As the sun was about to hide below the horizon, the city streets buzzed with life. Vehicles rushed past, some carrying weary souls returning home, others bringing eager adventures ready to embrace the night. Among them, was a sleek black car cut through the flow, moving with precise control, though its destination remained uncertain.
Behind the wheel sat a man in a black jacket, his grip firm, his expression shadowed by lingering thoughts. His face, partially concealed with a thought, still remained tense, twisted by the weight of what had happened to Rihant.
In the front passenger seat, Manash sat silently, while Suraj and Bikram occupied the back.
The car took an unexpected turn, slipping into a marketplace, where the streets pulsed with energy. The air vibrated with the customer's and street vendors' voices, while the shopkeepers calling out the prices of their goods, the customers were locked in a fierce haggling battle where endurance determined the victor.
Neon lights flickered against rows of makeshift stalls, illuminating, hanging clothes and displayed goods.
With the road now filled with people, beyond reason, the black car crawled forward, moving slower than any pedestrian. Motorbikes weaved recklessly through the crowd, their riders impatiently blaring horns that only added to the chaotic atmosphere of the market life.
Then without hesitation, the black car made another abrupt turn.
Between two small cloth shops, both draped in attires swaying gently in the breeze, the car slipped into a narrow gap. The path led only to a dead end, a brick wall looming ahead.
The car engine roared for one last time before falling silent. The man in the black jacket switched off the ignition.
"Let's go," the man in the black jacket said as he pushed open the driver-side door and stepped out.
Suraj, Manash, and Bikram followed, exiting the car with some difficulty. The space between the two shops was so tight that they had to sidestep their way out, squeezing through the narrow gap left by the parked vehicle.
As they emerged into the open, Manash exchanged a confused glance with Bikram and Suraj.
Why were they here? What was this place? They wanted to ask but the shouting of merchants, customers' hagglings and the relentless honking of the impatient vehicles, just roared behind them. Speaking over such commotion felt impossible.
The man in the black jacket simply gestured them to follow. Without another word, he entered one of the cloth shops.
The store was small and cluttered, overflowing with clothes. Shelves were stacked high with neatly folded clothes, while others also hung from racks, swaying slightly in the air stirred by their entrance. Despite the market's bustle outside, the shop was empty of customers.
Two men had occupied the space. One clearly the shopkeeper, he and his companion were sitting on a bed. As they walked in the shop-owner straightened up, but his expression shifted a little from polite curiosity, he gave them a detailed look.
His eyes linger on Manash, Bikram and Suraj's torn, stained clothes, as they also were looking a little dirty. Dirt all over their skin and face, but the shopkeeper despite their strange appearance, did not look surprised. If anything, he reached as if such a sight was not unusual.
"How can I help you?" he asked, his voice calmed but measured, as he turned his gaze to the man in black jacket.
Without answering immediately, the man reached out to his jacket pocket and pulled out a rupee note. But it wasn't just any note, it was an old one thousand rupee note, but it was long banned by the government.
Manash and his friends were confused.
'Why is he giving a worthless note to the shopkeeper?'
The shopkeeper took it without any hesitation, studying it carefully. His fingers ran over the paper, feeling something, he was searching for something beyond just its apparent uselessness.
After a moment, he nodded slightly, then handed the note back. But instead of rejecting it, he asked a single question.
"Do you serve?"
The man in black jacket, taking back the note, responded in a firm, dignified tone.
"I only serve those who serve the Divine."
At the man's word, the shopkeeper's expression shifted. His eyes widened in understanding, and without hesitation, he and the young man immediately stood up from the bed.
The shopkeeper then glanced at Manash and his friends, hesitation flickering in his eyes.
"Are they…?" He began to ask but hesitated, unsure how to phrase his question.
But before he could finish, the man in black jacket cut him off.
"They are…"
At those words, the shopkeeper immediately brought his hands together and offered them a respectful Pranam.
"Please forgive my rudeness," he said sincerely.
Manash, Suraj, and Bikram exchanged puzzled glances. They had no idea what was truly happening, but one thing was certain, this man seemed to know something about them.
'Does he know we're Devangsh?' Manash wondered.
"It's… okay…" Manash responded hesitantly.
The shopkeeper's lips curled into a grateful smile before he turned his attention back to the man in the black jacket.
"We need to go," the man said.
The shopkeeper nodded, then signalled to the younger man who had been with him earlier. Without a word, the younger man moved toward the back of the shop and opened it.
As the man in black jacket walked toward the door, Manash, Suraj, and Bikram prepared to follow, the shopkeeper suddenly spoke again.
"Do you need fresh clothes?" His gaze dropped to their tattered attire, concern evident in his voice.
The man in the black jacket barely paused before replying, "Sure."
Without another word, he stepped through the back door, and Manash and the others followed.
Beyond the doorway lay a dimly lit corridor, its walls and ceiling made of cold, rough concrete. A single LED bulb dangled from the ceiling, its weak, flickering glow casting long shadows across the narrow passage. The air was still, almost suffocating, as if they had entered a place cut off from the bustling world outside.
