Inside the ballroom of JH Merlin Hotel, the celebration roared with laughter and color. Family toasted. Music filled the air. For a moment, the world felt soft.
But not for Athavan.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the caller ID—Drona Singh.
With a breath of stillness, he rose from the dinner table and stepped away from the warm glow.
"Sir!" Drona's voice snapped through.
"Thank god you picked up. Gang Garuda is on the move. Over a hundred armed thugs en route to the hotel. It's chaos."
Athavan didn't flinch.
He smiled.
"I know."
"I already sent our greeters. They're expecting company."
Metropore Expressway — 8:43 PM
The convoy sliced through the city like a snake made of steel and wrath—thirty vehicles. Their engines screamed. Their drivers? Barely human.
Steel rods. Sawn-off shotguns. Machetes glinting under passing streetlights.
Inside the cars, men thrashed and screamed like rabid beasts. Their eyes were glazed. Their mouths foaming. As if they weren't high—but possessed.
And in the center, flanked like royalty—a matte black Maybach.
Inside, Chanda lounged in the back seat, one finger twitching with agitation.
Something was off.
There were no other cars. No bystanders. No traffic.
The entire four-lane expressway… was empty.
He squinted out the window.
"Stop the convoy—now."
But before the words left his lips…
The tunnel swallowed them.
The entrance loomed like a concrete mouth, and in seconds, they were inside.
Then—
Click. Click. Click.
Tunnel lights flickered overhead… and died.
The 5-kilometer stretch was plunged into pitch black.
Then: two gunshots.
The first two lead cars exploded—tires shredding, frames flipping sideways across the lane.
Then came the chain reaction.
Steel collided with steel. Cars slammed into one another in rapid succession. Flames burst from hoods. Horns blared. Windshields shattered.
By the time the Maybach came to a screeching stop, twenty-eight cars had crashed around it—some flipped, some burning. Yet all of them—miraculously—had managed to avoid denting the Maybach.
Like it was sacred. Or cursed.
Smoke choked the air. Screams echoed like wolf howls. Half the thugs were bleeding from head wounds, broken limbs, crushed ribs…
But they crawled from wreckage anyway.
Unshaken.
Unfeeling.
They formed a ring of flesh around the Maybach. A perfect circle—protecting Chanda's door with their broken, trembling bodies.
They looked like corpses forced to stand.
Zombies.
Chanda stepped out. Face twisted.
"WHO'S HERE?" he roared.
"SHOW YOURSELF!"
Click. Click. Click.
The tunnel lights flickered back on.
One by one.
Illuminating the wreckage like a theatre stage.
And then—
Standing atop a flipped SUV—
Three men.
Motionless. Clean. Calm.
Like soldiers carved from shadows.
Chanda stared at them. His mind raced. These weren't thugs. These weren't gangsters.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
One of them dropped down—landing effortlessly.
He strode toward the ring of broken men.
They blocked his path.
Until a voice—not his—spoke from within:
"Let him through."
The bodies parted.
And the man stepped inside the circle.
Face uncovered.
Eyes like black glass.
Matthew.
"I'm here," he said, "to deliver a message.
From the Major General."
Chanda's lip curled.
"Major General?"
Matthew's voice never wavered.
"The man you tried to summon.
But do you think he someone dog like you can summon"
"You think showing up with hypnotised dogs gives you power here?"
"Get out of this country. While you still can!."
He turned to leave.
Chanda laughed.
"You think you can threaten me and just walk away?"
"Who the hell is this 'Major General'? What army does he think he's—"
Matthew turned.
Locked eyes.
And said:
"Major General of Department Zero, Walaysia."
"The last line of this country's defense.
Nothing happens in this country escapes our eyes.."
"And I promise you—if you cross him again, we will burn all Naraka dog in this county to ashes…"
He stepped closer.
"…begone from this country or we'll erase your name from every shadow you ever crawled from."
