Amar's weekend at Sinhagad Fort lingered in his mind, a fleeting shield against the storm brewing inside. The trek with Rina—her laughter, the misty Sahyadri views, the taste of mangoes from his family's farms—had grounded him, but the entity's word, Darkness, echoed in quiet moments, a weight he couldn't shake. Monday morning, back at Vantablack Technologies in Hinjawadi IT Park, the office buzzed with tension. An email announced a major client pulling out, citing "regulatory hurdles." Whispers revealed the truth: a competitor had bribed officials to sabotage the deal. Dozens of colleagues—junior coders, testers, friends—faced layoffs, their livelihoods crushed by greed. Amar's job was secure, his skills too critical, but the injustice tore at him. These were his people, their dreams snuffed out by corruption. Why did the powerful always win? Where was the fight to break them? His rage surged, a tidal wave of helplessness, fiercer than ever, clawing at his chest.
Tuesday brought a heavier blow. A call from his mother, Leela, carried a tremor of frustration from Ratnagiri: a local politician, backed by corrupt courts, had seized a chunk of the family's mango farms under a fabricated land dispute. "We'll fight it, beta," she said, her voice steady. "Our lawyers—they'll handle this." The Patels' fortune, built on mango exports and real estate, gave them the means to battle legally, but the audacity of it—the theft of their legacy—ignited Amar. The farms weren't just land; they were his family's heart, the backdrop of his childhood. He paced his Koregaon Park apartment, fists clenched, rage exploding. Why did greed taint everything? How could such theft go unchecked? His mind rebelled, and everything went black—senses gone, a void swallowing him, anger, fiercer than before. The towering humanoid outline loomed, with incomprehensible power. No voice came, but a feeling enveloped him: relief. The darkness absorbed his rage, a sympathetic balm sharing his pain at the world's rot. It wasn't malevolent; it was good, a refuge where his helplessness dissolved. The world snapped back, Amar breathing heavily in his kitchen, the rage dulled, an odd calm settling in. That's when he realized the blackouts were helping him quell his rage.
Life marched on, a fragile routine. Wednesday, he met Rina for coffee at a Koregaon Park café, her smile a temporary anchor. "You look drained," she said, concern in her eyes. "Family stuff," he half-lied, sparing her the details of the farms, the layoffs, the blackouts. Thursday, he hit the gym, hip-hop pounding as he lifted weights, burning off the edge. Texts from Nia and Vikram's daughter—jokes about Mumbai traffic and med school—kept the family bond tight. But his feelings toward the Darkness had shifted. It was real, not a threat but a presence with a purpose he couldn't grasp. It had eased his pain, understood his rage. That night, curiosity burned. Sitting on his couch, neon-lit posters glowing, he closed his eyes, focusing on the farms, the layoffs, his rage. "Come on," he muttered, trying to summon the void. Minutes stretched to hour, sweat beading, but the darkness wouldn't yield. Exhausted, he relented, collapsing into bed, sleep overtaking him.
In sleep, the void pulled him in—senses gone, the blackout fiercer, time stretching endless. The humanoid outline loomed vast, its presence unbearable, radiating power so absolute it seemed to hold reality at bay. Amar felt it—thinking, a consciousness vast and curious, sympathetic to his pain. "Why do you come to me?" it rumbled, voice like thunder through eternity. Amar, steady in this dreamlike state, replied, "I wanted to. You're not bad—just too powerful." The entity pulsed, probing. "Do you know my world? How it is?" Amar asked. "I know everything," it said. "I am beyond existence, time, space. I have always been, will always be. Darkness is everywhere—sees, feels, knows all."
Amar's words spilled out. "My world's broken—greed, corruption, crushing the weak. I feel it all, but I'm one man among billions. Even with my family's wealth, I can't change it. It's not humanly possible." The entity's presence shifted, a rumble building. For the first time, it laughed—a sound like stars colliding, vast and ancient. "Trivial," it said, amusement echoing. "If Darkness wishes, nothing is impossible." Amar's heart raced, the entity's sympathy wrapping around him, its power a tempting whisper. He lingered in the void, the entity's words swirling. Could it truly reshape his broken world? The Darkness's laughter echoed, not mocking but knowing, as if it saw beyond his pain to a truth he couldn't grasp. Its presence deepened, a pulse of sympathy that felt like an invitation, urging him to seek its purpose. What was it offering? A spark of power, or something vaster, waiting to break through? The void held him, reluctant to release, until he stirred, a faint wish to return pulling him back.
He awoke, sheets tangled, dawn light filtering through his window. No time had passed, the clock unchanged. The entity's words burned in his mind, its laughter a haunting melody, both comforting and unsettling. The Darkness wasn't just a refuge—it was alive, purposeful, its power a mystery that beckoned him deeper. His chaos heart thrummed, caught between fear and fascination, sensing something vast.