---
He walked straight into the bathroom and shut the door. A while later, he stood naked under the shower. Embarrassment kept creeping over him, but then he turned on the shower, and as the water hit his body, he closed his eyes in relief.
Right there, in the center of his upper back just below the hairline, was the mark of a roaring tiger. Its eyes were blue, and its body was white. The mark began to glow with a yellow light, and soon, his whole body radiated yellow. Unaware of all this, he stood with eyes closed. A few minutes later, he came out fresh and began admiring himself in the mirror.
("Shaurya Kapoor," around 18 years old, fair-skinned, blue eyes, tall, and most importantly, his innocence. His entire personality radiated purity and naivety. Despite being 18, he behaved like a child. Perhaps that childhood still lived within him. He studied at "The Sunshine University" and worked part-time at a café to manage his household expenses.)
On the other hand, there's ("Aarti Sharma")—yes, Aarti Sharma. Now you must be wondering, why is his surname Kapoor and hers Sharma? What's the mystery? She's around 40 years old, a single mother. Why? Only she knows the real reason. The two live together in a rented house.
He got ready and went downstairs to eat. As soon as he did, two red eyes appeared in the mirror, and written in black blood across it was—
"You belong only to me."
---
Meanwhile, far away, in Russia.
Nighttime. In a bar filled with people dancing to loud music, some drowning their sorrows in alcohol, others making their night colorful. The night was at its peak—deep darkness all around. Half the city was already asleep. The streets lay deserted, so silent that even a faint sound could echo loudly. Surrounding those roads were dense forests, filled with tall trees, the howling of wolves creating a haunting atmosphere. Deep within that forest was a cave. Two men stood guard at its entrance, armed with large rifles and dressed entirely in black.
Inside, torches burned along the walls, casting dim flickering light. A little deeper in, ten men stood with heads bowed. They too were armed and in black attire. The light from the torches barely illuminated their faces. In the middle was a wall, and a little ahead of it, a man knelt on the ground. His hands were tied to the wall with rope. He was barely conscious, his body covered in wounds and blood. His head hung low. Silence enveloped everything.
Suddenly, that silence was broken by the sound of footsteps—shoes echoing through the cave. Someone was approaching. A smile crept onto every face there… except that kneeling man. That sound alone made him tremble. Fear rippled through his body. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. If just the sound of footsteps could scare him so much—how terrifying must the person be?
As the steps came closer, he felt his heartbeat stop. Suddenly, the footsteps halted. His breathing grew erratic. He lifted his trembling head and saw… everything froze—his breath, his heartbeat, everything. Sweat clung to his skin.
Standing before him was a man of about 24–25 years. Black shirt, black coat, black pants, black shoes. A luxury watch on his wrist, a lit cigarette between his fingers, and in the other hand—a golden gun. On it was engraved: "DEVIL." Fair-skinned, intimidating face, amber-orange eyes, crimson lips with smoke curling out, and messy hair. He looked incredibly handsome and dashing. His intense aura suited him perfectly.
On the back of his neck was the same tiger mark Shaurya had—only difference: this tiger was blue, with amber-orange eyes. Just like this man.
(This is Anirudh Shekhawat, aka "AS," The Devil. Ruthless. Heartless. Short-tempered. Girls all over the world swoon over him, like butterflies to flowers. But he has never even glanced at one. He's the most dangerous gangster and a powerful businessman. In the business world, everyone wants to work with him, make deals with him. Not just in India, but globally, he's well-known. Money and power? He has it all.)
(In the crime world—killing is his favorite pastime. The police have never caught him. Why? Everyone knows Anirudh Shekhawat as a powerful businessman, but very few know that he's also the gangster who has shaken the world. When committing crimes, he always wears a mask, so no one knows his true identity. That's why he's called "The Crime King." Only three things matter to him—his crime empire, Darshan Rawat (we'll know more about him later), and his childhood friend, Lakshya. Lakshya Singhania—fair, hazel-eyed, strong build, a bit funny.)
Anirudh stormed toward the man and smiled—a deadly smile that sent chills down the man's spine. Suddenly, two more people entered. One was Lakshya, Anirudh's best friend, and the other—his PA, Dushyant Singh. They stood beside Anirudh. A guard came and placed a chair behind him, and Anirudh sat with pride. Another brought a glass table, placed two expensive bottles of alcohol on it, poured one into a glass, then left. Dushyant stood on Anirudh's left, Lakshya on the right.