He clapped once.
Behind him, a second man appeared atop the wrecked car—kneeling—with a super bazooka aimed directly at the Maybach.
Matthew smiled.
"You brought zombies. We brought precision."
Then—he jumped.
Six feet up. Straight over the human circle. Landed. Rolled once. The lights flickered. Then died.
And he vanished into the dark.
By the time Chanda barked an order—
The tunnel was empty.
Only the chaos remained.
Only the smoke. The wreckage. The ring of twitching meat around his car.
Chanda stood there, expression unreadable.
Then he laughed.
Loud. Wild.
He slid back into the Maybach.
And whispered to himself:
"So the wolves have teeth after all…"
"But let's see if they howl when I tear their home apart."
......
JH Merlin Hotel
From across the table, Kathirvan noticed Athavan standing off to the side.
His son's face was calm—but there was something beneath the calmness.
A storm disguised in silence.
When Athavan returned, Kathirvan gave him a questioning look.
Athavan offered a slight nod.
Everything is under control.
After the celebration, the family parted ways and returned home—still basking in warmth and laughter.
Athavan, however, made his way to AD Tech HQ.
AD Tech Headquarters — Midnight
Matthew and the Devil Troop warriors were already assembled—silent, sharp-eyed, waiting at full alert.
As Athavan stepped into the operations room, the atmosphere changed.
He took his seat at the head of the table.
Matthew saluted.
"We delivered the message as planned.
The illusion holds—they believe we're part of Department Zero.
But Chanda won't retreat empty-handed.
What's our next move?"
Athavan leaned back, thinking for a brief moment.
"How are the boys? Status report."
"Dharma Foundation offices are now fully operational in every state and district," Matthew replied.
"Phase Two of the street-cleansing will begin in North Walaysia—Khadah district first.
Estimated time to complete the sweep: three weeks."
Athavan nodded.
"Assign ten Devil Troop warriors to move with them, hidden.
We can't risk civilians getting caught in a crossfire.
Coordinate with Joseph Fernandaz—secure official Special Force ID badges.
Only use them if the authorities get involved."
Matthew saluted again, and the warriors quietly dispersed.
Gang Garuda Headquarters
Chanda sat alone on his darkened throne, the demon's chair looming behind him like a monument to fury.
Before him, the Gang Garuda leader knelt—his face nearly unrecognizable, wrapped in bloodstained bandages.
Silent. Waiting.
But Chanda wasn't speaking.
He was thinking.
No. He was unraveling.
"So… this is all the work of Department Zero," Chanda muttered, voice low, bitter.
"That's why he holds power here…
The Indian identity must be a decoy. Fabricated."
He stood.
"That's why, with all our resources in India, we found nothing.
Gang Nagas fall… Dharma Foundation…
They're not independent forces.
They're part of this country's secret war machine."
His fist clenched.
"Even the marriage—Vasanthan's daughter to that man.
It wasn't coincidence.
They knew who Raja Sekaran was… all along."
He stared into the dark wall like it owed him answers.
"I need leverage.
I need something untouched. Unprotected.
I can't get to Vasanthan. His family's untouchable.
His soldiers' minds are too strong… I can't break their will."
His voice dropped into frustration.
"I never imagined this small nation's secret force could produce men I couldn't control.
Not even with all my spells."
He turned slowly toward the kneeling leader.
"You mentioned his father runs a rubber estate, didn't you?"
The man nodded shakily.
"Then start there."
Chanda's voice was ice.
"Find out everything about him. Where he lives. What he owns. Who he trusts.
But don't use our people.
Hire outside investigators—civilians. Frame it as a buyer interested in the land.
Keep it clean. Normal. Invisible."
He narrowed his eyes.
"And get our men treated.
They're useless in a fight, but we can still use them…
Even garbage is good for clearing garbage."
The Gang Garuda leader bowed deeply.
And in the shadows of the throne… the hunt shifted focus.