's frustration exploded. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" His voice cracked under the pressure. The anger in his tone was raw, but it was the fear that threaded through his words that made it all the more dangerous. He slammed his fist onto the table again, the impact reverberating in the tense air. "The Black Lotus... Arjun, everyone—don't act recklessly. Wait for orders. Try to contact Warina again. Fuck this shit."
Arjun's mind raced, but he remained calm, steeling himself for what came next. He nodded, even though Kulkarni couldn't see him. His voice was low, filled with determination. "Okay, sir."
The weight of the responsibility pressed down on them all. Time was running out, and every second they wasted could cost them everything. The silence was only broken by the distant echoes of gunfire, a constant reminder that they weren't alone in this.
The mansion was a scene of utter chaos. Gunfire echoed through the halls, the sharp cracks of bullets cutting through the air, accompanied by the low, rumbling blasts of explosions that rattled the walls. The once opulent space was now a battlefield, and Warina was in the heart of it. She sprinted down the hallway, the pounding of boots behind her a constant reminder of the danger closing in. The men chasing her weren't ordinary thugs—they were well-trained, relentless, and armed to the teeth.
Panic surged within her as she rounded a corner, her breath quickening. She knew the stakes. She couldn't afford to be caught. She reached the nearest washroom, bursting inside and slamming the door shut behind her. Her hands trembled as she leaned against the cold marble sink, the chaos outside pressing in like a suffocating wave. She fumbled with a small device she'd been given for communication, her heart pounding in her chest. She needed to reach Arjun, to reach someone, but as she pressed the buttons, nothing happened.
Frustration bubbled up inside her. "Why the hell isn't it working?" she muttered, her voice sharp, edged with panic. "This has never happened before. Are the gods joking with me? Why, God? Why now?" She slammed the device against the sink in frustration, her mind racing as she desperately tried to make it work again.
But before she could try anything further, the sound of boots thundering closer made her freeze. The door trembled under the weight of several powerful kicks. She barely had time to react before it burst open with a loud crash, revealing the men who had been hunting her. Their guns were raised, eyes hard with deadly intent.
For a moment, she stood frozen, her pulse deafening in her ears. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. They had her cornered.
She raised her hands slowly, deliberately, in a gesture of surrender. Her calm demeanor stood in stark contrast to the chaos outside, but she knew that showing fear would only make things worse. Her heart was racing, but she refused to let them see that. She'd survived this long for a reason.
One of the men, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, gestured with his gun. "Throw that device away," he ordered, his voice cold, devoid of emotion.
Warina's fingers tightened around the small device, her mind whirling as she evaluated her options. She knew she couldn't fight them off—not with her current position. So, with a steady hand, she tossed the device aside, watching it skitter across the floor. It wasn't far from her, but it was out of reach now. She could only hope that Arjun would still be able to track her if the device was somehow salvageable.
The man stepped closer, his gun aimed directly at her. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" His voice was low, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He clearly wasn't interested in playing games.
Warina's lips pressed together, her mind racing for the best answer. The truth would make things worse. She had no intention of revealing her real purpose, not to these men. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her voice even. "I'm one of the dancers," she said, her eyes meeting his with quiet defiance.
The man's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his features. "Don't lie. Tell the truth. If you lie again, prepare to die." His words were like a cold threat, and Warina could feel the weight of them pressing down on her.
She held his gaze, her lips set in a firm line, but her mind was racing. She remained silent, the tension in the air so thick it almost felt suffocating. The men waited, the barrel of the gun trained on her. The seconds dragged on like hours. Warina's hands remained still in the air, her body tense but composed.
The silence was almost unbearable, the tension in the washroom thickening with every passing second. Warina stood still, her hands still raised in surrender, eyes fixed on the men who surrounded her. Every breath she took felt like a risk, each second dragging on like an eternity. Just as the situation seemed to be spiraling into an inevitable confrontation, a sudden, unexpected sound pierced the heavy silence.
The flush of a toilet. Loud and echoing.
For a split second, even the men with their guns aimed at Warina hesitated. Their gazes flicked to the toilet door behind her, confusion rippling through their expressions. The situation had already been chaotic, but this—this was something they hadn't anticipated.
And then the door swung open.
Everyone froze. The men's attention snapped toward the sound, their eyes shifting to the toilet door. Warina's breath caught in her throat. The last thing she expected was for someone else to be in the washroom, let alone the menacing figures in front of her. But then the door creaked open, and out stepped Krishna.
