The voice of Vikramaditya was still rolling inside Arjun's skull, calm and low, telling him about the old codes, the silver bullets, the names of monsters long dead, when the night outside changed.
It happened without sound.
One moment the highway was empty except for the occasional truck; the next, something moved between the shadows of the neem trees. Not walked. Glided. Flowed.
A figure in pure black, taller than any man should be, legs too long, long, jointed wrong, ending in points that barely touched the ground. Arms that reached almost to its knees, ending in hands with only three hooked fingers. The head was worse: elongated snout, eyes huge and wet and shining like spilled oil, teeth glinting in a permanent half-snarl. Dark fur drank the moonlight instead of reflecting it.
It raised one claw and pointed straight at the glass office cabin.
Straight at Arjun.
Forty kilometres away, in a cramped flat in East Delhi, a man in a cheap grey suit had come home from his night-shift data-entry job. He loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and froze. The small brass compass on his bedside table, the one he kept hidden under a handkerchief, was glowing dull red. The needle spun wildly, then locked north-north-west. The metal grew warm, then hot.
He knew what that meant.
He had already sent the message to his handlers:
Psychic flare detected. Strength unknown. Investigating.
By the time the city thinned into dark fields, he had left the suit behind. Skin split. Bones lengthened. Fur burst through like black fire. The mild-mannered clerk became the thing he truly was: a tracker bred for one purpose, to hunt anything that the compass points at.
Now that thing was here.
Inside the cabin, Vikramaditya's voice cut off mid-sentence.
The air turned ice-cold.
Arjun felt it first in his stomach, a sick, animal twist, the same feeling he got when he saw the rows of sealed boxes in the underground bunker yesterday..
Vikramaditya spoke again, no longer calm, no longer gentle. The words cracked like a whip inside Arjun's mind.
"Listen carefully. We will finish our talk later.
If you want to see tomorrow's sunrise, do exactly what I say, right now.
Take the torch. Open the door slowly. Then run to Shutter 81 as fast as your legs can carry you. Do not look back. Do not stop. GO."
Arjun's hand was already moving before his brain caught up. Torch, heavy Maglite from the shelf, cold in his sweating palm. He rose, knees shaking, and eased the glass door open. The night outside looked normal: moonlight, crickets, the faint smell of diesel.
He stepped onto the ramp. And bolted.
The moment his foot touched concrete, a shape detached itself from the darkness across the road.
It rose, unfolded, impossibly tall.
and began to look in the direction of Arjun.
And then it started to move towards him,
Not the run of a man.
A loping, stretching, silent sprint that ate distance like fire eats paper.
Arjun's brain screamed one word: RUN faster.
Boots pounded cracked concrete. Breath burned in his throat. The torch beam jittered wildly, throwing insane shadows across the rows of shops. Behind him the air split with a sound that was half-growl, half-laugh, wet and hungry.
Twenty metres to Row 5.
Fifteen.
Ten.
He could hear it now, claws ticking on the ground, gaining with every heartbeat.
Shutter 81 loomed ahead, still rolled down,but he broke the locks yesterday, all he needed was to push it upwards.
Arjun threw himself at it, fingers scrabbling for the handle, torch clattering to the ground. The beam spun, lighting the creature for one frozen second: eyes like burning coals, mouth open too wide teeth too many
He yanked the shutter up just high enough, dove underneath, and slammed it down again behind him. And kicked the inside bolt.
The metal rang like a temple bell.
On the other side something heavy hit the shutter with a boom that rattled every bone in his body. Claws screeched across steel, searching for purchase.
Arjun backed away, chest heaving, torch forgotten outside, darkness swallowing him whole.
From the black came Vikramaditya's voice, low and iron-hard.
"Stay exactly where you are.
Do not make a sound.
It cannot come in, not yet.
But the night is long… and it is very, very patient."