Amar materialized in the shadow of a neem tree outside a modest bungalow in Mumbai's Andheri suburb, the air thick with the humid breath of the Arabian Sea and the faint aroma of street-side bhajiyas frying in a nearby stall. It was 2:00 AM, Pune's neon glow a distant memory. His list of the corrupt had grown, each name a target in his methodical crusade. Tonight's mark: a mid-level customs officer, Rajesh Mehta, accused of smuggling rings and bribe networks. Amar's shadow senses probed the house, confirming Mehta's presence in the bedroom, his heartbeat steady in sleep. With a thought, he dissolved into the darkness, emerging beside a wooden chair in the room, moonlight filtering through barred windows, casting striped patterns on the floor.
Mehta sat upright on the bed, not asleep but waiting, his eyes fixed on the spot where Amar appeared. No surprise, no fear—his face a blank mask, his posture rigid. Amar's golden eyes narrowed, his presence unfurling a veil of dread, shadows coiling like serpents. "Confess your sins," Amar commanded, his voice a thunderous echo, lifting Mehta mid-air with a flick of will. But Mehta's lips moved without emotion, his voice flat, mechanical, as if reciting a script. "Welcome, God of Darkness. You've caused quite a commotion lately. What is your game?"
Amar's heart skipped, a rare crack in his unbreakable will. This wasn't Mehta speaking. He probed deeper, his shadow senses reaching into the man's mind, but a foreign force blocked him—a puppet master's strings, pulling from afar. "Who are you?" Amar demanded, tightening the shadows, pressure mounting like a storm's weight. The voice through Mehta remained unchanged, devoid of pain or fear. "I asked first. Isn't it proper courtesy to answer before questioning?" Amar's rage flared, but he steadied, his cosmic clarity piercing the veil. "I seek justice. To change this rotten world, end the corruption that crushes the weak."
The voice laughed, a hollow sound without mirth. "Justice? You're interrupting my grand plan. Do not meddle." Amar's eyes glowed brighter, the golden radiance flaring like twin suns. "Who are you?" he repeated, shadows squeezing tighter. "I am the one who owns everything, controls everything. You are a flea biting at giants. Cease, or be crushed." The control snapped, Mehta's body slumping, his heartbeat fading to silence. The officer was dead, sacrificed as a message.
Amar teleported back to his Koregaon Park apartment, the transition instantaneous, but his mind roiled with confusion. The clock read 2:30 AM, Pune's night a cocoon of quiet rain and distant traffic. Who was that? Another like the Darkness? Doubt crept in, a whisper against his unbreakable resolve. He closed his eyes, willing himself into the void, his connection to the Darkness now a bridge he crossed at will. The humanoid outline loomed vast, its presence supreme, radiating sympathy and curiosity. "You've returned," it rumbled, voice like thunder through eternity, "and I sense turmoil. I have enjoyed watching your deeds."
Amar nodded, his voice steady. "Darkness, what happened tonight... an officer I targeted was controlled by another. It spoke through him, warned me to stop interfering with its plan. It claimed to own and control everything." The Darkness pulsed, its thoughts probing, a mix of amusement and concern. Before Amar could ask more, it spoke, "There are others like me—entities who wield vast forces. I am Darkness, but there is Light, Life, and more. We cannot interact directly, nor do we care. They have proxies, as you are mine—champions who carry our essence into the world."
Amar's chaotic heart thrummed with revelation, awe mingling with dread. "So this... other is a proxy of one like you?" The Darkness rippled, its voice heavy. "Likely. They feel your interference, as I feel their schemes. Proceed with caution, Amar. Your path is your own, but the balance is delicate." Amar absorbed the words, his unbreakable will strengthening. "Thank you," he said, and withdrew, emerging in his room at.
Confusion swirled, a storm in his mind. Others? Proxies battling in shadows? His first victory felt hollow, a pawn's move in a cosmic game. Yet his resolve hardened—he would not yield. The God of Darkness legend grew, but now, so did the stakes. He lay down, the rain a lullaby, his thoughts a whirlwind of plans and perils, his chaotic heart pulsing with the promise of battle.