Kalyan's eyes locked onto a metal rod lying amidst the debris-a jagged, rusted piece of rebar, about three feet long. He snatched it up, feeling its weight in his hand. It wasn't a gun or a blade, but in his hands, it would be far deadlier.
A group of five soldiers charged at him, their rifles raised. Kalyan didn't wait. He sprinted toward them, the rod gripped tightly. The first soldier fired, but Kalyan ducked under the bullet, sliding across the ground like a snake. He swung the rod upward in a brutal arc, the jagged end piercing the soldier's thigh and tearing through muscle and bone. The man screamed, collapsing to the ground, but Kalyan wasn't done.
He yanked the rod free, blood spraying in a crimson arc, and drove it into the man's chest, pinning him to the ground like a bug.
The second soldier lunged at him with a machete, but Kalyan sidestepped, using the rod like a staff to deflect the blade. He spun the rod in his hand, the rusted end catching the soldier's jaw and ripping it clean off. The man stumbled back, clutching at the bloody ruin of his face, but Kalyan didn't give him a moment to recover. He swung the rod like a baseball bat, the impact crushing the soldier's skull and sending fragments of bone and brain matter splattering across the wall.
The third soldier tried to flank him, but Kalyan was faster. He thrust the rod forward like a spear, the jagged end piercing the man's stomach and exiting through his back. The soldier gasped, blood bubbling from his lips, but Kalyan wasn't finished. He twisted the rod, tearing through organs and intestines, before yanking it free with a wet, sickening sound. The man collapsed, his insides spilling onto the ground.
The fourth soldier froze in terror, his rifle trembling in his hands. Kalyan didn't hesitate. He charged forward, the rod raised high, and brought it down like a sledgehammer. The rusted end smashed through the soldier's collarbone, shattering it and driving deep into his chest. Kalyan leaned into the blow, using his full weight to push the rod deeper until it burst out the other side. The soldier's eyes widened in shock, his body twitching as he died.
The fifth soldier turned to run, but Kalyan was already on him. He grabbed the man by the back of his helmet and slammed his face into a concrete wall. The soldier's nose shattered, blood streaming down his face, but Kalyan wasn't done. He shoved the rod into the man's back, pinning him to the wall like a grotesque piece of art. The soldier screamed, his legs kicking wildly, but Kalyan twisted the rod, grinding it against bone and flesh until the man went limp.
Kalyan stepped back, breathing heavily, the rod slick with blood. He looked at the carnage he had wrought-five soldiers, torn apart like ragdolls, their bodies broken and mutilated. He twirled the rod in his hand, a feral grin spreading across his face while throwing off the blood from his beard and shorterning thr length of his shirt
The third line of defense was a graveyard, but Kalyan wasn't done yet. His body moved with the fluidity of a predator, every step deliberate, every motion calculated. The rusted metal rod in his hand was slick with blood, its jagged edges glinting in the harsh desert sun. He twirled it casually, as if it were an extension of his arm, and scanned the room for his next target.
A soldier, trembling but desperate, charged at him with a combat knife. Kalyan didn't even flinch. He sidestepped the clumsy strike, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted it until the bone snapped. The knife clattered to the ground, and Kalyan kicked it away with a flick of his boot. The soldier cried out in pain, but Kalyan silenced him with a backhanded swing of the rod, the rusted edge slicing across the man's face.
The soldier stumbled back, clutching at the deep gash that ran from his cheek to his forehead. Blood poured through his fingers, but Kalyan wasn't finished. He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a cat playing with its prey. The soldier tried to retreat, but Kalyan grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close.
"I'm the tiger...made just for the death of yours ," Kalyan growled, his voice low and menacing.
With a sudden, brutal motion, Kalyan drove the jagged end of the rod into the soldier's eye socket. The man screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the fortress. Kalyan twisted the rod, grinding it against bone and tissue, until the eye popped free, hanging by a thread of sinew. Blood gushed down the soldier's face, while it started flooding like a fountain and some even entered the mouth of kalyan.. Kalyan leaned in, his face inches from the man's ruined visage.
"Tell your friends in hell I'm coming," Kalyan said, his voice cold and steady.
He yanked the rod free, and the soldier collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony. Kalyan spat, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, his expression one of disgust but also satisfaction. The soldier's screams faded into whimpers, and Kalyan turned away, already moving toward his next target.
The last group of soldiers tried to make a stand, forming a defensive circle with their rifles trained on Kalyan. He smirked, dropping the rod and cracking his knuckles. "Come on," he taunted. "Let's dance."
They opened fire, but Kalyan was already moving. He flipped over the first volley of bullets, landing behind a soldier and snapping his neck with a single twist. He grabbed the man's rifle, spun it like a staff, and smashed it into another soldier's face, shattering his jaw.
A grenade landed at his feet, but Kalyan kicked it like a soccer ball into the group of soldiers. The explosion tore through them, limbs flying in every direction. Kalyan shielded his face with his arm, the heat washing over him like a wave.
When the smoke cleared, Kalyan emerged, his body slick with blood-none of it his own while a mountain of heads that had been created in the meanwhile.. The floor was a graveyard, littered with corpses and shattered weapons. He stepped over them, his boots crunching on broken bones. He smiled.
"I need some water,I have been thirsty all this while."-He muttered
He raided the enemy barracks, replenishing his strength with whatever he could find. Food, water, ammo. He was a machine, fueled by sheer willpower and the promise . As he moved toward the final line of defense, a faint sound caught his ear-a whimper.
He moved ahead but a soldier who hid all during the time came out trembling.. His legs shaking and called to someone...
And said - Assasination devil is on the move.. It was a dance of death
And he shot himself before ending the call while shouting at the top of his lungs...