"Did the hospitality fall short, Verma?" Anirudh asked dangerously.
Verma, terrified, begged, "Please forgive me. I made a mistake. I swear I won't do this again. Let me go."
"In my world, there are no apologies—only punishments. The punishment is death. And what did you say? You won't repeat it again? That's only possible if you're alive," Anirudh said, twirling his gun in his fingers. His aura was deadly.
Verma was trembling. "I made a mistake. Please forgive—"
Before he could finish, Anirudh roared, "SILENCE! One more word and I'll rip out your tongue. And you think apologizing will bring those boys back? The ones you ruined for your lust?"
Verma shivered violently. Anirudh suddenly rubbed the gun against his own face, terrifying Verma even more. He couldn't be sure the next moment that gun wouldn't be buried in his skull.
"Bad boy, bad boy… I'm a bad boy," Anirudh said with a wicked grin. He picked up the whole bottle instead of the glass and started drinking directly. Within moments, it was empty. His eyes reddened from the alcohol, making his presence even more terrifying.
**"I DON'T WANT TO WASTE TIME ON YOU, SO THIS TIME TO PUNISH YOU VERY BADLY… LET'S START YOUR PUNISHMENT."
Anirudh's tone was so terrifying, it could shake a person to their soul.
"Punishment?" the man repeated the word and screamed,
"No, no!"
Because perhaps, he too knew how merciless Anirudh could be.
Anirudh quickly walked over to Verma, grabbed his hair, and yanked it hard.
"You really enjoyed satisfying your lust with boys, didn't you?"
Anirudh gritted his teeth on the last words and stood up in rage.
Now, perhaps the demon within him had taken over, and no one could stop him anymore.
He stepped back and landed a fierce kick on Verma's face, then began stomping on it viciously. Verma writhed in pain, his face soaked in blood—Anirudh's shoes were fitted with sharp metal studs.
Suddenly, the rope was pulled tight, and Verma's hands and legs were stretched out against the wall.
"You enjoyed giving others pain, didn't you? Now I'll show you what real pain is."
Saying this, Anirudh delivered a brutal kick between Verma's legs.
"AAAH…!" Verma screamed, blood spewing from his mouth.
Anirudh kept striking that same spot again and again while Verma cried in unbearable agony.
Just then, a guard arrived and stripped Verma of all his clothes. Now, he stood completely naked in front of everyone.
Suddenly, Anirudh extended his hand, and a guard placed a long sword in it. He gripped it tightly.
"You wanted to satisfy your lust, didn't you?"
He shouted loudly, fury blazing from his eyes.
"AAAAHH!"
Anirudh let out a wild scream and sliced off his manhood. Blood splattered across his face.
Verma died right there.
But Anirudh wasn't done. He started carving the letters "AS" onto Verma's chest, then slowly chopped the body into pieces. Blood was everywhere. The dim torchlight made the atmosphere even more horrific.
If a normal person saw the scene, they'd probably stop breathing from fear.
Then, Anirudh dragged the blade across his own face and said like a complete maniac:
"Bad boy, bad boy… I am a bad boy."
His face was smeared with blood, his eyes bloodshot from alcohol—he looked terrifying.
Just then, Dushyant and Lakshya came running in.
"Boss! Boss!" Dushyant yelled.
"Anirudh, control yourself!"
Lakshya quickly ran up to him, snatched the sword from his hand, and threw it far away.
Then he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the blood off Anirudh's face.
"Leave me, Lakshya! I can handle myself,"
Anirudh growled, shaking off Lakshya's hand.
He then cleaned his face properly himself, picked up a gun from the ground, and slipped it inside his coat.
Taking out a cigarette, he lit it, took deep puffs, and walked out with heavy steps.
"Clean up everything."
Saying this, he walked away. Lakshya and Dushyant followed him.
"Find out about his accomplice as soon as possible… Let's see where that coward is hiding."
Anirudh said while puffing on his cigarette.
As soon as they reached outside, 5–6 cars were parked in a line.
Anirudh got into the one in front while Dushyant and Lakshya got into the one behind.
And then the convoy drove out of the jungle, hitting the road, speeding swiftly toward their next destination.
To be continued...
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