"I think she's dead," Bhairava muttered coldly as he stood, pulling his pants back up with a casual indifference. His eyes glinted with malice as he turned to his gang of rogues, their faces twisted with cruel anticipation. "Kill him too," Bhairava commanded, his voice dripping with disdain. "And make it look like an accident."
Before heading to his car, Bhairava strode back toward Ashwath, who lay battered and nearly broken. With a sickening thud, he grabbed Ashwath's head and slammed it against the car door, causing a second hinge to snap, the door now hanging precariously from its frame. The impact was brutal-Ashwath's body crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his face smeared with blood and caked with mud.
Bhairava sneered at the sight, a twisted satisfaction in his eyes. As he walked away, the rogues began to move, their intentions vile and their actions driven by the darkest urges. One by one, they unzipped their pants, the sinister scene unfolding under the cover of the dark night. The rain began to fall harder, as if the heavens themselves were weeping for the brutality about to be unleashed.
After they had indulged in their vile desires, the rogues retreated from Ahalya's lifeless body, their twisted grins betraying the darkness within. The drops pelting against the ground, creating small, muddy pools around Ashwath, who remained crumpled and unconscious by the side of the jeep. The rogues exchanged glances, a silent agreement passing between them as they moved toward their car.
One of the men, the tallest among them with a jagged scar running down his cheek, opened the trunk and pulled out a dented metal canister of petrol. They walked back toward the jeep, their boots squelching in the thickening mud. Ashwath's body was barely moving, his breathing shallow, face in blood and grime. The jeep, its once-proud frame now battered and teetering on the edge of destruction.
The leader raised the canister slightly, as if testing its weight one last time, while the others stood in a semi-circle around the vehicle, watching with anticipation. Each second that passed was a step closer to the point of no return, the final act of violence that would turn the night into an inferno of death and despair.
***
Dear Death, not today, this isn't your hour,
For I will turn the tables, and show you true power.
Do not wear sorrow, nor bow your head,
For what lies ahead will fill you with dread.
What you will witness, dear Death, take heed,
Will chill even you, and make you recede.
So hold your ground, but know this truth:
Today, dear Death, I'll be the one to choose.
***
Ashwath's eyes flickered open, the blood from his forehead dripping down into his eyes, blurring his vision. His eyelids felt like lead, weighted down by the pain and exhaustion that coursed through his battered body. A long, ragged breath escaped his cracked lips, stirring the wet mud beneath him, causing it to ripple slightly as if even the earth was recoiling from the horrors of the night.
Summoning what little strength he had left, Ashwath gripped the edge of the car door, his fingers trembling but determined. The slick, cold metal bit into his palms, but he held on, the pain sharpening his focus. Above him, the rain had turned into a downpour, its relentless beat creating a hollow symphony against the jeep's dented roof.
A few feet away, one of the rogues tipped the petrol canister, letting a few drops spill onto the front engine. The liquid hissed as it met the hot metal, and within moments, the engine roared back to life, the flames licking hungrily at the edges of the jeep. The fire illuminated the night, casting a haunting glow on Ashwath's bloodied
face.
YOU ARE READING
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...
