Six months had passed. The seasons had changed. The heavy monsoon rains were a distant memory, and the cool, pleasant winter of Nagpur had settled over the city, bringing with it foggy mornings and crisp, clear nights. For Anmol, it was a time of deep change, a constant balancing act between the boy he was and the hero he was becoming.
By day, his world was one of lectures, library books, and the familiar click of his camera's shutter. His first year of college was demanding, but his true education was happening far from the classroom. Whenever he could, he would take his scooter and ride out to the forests surrounding the city. His wildlife photography, once just a passion, had become something deeper. He no longer had to wait for hours, hoping for a glimpse of a rare bird or a shy deer. Now, thanks to the Animal Stamp bonded to his chest, he could simply ask.
He would walk through the jungle and the world would speak to him. The Stamp allowed him to understand their every thought, every feeling, every nuance of their calls. The monkeys would chatter down from the trees, telling him of a leopard sleeping on a high branch. A family of wild boars would grunt a warning about a territorial tiger on the prowl near the riverbed. More remarkably, the Stamp had taught him to speak their languages, not just with his mind, but with the clicks, whistles, and deep, resonant feelings that they instantly understood. His connection grew so strong that he could feel the joy of a hawk soaring on a thermal wind, or the deep, calm satisfaction of an elephant herd finding fresh water. This understanding flowed through his camera lens, and his pictures became more than just images; they were stories, filled with an intimacy and soul that other photographers could only dream of. People were starting to notice his work. A local newspaper had even published one of his photos of a rare owl, calling him one of Nagpur's most promising young talents.
But when the sun went down, a different part of his life would awaken. By night, the whispers he listened to were not those of the jungle, but of the city. He was no longer just a myth. Animal Boy was real. The stories had spread from the back alleys to the front pages. At first, it was just rumors—a golden blur stopping a mugging, a growl from the shadows sending thieves running. But then came the blurry cell phone videos, grainy and shaky, showing a figure with a tiger's head and glowing blue eyes, leaping onto a roof or disabling a getaway vehicle with impossible strength.
The people of Nagpur gave him a name, the one Riya had first spoken: Animal Boy. He was their guardian, a strange and wonderful mystery. Some said he was a spirit of the jungle, come to protect the city. Others said he was a college experiment gone wrong. But for the people who lived in the city's tougher neighborhoods, the ones often ignored by the police, he was a sign of hope. They knew that when trouble started, there was a chance that a golden warrior would appear from the darkness.
Anmol had learned to work with his urban animal allies. The Stamp not only let him communicate but also gave him a surprising degree of control over some of these animals when he truly needed their help. They were his network, his informants. The thousands of pigeons that lived on the city's old buildings were his eyes in the sky, their simple thoughts painting a map of the city's troubles. The stray dogs, with their keen senses and knowledge of every back alley, were his ground patrol. He could ask them to send him feelings of fear or anger, guiding him toward danger. A network of cats, silent and watchful, would slip through narrow spaces and report on the hidden dealings of the city's criminals. Anmol had become the conductor of a symphony of whispers, and together, they were slowly bringing a new kind of justice to the city.
His main target had become a local gang known as the The Protector . They were ruthless and greedy, preying on small shopkeepers and families, demanding "protection" money and punishing those who refused to pay. For weeks, Animal Boy had been a thorn in their side. He would stop their muggings, disrupt their deals, and leave their members tied up for the police, always with a single, large leaf left behind as his calling card. He was fighting them, but he was only cutting off the snake's tail. The head of the snake, a cunning and cruel man named Vijay, was getting angry.
One chilly evening, Anmol got a message. It came from a small, one-eyed cat that lived near the wholesale market in Gandhibagh. The Stamp translated the thought as a pure wave of fear and distress. The Snakes are here! They hurt old Ramlal! They are breaking his tea stall! Hurry!
Anmol's blood ran cold. He knew Ramlal, a kind old man whose small tea stall was a source of comfort for hundreds of workers. He had refused to pay Vijay's gang. Now, he was paying a different price.
Anmol was in his room, studying for an exam. He dropped his book, his heart pounding. He went to his window and looked out at the city lights. This was not just a random crime. This was a message from Vijay. Anmol had to send a message back.
He found a dark, deserted rooftop a few blocks from the market. The night air was cold. "Time to go to work," he whispered to himself. He focused his mind on the tiger, and the golden light of the Stamp enveloped him. The cool, familiar weight of the gold and green armor settled over his body. The world sharpened, seen through the helmet's glowing blue eyes.
He leaped across the rooftops, moving with the silent grace of a leopard. As he got closer, he could hear the chaos. The crash of breaking glass, the cruel laughter of the thugs, and the old man's pleas for them to stop. He landed on the roof directly above the tea stall and looked down.
