Through The Gateway Of Love: A Transformative Journey Of Love

SEQUEL

The air hung thick with the scent of dust and gunpowder, the Sahara desert sun baking the battlefield into a searing inferno. The sand, once golden, was now stained crimson with the blood of fallen warriors. The enemies had pushed them to the brink. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and fast losing hope.

"We need him, where is he?" It was a need, need of their best man to win this battle too, their only hope.

"RAJPUT!!!" It was a cry for help but the man's words were cut short, a sickening thud silencing him forever. The enemy's men were relentless, their bloodlust as insatiable as the desert sun.

Then, a deafening roar shattered the silence. A Jeep Wrangler, its engine screaming like a wounded beast, burst onto the battlefield, spitting sand and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Perched atop the vehicle, a figure emerged, silhouetted against the fiery sky. It was he, The Rajput, their savior, their last hope.

Wearing a black bandana on his forehead, a pair of dark goggles shielding his piercing eyes, he was a vision of stoic determination. A shoulder-fired missile, a weapon of unimaginable devastation, rested in his hand, pointed at the enemy's armored vehicle. No hesitation, no remorse. He fired.

The missile struck its target with a deafening boom, the armored vehicle erupting into a fireball, incinerating its occupants. He leapt from the jeep, his black goggles falling away, revealing eyes hardened by years of killing. He moved with a fluid grace, a whirlwind of death, his rifle spitting fire, each shot a testament to his unwavering skill.

Mercy was a luxury he couldn't afford. Fear, an emotion he'd long abandoned. He was a weapon, forged in the crucible of war, and his only purpose was to vanquish the enemy. The battle raged around him, a maelstrom of dust, gunfire, and screams. But he was a rock, unyielding in the face of chaos.

His appearance had turned the tide. His comrades, invigorated by his presence, rallied with renewed ferocity. The enemy's men, their morale shattered, began to falter. One by one, they fell, their bodies adding to the growing crimson carpet.

Finally, the battle ended. Silence descended, broken only by the rasping breaths of the survivors. The Rajput stood amidst the carnage, a solitary figure bathed in the fading light of the setting sun.

"Rajput, you again won it" A soldier shouted, his voice hoarse with awe. The Rajput, his face smudged with dust and sweat, gave a curt nod, his fingers saluting his forehead, a gesture that spoke of victories won. The desert wind whipped around him, carrying the faint scent of blood and the lingering echoes of battle. He would rest, briefly, before the next call to arms, the next battlefield awaited, and the Rajput would be there. He was the desert's storm, a harbinger of fear for his enemies, and a beacon of hope for his people.

He entered his tent, the silence of the desert engulfing him. His body, weary from the day's fight, sought the comfort of the thin mattress.

For a moment, he was simply a man, the killer persona slipping away. His gaze fell upon a faded picture, a family, their faces smiling back at him. His eyes, fierce and resolute moments before, softened, a tear shimmering in the corner.

"I killed again" He whispered, his voice hoarse "I'm sorry for that, but this is who I am now. An Assassin" It was a truth he couldn't escape, a burden he carried.

His phone buzzed, the sharp sound a jarring intrusion into the quiet. His eyes snapped back, the vulnerability of a moment ago replaced by a steely glint. He picked up the phone, his jaw tightening as he listened. The call, a dispatch, a new mission.

"I am coming" He growled, the words laced with grim determination and piercing anger. He hung up, his gaze returning to the picture of his family. Their faces held his past, a life he could never return to. His own eyes, darkest blood shot, filled with a quiet desperation, found a new focus.

"Time for the action" He muttered, and the Rajput, the desert storm, slipped back into his assasin persona. This was his life, his burden. And he would carry it, until the battle of his life ended, until the last enemy, who was the reason of his misery was vanquished. The desert, once again, felt the coming storm but this time it was not the desert of Morocco.

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Who was he??

Unfold in Sequel of Through the Gateway of Love.

And now the story is officially completed.