Krishna's eyes swept over the room, a calm smile spreading across his face. The kind of smile that spoke of a man who was used to controlling the situation, no matter how insane it became. "Ah," he said in a low, almost teasing tone, his gaze flicking from one person to the next. "Can a man enjoy his time in the toilet without being disturbed?" His voice was playful, almost mocking, as if he was entirely unaffected by the chaos unfolding around him.
His eyes lingered on Warina for a brief moment—just long enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze. It was as though something shifted in him, a moment of realization or perhaps recognition, but he said nothing. His playful smile didn't falter as he took another step forward, his posture relaxed, almost casual, like he was strolling through a garden rather than a battlefield.
Krishna finally spoke, his voice now tinged with amusement. "It's not good to enter a man's washroom," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It damages your image, beautiful lady."
Warina's heart skipped a beat. She could hardly believe what she was hearing, let alone who was standing in front of her. Krishna—the infamous man whose name sent shivers down the spine of everyone who knew of him. What is he doing here? she thought, her mind racing. This wasn't just a random appearance; there had to be more to this, but she couldn't process it. She stood frozen, her mouth slightly open, unsure whether to respond, to fight, or to flee.
The world around her seemed to slow, the clattering chaos of the gunfire, the shouts of men, all fading into the background as her attention remained fixated on Krishna.
The men, stunned for a split second by Krishna's sudden appearance, barely had time to react before their fate was sealed. One of them, the closest to Krishna, shouted, "Who are you, and what—" His words were cut off by the sharp, deadly flick of Krishna's wrist.
In an instant, the small axe flew from Krishna's hand like a blur. Time seemed to stretch as the weapon spun through the air with deadly precision, its gleaming edge catching the light for the briefest moment before it buried itself deep into the man's forehead. The impact was grotesque. A sickening crack echoed through the small, claustrophobic washroom, and then the blood began to spurt—a fountain of red gushing from the open wound, spraying in all directions. It splattered across the walls, pooling around the man's feet, his body trembling briefly before collapsing like a ragdoll. The axe, now firmly lodged in his skull, only added to the carnage.
Warina's eyes widened in horror as she watched the brutal scene unfold. She couldn't even process what had happened before Krishna was already moving again. His speed was unnerving, his movements fluid, as if he were a predator in his element.
Before the second man could even raise his weapon, Krishna was already upon him. His gaze was cold, calculating, and the smile that danced on his lips was not one of amusement, but of something darker—something far more dangerous. With a single, swift motion, he yanked the axe from the first man's skull and swung it again. This time, the blade sank into the second man's neck. The man's eyes went wide as his throat was cleaved open, and his head was severed in an instant. It fell from his shoulders, rolling to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed everywhere—on Krishna, on the walls, and even Warina, who had to step back to avoid the splatter.
The washroom, once a place of mundane utility, had now become a scene of horrifying chaos. Krishna, now drenched in the blood of his enemies, stood in the middle of it all. The scent of iron filled the air, thick and oppressive. His eyes, unblinking, coldly scanned the remaining men. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of dripping blood.
The remaining men hesitated, terror written all over their faces as they struggled to comprehend what had just happened. But Krishna showed no mercy. His movements were swift, brutal, and relentless. One by one, he dispatched them, each blow faster than the last, his axe carving through flesh and bone with precision. Screams filled the air, but they were quickly silenced by the wet thud of the axe meeting its target. Blood painted the walls, the floor, and Krishna himself.
The scene inside the washroom, once clean and sterile, was now a grotesque battlefield, drenched in the blood of the men who had dared to cross his path.
With terrifying efficiency, Krishna shoved the axe deep into one man's chest. The sound of the blade scraping through bone was sickening, but Krishna felt nothing. He withdrew it with a brutal yank, his face impassive, not even flinching as the man gurgled and crumpled to the floor. The moment his feet found the ground, Krishna was already moving again.
A second man tried to step forward, his gun raised in a trembling hand, but Krishna's eyes locked onto him with the coldest of glares. In a heartbeat, Krishna's leg shot forward, and his foot slammed into the man's stomach, sending him flying back against the wall. Without missing a beat, Krishna closed the distance between them, grabbing the man's hair and yanking him back up. The man's body slammed against the sink, and Krishna began smashing his skull against it—again, and again. Blood splattered across the white porcelain, splashing onto Krishna's face, but he didn't care. His blows didn't slow until the man's skull was little more than a mangled mess of flesh and bone, his eyes wide and vacant, no longer capable of seeing anything.