The man walked to the end of the corridor, his steps steady and deliberate. Behind them, the back door of the shop shut with a quiet finality.
Without hesitation, he pressed his hand against a section of the wall. A faint click echoed through the silence, and suddenly, a hidden panel slid open, revealing a keypad with glowing numbers.
With swift, practised precision, he entered a code.
The wall in front of them began to tremble. A low, mechanical hum filled the air as the solid surface slowly ascended, revealing a starkly different space beyond—a corridor bathed in pure white light.
The sudden brightness poured over them, stretching from their feet to their faces, washing away the darkness of the previous passage.
The man stepped through without hesitation, then turned back to look at Manash, Bikram, and Suraj. They remained frozen, their minds racing with questions.
'What is this place?'
"Are you not coming?" he asked, his voice cutting through their thoughts.
Snapping out of their thoughts, they exchanged glances and hurried inside.
As soon as they entered, the hidden door behind them slid shut with a quiet hiss.
At the corridor's end stood another door—this one made of reinforced metal, its surface layered with thick armour plating. They barely had time to process this before a deep rumble filled the air.
The ground beneath them vibrated.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj tensed instinctively, their bodies on high alert. But the man in the black jacket remained utterly calm, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.
With a heavy, metallic grind, the armoured door began to slide open. The sound was deep, mechanical, almost ominous.
Beyond the threshold lay a vast, sterile facility.
The entire space gleamed in pristine white, from the polished floors to the spotless walls, reflecting the bright overhead lights in an almost surreal glow. Everything about the facility felt… unnatural, too clean, too precise.
The man in black jacket stepped inside without hesitation, as if he had walked this path a hundred times before.
But Manash, Bikram, and Suraj remained where they stood, unable to move.
They had never seen a place like this.
What is this place?
Inside, men and women in identical black tailored suits moved with efficiency, their faces unreadable, their actions methodical. Some carried devices, others worked at glowing terminals, ensuring that the facility functioned at peak efficiency.
Straight ahead, inside the facility, they saw a sleek terminal where several figures in identical black suits sat at their stations, working intently on an array of small screens. Their fingers moved swiftly across glowing interfaces, absorbed in whatever data they were processing.
But above them, were two massive screens mounted on the wall.
One displayed a detailed world map, alongside a national map, both marked with glowing red and blue signals—indicators of something significant, though their meanings remained unclear. The second screen was filled with bold letters, possibly coded messages or critical data streams, accompanied by various shifting details that none of them could yet comprehend.
Manash hesitated. His instincts urged him to stay back, but seeing the man in the black jacket enter without a shred of doubt, he forced himself to move forward.
Bikram and Suraj followed suit, though their reluctance was evident in the stiffness of their steps.
As they entered deeper into the facility, reality sank in.
This was not just a simple hidden office. No mere outpost.
The space stretched far beyond what they had initially assumed, its walls lined with high-tech workstations, and corridors branching into unknown chambers. The air buzzed with low mechanical hums, the synchronized beeping of monitors, and the quiet but purposeful movements of the people within.
This wasn't just a secret hideout. It was a fully operational command centre. A nerve hub humming with power and precision, one that held far greater significance than they had thought.
Upon entering, their attention was drawn to the left. Beyond a thick, reinforced glass wall lay a massive training room, its floor scattered with concrete barriers, metallic posts, and vehicle-like obstacles. The layout was chaotic, with no discernible pattern, it was designed to mimic the unpredictability of a real battlefield.
Among the obstacles stood several men—soldiers clad in black combat gear, their posture disciplined and ready.
A sudden, piercing ping echoed through the chamber.
Without hesitation, the soldiers sprang into action.
Their firearms snapped up in unison, and in a flawless display of precision, they fired at every target that appeared. Some dummies stood still, others moved unpredictably, and a few even flew across the space. Yet, none lasted long under their assault.
Larger targets emerged, resembling armoured threats. Unlike the smaller dummies, these didn't go down with a single shot. The soldiers adjusted instantly, landing multiple hits on precise weak points until the targets crumbled.
Then, an even greater challenge surfaced—hulking figures that moved aggressively, launching projectiles at the soldiers.
With razor-sharp coordination, they dodged the incoming attacks while others provided covering fire, striking with deadly accuracy until the threats were neutralized.
Manash, Suraj, and Bikram watched in awe.
These were regular humans—mere mortals, yet their precision, reaction speed, and tactical decisions were nothing short of godly.
For the first time, a thought crossed their minds.
'Did we really deserve the respect we get as Devangsh'
While the man in black jacket spoke with a woman in a matching black suit, Manash, Bikram, and Suraj turned to their right—only to witness something even more amazing.
Suspended from the ceiling by thick, reinforced harnesses, another group of soldiers was engaged in a completely different combat drill. Dangling mid-air, they moved with practised precision, targeting a massive giant humanoid dummy that loomed before them.
However, this dummy was no ordinary training target.
It was mechanized—its massive limbs jerking unpredictably, attempting to strike down the airborne soldiers as they manoeuvred around it.