Four members of the The Protector were tearing the small stall apart. They had smashed the glass jars of biscuits and thrown the furniture into the street. One of them was holding Ramlal by the collar, shaking him, while the old man begged them to leave him alone.
Animal Boy dropped. He landed on the street behind them with a soft thud that was quieter than a cat's leap, but the four men froze as if they had heard a cannon blast. They turned slowly, their faces, which had been twisted with ugly pride, now slack with pure terror.
"You," Anmol's voice growled, a low rumble of a tiger's threat. "You are finished here."
One of the thugs, trying to be brave, pulled out a small knife. "It's the freak! Get him!"
Animal Boy didn't even look at him. He focused on the cheetah. In the blink of an eye, he crossed the space between them, snatched the knife from the man's hand, and bent the steel blade into a U-shape with a single squeeze of his armored fist. He dropped the useless piece of metal to the ground with a clatter.
He turned to the other three. They were backing away, their eyes wide. He knew he couldn't just let them run this time. He had to send a message to their boss.
"The dogs of this street are hungry," Animal Boy said, his voice a low growl. He let out a sharp, commanding bark, a sound that a human throat shouldn't be able to make. The Stamp pulsed on his chest, sending out a clear command, a wave of primal authority.
From the dark alleys all around them, shadows began to move. A dozen stray dogs, their eyes glowing in the dim light, emerged from the darkness. They didn't bark. They just stood there, a silent, menacing circle of muscle and teeth, their low growls the only sound. They were answering the call of their ally, their leader.
The four thugs were now completely surrounded, trapped between a mythical tiger-warrior and a pack of very real, very angry dogs. Their bravado was gone, replaced by a desperate, whimpering fear.
"This is my warning to Vijay," Animal Boy said, his voice echoing in the suddenly quiet street. "Leave these people alone. Nagpur is under my protection."
He turned, helped the old man to his feet, and then with a powerful leap, he was gone, disappearing back into the night. He left the four thugs to be dealt with by the dogs and the eventual arrival of the police.
Later that night, in a dusty warehouse that smelled of stale smoke and fear, Vijay listened to his men's terrified story. A Animal Boy who could bend steel. A hero who could command the very dogs in the street. Vijay wasn't a fool. He knew that fists and knives were useless against a ghost. As he paced back and forth, his anger grew into a cold, hard resolve.
"So, he wants to use animals?" Vijay snarled to his second-in-command. "Fine. We will fight an animal with an animal. A monster with a monster."
He went to a locked metal box in the corner of the room and pulled out a burner phone. He dialed a number he had been given a long time ago, a number for emergencies, for problems that couldn't be solved with ordinary muscle.
A cold, raspy voice answered on the other end. "Yes?"
"I need something," Vijay said, his voice low. "I have a pest problem. A very unusual one. I need a hunter. Something strong. Something that doesn't feel fear."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Such things are expensive. And they are not... natural."
"I don't care if it's natural!" Vijay hissed. "I just want it to be a monster. Can you get me a monster?"
The voice on the other end chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "A monster can be arranged. A cage is on its way to your city. What's inside... well, it likes to hunt."
A thousand kilometers away, in a dark, hidden lab, a reinforced steel cage was being loaded onto an unmarked truck. Inside, something huge and reptilian stirred, its cold, intelligent eyes snapping open, glowing with a hungry, ancient light.
Anmol was at home, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done. He had protected Ramlal. He had sent his message. He felt that he was finally getting control of his powers, that he was making his city safer.
As he was about to fall asleep, a wave of pure, absolute terror washed over his mind. It was a psychic scream that came from the animal network, but it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It wasn't the fear of a predator or a bully. This was a deep, primal, and unnatural horror. The thoughts of the animals near the old industrial highway were a chaotic mess of pain and confusion.
Wrong! Wrong! Not alive! screeched the bats.
Smell of hot metal and cold stone! So angry! howled the jackals.
A cage! The cage broke! IT'S HUNTING US!
Anmol shot up in bed, his heart frozen in his chest. This was something new. Something terrible. He ran to his window and looked out towards the distant, dark line of the industrial district.
As he watched, a strange, sickly green light flickered in the distance, illuminating the skyline for just a second. It was followed by a sound that traveled across the miles and chilled him to the bone. It was not a roar. It was a high-pitched, metallic shriek, like a giant machine being torn apart, mixed with the scream of something that had not walked the earth for sixty-five million years.
Vijay had gotten his monster. And it was now loose in Nagpur.
[To be continued…]
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Author: Vansh Rahate
Editor: Vansh Rahate
Story by: Vansh Rahate
Under: Alaukika Studios