The 15th floor of the Satpura Range's underground "cube" was a battlefield, its corridors blazing with unrelenting LED light that scorched away shadows. Amar stood amidst the chaos, his 12 shadow soldiers—fluid, twisting forms of pure darkness—swirling around him like a storm. Fifty to sixty fighters, loyal to Aryan Kapoor—The Man—rushed forward, their visors shielding their eyes from the glare. Suppressed rifles cracked, knives flashed, and Sound-disruption pulses hummed, aimed at shattering Amar's darkness. His shadows moved with unnatural agility, coiling like ropes to block bullets and ensnare attackers, while Amar himself flickered between solid and fluid, letting shots pass through his form.
The fighters were relentless, trained for generations, but no match for the shadow soldiers' elastic strength. Limbs stretched, wrapping enemies in tight binds, pinning them to walls or floors. Yet, their loyalty was absolute—some broke free, only to bite cyanide capsules, dying instantly rather than face capture. Others fell to the shadows' crushing grips, necks snapping, chests caving. Within minutes, all 50 lay dead, scattered across the corridor, their blood pooling under the harsh light. Amar's chaotic heart sank. "I didn't want this," he whispered, his golden eyes dimming, but the path to Kapoor was clear.
He approached the grand double doors of Kapoor's office, shadows swirling around his leather jacket. With a push, the doors swung open, revealing a vast room. One wall was a mosaic of 400-500 monitors, flickering with feeds of the village, jungle, and cube—now dark with chaos. In the center, on a massive revolving chair, sat Aryan Kapoor, his bearded face calm but eyes sharp with desperation. In a corner, three ministers—Gupta, Singh, and Reddy—huddled on chairs, trembling, their faces pale as they glanced between Amar and the monitors.
Kapoor turned his chair, the monitors' dim glow casting him in a majestic silhouette, a lone figure against a backdrop of control. As Amar stepped inside, Kapoor clapped once, sharply. The monitors shut off in unison, plunging the room into darkness for a split second before blinding LEDs snapped on, flooding the space with unbearable light. Amar flinched, his vision blurring, shadows weakening under the assault. Kapoor adjusted his tinted goggles, minimizing the glare, his eyes clear and calculating.
"Well done, God of Darkness," Kapoor said, his voice a forced hum of bravado, laced with Sound's subtle vibration. "You've passed my test. You're stronger than I anticipated—worthy of a greater purpose."
Amar stood firm, shadows struggling to hold form, his face obscured by swirling darkness. "Test? You lured me here to die, Kapoor. No more games. Speak."
Kapoor leaned forward, his tone oily, persuasive. "Not a test to kill, but to measure. You're exceptional, Amar. I'm not alone—25 of us, the council, rule this world. Money, power, influence—we shape it all. Join us. Be the 26th. Control a vast dominion, part of something bigger. Why fight when you can rule?"
Amar's voice was ice, cutting through the light. "I'll consider it—on one condition. Release everyone under your contract. Every villager, every fighter. Free them from your Sound."
Kapoor's smile faltered, but he masked it with a chuckle. "Release them? Not so simple, Amar. Contracts take time to form, time to undo. Releasing them all at once? It'd weaken me, drain my power. Surely you understand the cost."
Amar stepped closer, shadows flickering despite the light. "I don't care if it weakens you—or kills you. Free them, or I end this now. The only reason you're breathing is because their lives are tied to yours. I won't be the butcher of hundreds."
Kapoor's eyes narrowed behind his goggles, his bravado cracking. He understood now: Amar's restraint was his shield. If he released the contracts, he'd be vulnerable—Amar could kill him without hesitation. "It's not possible," Kapoor said, voice steady but tight. "The bonds are too deep. It'd take months, years. You know this."
Amar's anger flared, shadows surging despite the light, his voice a low growl. "You hide behind them, coward. You know I could end you, but their deaths would be on my hands. That's why you're still alive. Free them, or I find a way to break you without touching them."
Kapoor leaned back, his mind racing. Amar's refusal to kill indiscriminately was his leverage, his contracted army his only shield. He couldn't release them—not now, not ever. The room crackled with tension, the ministers frozen, Amar's shadows straining against the light, and Kapoor's Sound power humming faintly, a desperate defense against the God of Darkness.