Amar lounged in his Koregaon Park apartment, the monsoon's rhythm tapping against the windows. A rare smile played on his lips, his golden eyes glinting with satisfaction. Showing Inspector General Rathore the truth had tilted the board in his favor—Rathore's disillusionment with the system was a crack Amar could exploit. "They chase shadows while I chase the puppet master," he murmured to the darkness, shadows curling around him like loyal companions. His next move was clear: Arjun Malhotra, the billionaire tied to Vikram Sharma's crimes, possibly The Man himself. Tonight, Amar would confront him.
As night fell, Amar's focus sharpened, his chaotic heart thrumming with purpose. "Time to end this game," he said, his voice a low rumble. Shadows swirled, and he teleported, materializing in the lush gardens of Malhotra's Mumbai mansion. The estate was a fortress of opulence—marble fountains, manicured hedges, and towering walls lit by soft floodlights. But to Amar's shadows, it was an open book. Tendrils of darkness probed the grounds, mapping every corner, every guard. "No wall can hide you, Malhotra," he whispered, his form melting into the night.
He teleported again, emerging in Malhotra's lavish bedroom. The billionaire lay sprawled on a four-poster bed, snoring softly, his face flushed from drink. Empty whiskey bottles cluttered a mahogany table, their amber liquid catching the moonlight. Amar's golden eyes scanned the room—no traps, no cameras, nothing out of place. Just a man, ordinary in his vulnerability. Doubt flickered. When he'd encountered The Man's presence before, it had been electric, a rival proxy's power pulsing like a storm. Malhotra felt… mundane. "Are you really him?" Amar muttered, stepping closer.
Shadows enveloped Malhotra, coiling like serpents, their cold touch snapping him awake. He gasped, eyes wild, scrambling back against the headboard. "What—who the hell are you?" Malhotra slurred, his voice thick with alcohol and fear. His gaze locked on Amar's glowing eyes, and recognition dawned. "You're… the shadow. The God of Darkness everyone's whispering about!"
Amar's voice was ice, cutting through the haze. "Are you The Man?" he demanded, shadows tightening around Malhotra's wrists, pinning him in place.
Malhotra's brow furrowed, confusion overtaking fear. "The Man? What do you mean? Who are you? What do you want?" His voice cracked, his eyes darting to the bottles as if they could explain the nightmare before him.
Amar leaned closer, his silhouette a void in the room. "You don't get to ask questions, Malhotra. You answer. I've seen your empire—trafficking, corruption, Sharma's strings tied to your hands. But you're not what I expected." He paused, searching Malhotra's face for a spark of otherworldly power. Nothing. "You're not him," Amar realized, his voice softening with certainty. "But you're still guilty."
Malhotra's face paled, his breath hitching. "I—I don't know what you're talking about! I'm just a businessman! Whatever Sharma said, it's lies—rivals trying to ruin me!"
Amar's laugh was cold, echoing in the dark. "Lies? I've heard your calls, seen your accounts. You're no innocent." Shadows pulsed, dimming the room's light. "Normally, I give men like you a choice—confess your crimes, name your allies, surrender to the law. But you're different. You sit at the top, pulling strings, thinking you're untouchable. No surrender for you, Malhotra. Right now, right this moment, tell me everything. Your deeds. Your allies. Names. All of it."
Malhotra's eyes widened, sweat beading on his forehead. "Please, I—I can explain! It's not what you think! I was just following orders—"
"Whose orders?" Amar snapped, shadows tightening, making Malhotra wince. "Who's above you? Speak!"
Before Malhotra could answer, the bedroom door exploded inward, wood splintering. Eight men in black tactical suits stormed in, body armor gleaming, automatic rifles raised. "Target sighted!" one shouted, his voice muffled by a helmet. They opened fire, muzzle flashes lighting the room, bullets tearing through the air toward Amar.