Suddenly, one of the dummy's arms swung toward a soldier. In a flash, the soldier pressed a button on his waist. A compact winch attached to his belt activated, its spool spinning rapidly, pulling the harness in an instant. It yanked him upward just in time to dodge the incoming strike.
But in the process, his firearm slipped from his grasp and plummeted to the ground.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj tensed. He had barely evaded the attack, but now he was unarmed. And retrieving the weapon seemed impossible—yet the soldier showed no signs of panic.
On the ground, there was a man standing watching.
He was built like a fortress, with broad shoulders, a chiselled physique, clad in a half-sleeved black t-shirt that barely contained his muscular frame. His stance was commanding, arms clasped behind his back, exuding an air of dominance. He had been observing the drill from the very start, his gaze sharp and unwavering.
Without warning, he moved.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled something toward the airborne soldier.
He suddenly threw something at the soldier who lost his firearm.
"Take it!" he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative.
The soldier reacted instantly, catching the object in mid-air. It was a sword.
No sooner had he gripped its hilt than the dummy's massive hand swung at him once again.
With nowhere to go, he braced his legs, absorbing the impact. Using the force of the hit, he propelled himself backwards, skilfully dodging yet again. But now, momentum would carry him forward like a pendulum, straight toward the dummy.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj watched with bated breath, clenching their fists.
'What will he do now?'
Just before colliding with the dummy, the soldier did something unthinkable—he slashed the rope suspending him. His body hurtled forward, raising his sword.
With a sharp clang, the blade embedded itself deep into the dummy's heart.
The mechanical giant reacted violently, thrashing its limbs in an attempt to dislodge him. Yet, the soldier held firm, gripping the sword tightly.
Slowly, the dummy's movements began to falter. The rapid jerks turned sluggish, as its once-powerful limbs twitched weakly. Until, at last, it came to a sudden, jarring stop.
A stunned silence followed afterward.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj stood frozen, their eyes wide with disbelief.
In mere seconds, that soldier had analysed the situation, made a decision, and executed it with flawless precision.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of clapping echoed behind them.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj turned around, startled.
It was the man in black jacket—the one who had bought them here. He had been watching all along. With a calm yet deliberate stride, he stepped forward, passing them without a word.
From the training ground, the muscular man in the half-sleeved black t-shirt approached. His presence was as commanding as before, but now, his posture stiffened. Stopping before the suited man, he brought his hand up in a disciplined salute.
"General Rafik," the soldier addressed him with firm respect.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj froze.
'Wait… General Rafik? He's a general? But of what? And his name… is he a Muslim?'
The three exchanged uncertain glances. The title 'General' carried weight, but they had no idea which force or faction this man commanded.
Rafik gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.
"Good job, Captain. The training is progressing well," he said, his voice firm yet composed.
The Captain acknowledged the praise with a curt nod, and the two began discussing something in low voices. Occasionally, Rafik gestured toward the soldiers, who promptly descended from their suspended positions, landing with precise movements.
Meanwhile, Manash, Bikram, and Suraj stood to the side, watching Rafik and the Captain intently. They could only observe, unsure of where they stood in all of this.
A few moments later, their conversation ended. The Captain gave another disciplined salute, before turning back and walking to his position.
Then, Rafik turned toward them. His sharp, scrutinizing eyes met theirs.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj stared back, confusion evident on their faces.
Rafik's gaze narrowed slightly as he took in their expressions.
"What?" Rafik asked.
Manash snapped out of his thoughts.
"Who… are you, sir?" he asked hesitantly.
Rafik raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'who am I'?"
"I mean… that man just called you General," Manash clarified. "And you're a Muslim… We never thought a Muslim would be with the Devangsh…" Bikram and Suraj nodded in agreement.
Rafik scoffed, crossing his arms. "So what? Just because I'm a Muslim, you think I can't serve under Lord Shankara?"
As the name Lord Sankara came to his lips… Manash, Suraj and Bikram were shocked.
"Wait… wait… wait… Do you mean Rudrangsh Shankara?" Manash asked, his voice laced with anticipation.
Rafik gave a simple nod.
"I am his second-in-command," he stated, as if it were nothing special.
"Second-in-command?" Manash's breath hitched. "A human… That means you also command the Devangsh under Lord Shankara?" His voice shook with disbelief.
"Yeah… kind of," Rafik responded nonchalantly, as if it were the most casual thing in the world.
Manash, Suraj, and Bikram exchanged stunned glances at each other.
'Lord Shankara is the number one Rudrangsh… and this man is his second-in-command?'
It was difficult to believe, especially for Manash. He knew of Lord Shankara. He knew of his strength, his unparalleled capability. He was someone Manash had admired, had aspired to be like.
And yet, standing before them, was a human who held the second-highest position under him.
Before they could fully process this revelation, a man dressed in a black suit approached swiftly.
"Sir!" he addressed Rafik, his presence snapping Manash and the others out of their thoughts.
Their eyes shifted to the newcomer, who was carrying a set of neatly folded clothes.
"These are for them," Rafik informed the newcomer, gesturing toward Manash, Suraj, and Bikram.
Only then did they recall how tattered their own clothes were, ripped, stained, and barely holding together from everything they had endured.