The underground "cube" in the Satpura Range trembled, its steel-reinforced concrete groaning under the onslaught of Amar's relentless descent. Each floor shattered beneath his fist, shadows surging from his heavy leather jacket, amplifying every strike into an earthquake. The blinding LEDs flickered, unable to fully suppress his darkness. Aryan Kapoor—The Man—sat frozen in his soundproofed office, 15 stories below, his bearded face pale as he watched the monitors. Feeds showed chaos: floors collapsing, dust clouds rising, fighters scrambling but unable to approach. His once-ironclad confidence crumbled, replaced by a dawning horror. "He's… impossible," Kapoor whispered, his Sound-enhanced senses overwhelmed by the sheer force of Amar's power.
Amar's shadow soldiers—12 fluid forms of night—swirled around him, blocking bullets and knives as fighters rushed in vain. The 500 converging from outside and the remaining 475 within the cube were useless; his shadows moved faster, slipping through cracks, deflecting attacks with unnatural twists. "No one gets close," Amar growled, standing amidst rubble on a shattered floor. He clenched his fist, shadows coiling like a storm, and punched downward again. The concrete cracked, steel screamed, and he dropped to the next level, landing in a crouch. Dust swirled, alarms blared, but he didn't pause. Another punch, another floor—each blow a thunderclap that shook the cube to its core.
Kapoor's meticulous plan—hours of attrition, 1000 fighters wearing Amar down, Sound pulses to weaken him—lay in tatters. "He's not a proxy," Kapoor muttered, sweat beading on his brow. "He's beyond. Far beyond." His monitors showed Amar tearing through floors like paper, his shadows a shield no bullet could pierce. Kapoor had underestimated, assuming Amar was a rival, perhaps stronger, but not a god.
In five minutes, Amar breached the 15th floor below, landing in a corridor just outside Kapoor's office. The walls shook, lights flickered, and the air thrummed with his presence. Inside, three ministers—Gupta, Singh, and Reddy—sat frozen, their faces pale as they stared at the monitors. Gupta's voice trembled. "Aryan… that's no man. That's… a god. The God of Darkness."
Singh clutched his chair, eyes wide. "You said we'd be safe! You said your forces—"
"Quiet!" Kapoor snapped, his voice a desperate hum, but his Sound power faltered, unable to mask his fear. Reddy whispered, "No escape. He's here for us all."
Amar stood outside, shadows swirling, his golden eyes glowing through the dark haze cloaking his face. The cube's light dimmed under his presence, his chaotic heart pounding with resolve. He'd vowed no slaughter, but the ministers' fear and Kapoor's crumbling arrogance confirmed one truth: the final confrontation was now.