Prequel of Chapter 1
"Sir, Shaitan has confirmed the meeting," a man with curly dark hair, his face obscured by a thick beard, informed Mesakar.
Meskar stood in a dimly lit room, his golden hair gleaming like fire, his fair complexion contrasting sharply with the blood stains that marred his hands and the butcher knife gripped firmly in his grasp. Before him lay a lifeless body, its pallid features frozen in a grotesque expression of terror.
"Tell him to arrive at 2 o'clock," Meskar's voice rumbled with authority, its resonance underscored by the sinister curl of his dense golden mustache.
"Yes, sir," the man replied before hastily exiting the room.
Meskar lifted the gleaming cleaver, its blade catching the dim light as he brought it down with brutal force, severing the head from the lifeless body. A geyser of blood erupted from the wound, splattering the walls in a grotesque display of crimson rain. With methodical precision, he continued his grisly work, hacking away at the corpse with relentless determination.
Limbs fell like discarded branches, each blow of the cleaver sending shockwaves through the air. With deft movements, he sliced through flesh and bone, separating limbs from the torso with chilling efficiency. The body lay in pieces, a gruesome tableau of carnage and destruction.
Meskar meticulously removed the organs, his hands moving with practiced expertise as he extracted the heart, kidneys, and intestines, each organ carefully separated and preserved. With a cold detachment, he placed them in a freezer box, their grotesque contents chilling to the touch.
The room bore witness to his macabre ritual, the stench of blood and death hanging heavy in the air as Meskar completed his gruesome task with unwavering resolve.
***
In the police station cell,
Ekansh gripped his baton tightly, his expression stern as he interrogated the trembling man seated before him. The man's eyes were wide with fear, his entire body soaked in sweat as strands of hair clung to his clammy skin.
"Sir, please don't hit me, sir," the man pleaded, his voice quivering with terror.
"Tell me, who is that Shaitan?" Ekansh demanded, his voice laced with frustration and anger.
"Sir, if I say, Shaitan will kill me," the man whimpered, clutching at Ekansh's feet in a desperate attempt to plead for mercy.
"Do you want to be killed by Shaitan or face the wrath of Katheendar Utaiyavan?" Ekansh's voice boomed, his words sending a shiver down the man's spine.
The mention of Katheendar Utaiyavan sent a chill through the man's body, his eyes widening in horror as he realized the severity of the situation. Gasping for breath, he could only tremble in fear, dreading the consequences of his silence.
"I will say, sir, I will," the man pleaded, his words punctuated by cracks in his voice and trembling teeth.
"What is his real name?" Ekansh pressed, his gaze unwavering.
"Nobody knows his real name, sir. Very few have seen his face. He is known as Shaitan to everyone," the man replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he recounted the mysterious figure's infamous alias.
"What does that mean?" Ekansh asked, his curiosity piqued by the ominous revelations.
"Angel of death, sir. Shaitan is believed to be the angel of death. But this Shaitan has turned death into a business. He's like the unicorn of the death business. He's called Mara in Buddhism, Ahriman in Zoroastrianism, Iblis in Islam, Beelzebub in Christianity, Asura in Hinduism, and we call him Shaitan, derived from Satan," the man explained, his words sending a shiver down the spine of everyone in the station.
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THE END
Action" What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." -T.S. Eliot In the enigmatic town of Kshaya lurks a figure shrouded in infamy: SHAITAN, the most wanted criminal whose true id...
