The sun had long dipped behind the distant buildings, leaving the campus cloaked in the muted glow of streetlights and dormitory windows. But even in the fading light, the ripple of yesterday's chaos persisted. The Forsaken, once untouchable, were scattered, humiliated, and nursing both bruises and pride.
Every corridor whispered rumors. Every corner had witnesses replaying videos on cracked phone screens. The legend of four men — not three, not two — had begun, and the campus felt smaller, constricted, under the weight of questions it could not answer.
> Who were they?
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I. Campus in Shock
In the student cafeteria, groups huddled around screens, eyes wide, whispers frantic. The footage of the fight — twenty-two Forsaken versus four shadowy figures — played repeatedly.
"This… this isn't real," muttered a freshman from the business club, voice trembling. "Twenty-two Forsaken… gone. And they didn't even break a sweat."
A leader one of the group slammed his hand against the table. "Watch it again. Rewind it! One… two… three… four? Who is that fourth guy?" His words shattered into disbelief.
"Ghost," someone whispered. "The videos don't even catch him until the body hits the ground. He moves like… like wind."
The other ten groups convened separately — some through quiet video calls, others in dimly lit study halls. Each leader's face carried the same combination of awe and terror. Every one of them had known the Forsaken's power. They had watched their control, their fear, their influence, and now… they were exposed as vulnerable.
One by one, the leaders exchanged conjectures:
"Could it be some vigilante group?"
"No… too coordinated. Too calm. They fight like they've trained together for years."
"Then why now? Why reveal themselves by destroying the Forsaken?"
Even those who had never clashed with the Forsaken felt the tremor of uncertainty. The balance of power had shifted overnight. Four unknown men had rewritten the rules.
The abandoned five-story building breathed silence. Its hollow corridors swallowed the city sounds, leaving only the soft hiss of a scavenged gas burner and the rhythmic tap of fingers against crates.
Four figures sat around the crude table: Aarav, Vihaan, Rishi, and Ishaan. The air between them was calm, yet every muscle, every glance, carried the tension of professionals who understood leverage, timing, and consequence.
Aarav leaned back, eyes sweeping the room as if measuring every shadow, every angle, every potential threat. "News travels fast," he said, calm, precise. "The Forsaken are broken. Every group on campus will now question their own power. Everyone wants to know who we are."
Vihaan flexed his bruised hands, grin flashing despite the fresh ache. "Let them look. Let them wonder. They'll find out soon enough."
Rishi, seated cross-legged, adjusted the sleeve of his hoodie. "Curiosity kills unprepared leaders. This gives us leverage. Every rumor, every misstep they make trying to find us is an advantage."
Ishaan, ever silent, observed the faintest shadow across the window — distant campus lights, moving figures in the quadrangles, the stir of whispers carried on the wind. His voice was calm, deliberate: "They'll try to find us. Test weaknesses. Provoke fights. We stay one step ahead. Silent, precise, calculated."
Aarav nodded, fingers tapping lightly against the table. "Exactly. Nullvein is not just a name. It's a statement. Four individuals — together — can shift the balance of power across this campus. And we'll do it without letting anyone predict our next move."
First Strategic Test
By mid-afternoon, a small disturbance caught their attention. A minor student group — loud, reckless — had cornered a freshman in the library courtyard. The chaos was minor by comparison to yesterday's battle, but the logic of Aarav's plan was simple: test their coordination, observe behavior, and send a warning without full exposure.
Vihaan took the lead, moving in with controlled aggression. A shove here, a flick of a wrist there, and the aggressors were confused, retreating. Rishi followed, balancing his movements, ensuring no one was injured beyond humiliation. Aarav's eyes never left the situation — each motion calculated, each countermeasure accounted for.
Then Ishaan appeared. Not noticed until the first body hit the ground — though nothing permanent was done. A shove to disperse, a silent nudge to redirect a punch, all invisible, all surgical. To any observer, it seemed like chance, like the universe itself correcting imbalance. But to Nullvein, it was a perfect rehearsal: coordination, observation, efficiency.
When the aggressors scrambled away, the four regrouped in the shadows of a stairwell. Aarav spoke softly: "That was enough. They know we exist. That is all we need for now. Force is secondary to presence. Influence spreads faster than fists."
By evening, the campus was alive with speculation. Students passed phones, replayed videos, and whispered about four figures whose presence had changed everything.
One of the ten major group leaders muttered through gritted teeth: "Forsaken defeated… and who are these four? How do we even approach them? They aren't like anyone we've seen."
Another, older and experienced, shook his head: "We need intelligence. Recon. Strategy. We can't charge in blind. They're… precise. Calculated. And there's something about the fourth… the ghost. He moves unseen."
Every leader now realized a chilling truth: Nullvein wasn't just a new group. They were a variable no one could predict. And the campus was the chessboard.
Inside the abandoned building, the four men sat quietly. The gas burner hissed, casting shadows on their bruised faces. Aarav's mind ran through possibilities: alliances, spies, leverage, and the inevitable challenge from the ten groups scrambling to assess the new players.
Vihaan leaned back, a faint laugh escaping despite the seriousness. "I like knowing everyone's confused."
Rishi's calm eyes scanned the room. "Confusion is an advantage, but it won't last. Eventually, someone will act. That's when we strike, or at least position ourselves where we can."
Ishaan, silent as always, looked toward the distant campus lights. Even in stillness, his presence radiated quiet menace.
Aarav finally allowed himself a small, deliberate smile — not warmth, not friendliness, but satisfaction. "Nullvein exists. And the first ripple is already spreading. The campus doesn't know us yet. They will. And when they do, every move will be ours to control."
> Four shadows, one purpose. The campus was silent, but the storm had already begun.