Amar stood in his Koregaon Park apartment, the dim lamp casting shadows across the hardwood floor, the air heavy with the hum of Pune's evening. The teleportation rune parchment, gifted by The Messenger, lay on his table, its glowing sigils a promise of power. Having tested it and discovered the vast, underground Rajasthan complex—seven pillar-lined corridors, each 10,000 square feet, buried 1.5 kilometers beneath the desert with no entrances or exits—Amar saw its potential as a hidden base. Closing his eyes, he reached out telepathically, his voice a steady pulse to Vikram Rathore. Vikram, I've found a place—a hidden fortress under Rajasthan's desert, powered, invisible. You need to see it.
In his Shivajinagar home, Vikram sat at a cluttered desk, the scent of chai and old books filling the air, his eyes glinting with intrigue. A fortress? I want to visit, Amar. Show me. Amar dissolved into shadows, teleporting to Vikram's living room, the walls lined with case files and faded photos. Vikram, unfazed, stood, gripping Amar's arm. "Take me there." Shadows swirled, enveloping them, and they reappeared in the vast, 15-foot-high corridor, its endless stone pillars lit by dim, flickering lights. The air was cool, thick with the scent of stone and faint moisture, the distant hum of a hydroelectric motor echoing from a marked hall.
Vikram's eyes widened, scanning the rune-etched walls and shadowed expanse. "This place… it's perfect, Amar. No doors, no windows—just stone and secrecy. If the task force can teleport here, there's no better place to hide, to plan our moves." His voice buzzed with ideas. "We'll need more—communications, supplies, training grounds. That means funds, but first, we get the task force moving in and out." He gestured to the vastness. "This could be our stronghold, untouchable."
Amar nodded, unfolding the parchment, its spiral sigils glowing faintly. "This rune lets contracted allies teleport where it's drawn. It might strain me, but let's test it with you." They teleported back to Vikram's home, shadows fading into the familiar glow of his desk lamp. Amar guided Vikram, teaching him to channel Darkness's power to draw the rune on the floor. The first attempts faltered, lines uneven, but after several tries, Vikram's hands steadied, tracing the obsidian spiral with precision. Stepping onto it, he vanished, reappearing in the Rajasthan base, then back, his face alight with triumph. "It works, Amar! The task force can use this."
Amar felt a faint tug, a ripple in his power, like a whisper in a storm. He reached out to Darkness, his voice low. I felt a drain—small, but there. The rune? Darkness's warm, resonant voice filled the room. "Yes, Amar. When allies use the rune, it draws on your power. For you, it's negligible—your strength is vast. Fifty-seventy task force members using it daily? Barely a burden. Thousands, regularly, would strain even you, so use it in emergencies for them." Amar's golden eyes burned, the base's potential clear—a secret nexus for his allies to strike corruption. "Vikram, we'll make this our stronghold. Teach the others to draw the rune. We'll build from here." The desert's hidden depths echoed his resolve, shadows coiling with purpose.