Krishna stepped back for a moment, his breath steady but heavy, his gaze flicking to the next man. The man gun now raised to fire, took a step forward—but Krishna was faster.
In a blur, Krishna ripped the axe from the skull of the first victim and swung it with all his might into the man's side. But before the axe even made contact, Krishna reached forward with a flash of savage precision and snapped the man's wrist with an audible crack. The gun fell to the ground with a hollow clatter, but the man barely had time to scream before Krishna grabbed his head, pulled it back, and without a word, shot a bullet through his skull. The gunshot echoed in the confined space, the sound reverberating off the walls as the man collapsed to the floor, blood seeping from the new hole in his head.
Another man, eyes wide with fear, turned to flee, but there was nowhere to run. The washroom was a small, suffocating space, and Krishna was already upon him. The man's back slammed against the wall as Krishna swung the axe again, cleaving through his side. Blood sprayed in every direction, drenching Krishna, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin. He didn't pause, didn't even take a moment to savor the kill. Instead, his grip tightened around the axe's handle as if he were holding onto something more important than just a weapon—it was his connection to this carnage.
In his next moment of madness, Krishna reached down and grabbed a jagged shard of the broken mirror. Without hesitation, he thrust it deep into the final man's skull, his eyes cold, devoid of any sympathy or remorse. The glass shard sank with a sickening crunch, and the man's body collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. Blood dripped down from his neck, pooling onto the tiles in a crimson tide.
But Krishna was far from done.
A low growl rose from deep within his chest as he swung the axe once more, the blade slicing through the air like a predator hunting its prey. His movements were so fast, so fluid, it was almost like he had become the embodiment of death itself—nothing could stop him.
The flickering lights above barely illuminated the hellish scene below, casting erratic shadows that danced across the blood-splattered walls. The hum of the fluorescent bulbs seemed to get quieter with each passing second, as if the space itself was recoiling from the violence that had unfolded within it.
Krishna stood among the bodies, his breath heavy but steady, his face blank—almost serene in contrast to the chaos around him. His clothes were drenched in blood, red staining the fabric and pooling at his feet. He looked down at the axe in his hand, its once gleaming edge now coated in the gore of those he had slain. It was a grotesque masterpiece—each swing had painted the washroom a deeper shade of red.
The last man, whose shattered skull lay near the sink, was still twitching, blood dribbling from his mouth. Krishna watched the pathetic movements for a moment, as if weighing whether to put him out of his misery. But then, with a disinterested shrug, he turned away. There was nothing left to gain from torturing this already broken man.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Krishna wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his cheek like a warrior marking his triumph. His gaze flicked to the door, where Warina stood frozen, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. She had been a silent witness to the bloodbath, and Krishna couldn't help but notice the shock, the disbelief, that lingered in her eyes. But his expression didn't change. He remained cold, detached, as if the killing was a mere task—a job well done.
Warina took a hesitant step back, but the moment Krishna's gaze locked onto hers, she stopped. His eyes were piercing, almost predatory, yet there was a strange calmness in them, as though the brutality he had just unleashed was as natural to him as breathing. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other in silence. Her mind raced, her heart pounded in her chest.
The washroom reeked of blood, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of iron. The flickering overhead light buzzed faintly, casting sporadic flashes of brightness over the gruesome scene. Broken tiles, shattered glass, and lifeless bodies lay scattered on the floor like discarded toys. Blood dripped steadily from the sink, mingling with the water swirling down the drain. The silence that followed was oppressive, like the heavy calm after a storm.
Krishna let out a deep sigh, tilting his head slightly as if stretching a stiff neck. He glanced down at his blood-soaked clothes, grimacing in mild annoyance. His fingers tugged at the edge of his crimson-stained shirt.
"Ah… finally, it's over," he muttered, his tone bored, almost irritated. His eyes scanned the mess he'd created, and he clicked his tongue in mild frustration. "Tch, I never understand why people waste time talking instead of acting. See where it got them." He shook his head, letting out another sigh. "And now look at my clothes. Ruined. Guess I'll have to throw them away."
His words carried no remorse, no regret—just the mild irritation of a man inconvenienced by stains on his outfit. As casually as one would put away tools after finishing a chore, Krishna set the bloodied axe on the edge of the sink with a soft clatter. The air was thick with the stench of death, but it didn't seem to bother him. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the tap, letting cold water flow over his hands. Blood swirled down the drain in mesmerizing, spiraling patterns of red. He rubbed his hands slowly, methodically, as if washing away dirt rather than blood. The cold water splashed on his face, sending small droplets trickling down his cheek.
Behind him, Warina watched in silence, her heart still pounding in her chest. Her back was pressed against the wall, her breaths shallow but controlled. Her fingers trembled, but she clenched them into fists to stop the shaking. Her gaze flickered between the axe, the lifeless bodies, and Krishna, who now looked more like a man washing up after a long day than someone who had just massacred half a dozen people.
Her eyes stayed on him, watching every movement. She studied him closely, searching for signs of rage, regret, or even exhaustion—but there was none. He was calm. Too calm. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Slowly, she straightened her back and exhaled deeply, forcing herself to calm down. Her body was still tense, but her face softened into a polite, practiced smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Krishna," she said, her voice steady, though there was still an undercurrent of caution. Her eyes met his, unblinking. "Thank you for your help."
The sound of water stopped. Krishna's hands paused mid-wash. Slowly, he turned his head, his wet fingers resting on the edge of the sink. For a moment, he didn't say anything, simply observing her with an unreadable expression.
Then, his lips curved into a playful smile—not the chilling smile of a predator, but the mischievous grin of someone who had caught you doing something foolish. His eyes gleamed with amusement as if her words had been a clever punchline to a joke only he understood.
"You're welcome," he said, his voice light, almost teasing. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gazed at her with a sharp, knowing look. "But, you know…" He leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. "Your smile is beautiful, but I don't like it when it's fake." His voice dropped just slightly, his tone still playful, but there was something deeper underneath—a weight to his words that made them linger longer than they should have.
Warina's breath caught in her throat. Her smile faltered, her lips twitching slightly. How did he notice? Her eyes darted to the floor for a split second, but she quickly regained her composure. Her smile vanished, replaced by something far more genuine—calm, direct, and unwavering.
"You're sharp," she admitted, her tone firm but not confrontational. Her eyes rose to meet his, her gaze steady. "It's a surprise to see you here, of all places."
Krishna glanced over at Warina, his eyes sharp but playful. "I'm surprised to see you here too, Warina," Krishna said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement. His gaze lingered on her face, reading every flicker of emotion. "But you seem a little uneasy. I thought RAW agents didn't get shaken by a little scene like this."
Warina's breath caught for a moment, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. Her fingers twitched before she moved with precision and speed. Her hand darted to her waist, pulling out a small, sleek gun. The barrel gleamed under the flickering light as she aimed it directly at Krishna's head. Her movements were fluid, professional. Her eyes locked onto him, unblinking, steady.
But Krishna didn't so much as flinch. His gaze met hers with unshakable calm, his smile never fading. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes half-lidded, looking at her as if she were a child throwing a tantrum. "Oh?" he hummed, his voice carrying that same infuriating calm. "You're tense, Warina. Did I say something wrong?" His smile widened, as if the barrel of the gun pointed at him was nothing more than a child's toy.
His eyes gleamed with a knowing glint. "Don't worry, I'm not here to out you. I just happened to notice," he said nonchalantly, pushing himself off the sink with a lazy stretch. His movements were slow, deliberate, like a man utterly in control of the situation. "You're good, though. I have to give you credit for that."
He glanced at her with a casual flick of his eyes, as if he were seeing her for the first time. "I saw your little 'performance' at the party just a moment ago." His voice was teasing, smooth like honey. "Gotta say, your singing and dancing were something else. Beautiful. Gorgeous, even." His eyes lingered on her for a second too long, and that smile of his, that sly, knowing smile, grew wider. "Didn't expect you to be so talented, Agent Warina."
Her grip on the gun tightened, her jaw clenching. "Stop talking," she hissed, her voice low but firm, like a warning just before a storm. Her heart was racing, but her face remained still, perfectly trained to show no weakness.
Krishna leaned forward, his eyes locked onto hers like a hawk eyeing its prey. "But the song," he continued, ignoring her warning entirely, his tone turning sing-song as if he were reciting a melody stuck in his head. His voice grew lighter, more playful, like a child humming a nursery rhyme. "Blast Baby, Blast Baby, Blast Baby, come on Baby..." He sang the lyrics slowly, his voice soft but clear, letting each word hang in the air just long enough for her to hear it.
(A/N: If you'd like to support me, please use this UPI: omgadekar29@oksbi "Om Gadekar". If you do, please let me know your webnovel name so I can recognize you.)
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