The office on the 15th floor of the Satpura Range's underground "cube" was a blinding fortress of light, LEDs scorching every corner. Amar stood in the doorway, his shadows barely holding against the glare, gripping Aryan Kapoor—The Man—by the throat. His leather jacket swirled with darkness, his golden eyes blazing through the haze. The three ministers—Gupta, Singh, and Reddy—huddled in a corner, trembling. A hundred and fifty fighters, led by Rajan, the grizzled captain of the 1000, stood frozen, weapons lowered, their visors glinting. Kapoor's battered form—bruised from Amar's punches—gasped in his grasp, his tinted goggles askew.
Rajan's voice cut through the tension. "What do you want, God of Darkness?"
Amar's grip tightened, his voice steady but heavy. "Freedom for you all. I don't want to kill you to get to him. Kapoor's a vile puppeteer, using your lives as cannon fodder, sowing chaos in society for years. I want him dead—not you."
Rajan's eyes narrowed, his loyalty wavering but firm. "You know how many we've killed? How many lives we've destroyed under his orders?"
"I can imagine," Amar said, shadows flickering. "Countless silenced, ruined. But you're under his control, aren't you? Bound by his Sound."
Rajan shook his head, voice resolute. "We serve willingly. Our families, generations—bound to him. He's our purpose."
Amar's gaze softened, but his grip on Kapoor held. "If I offered freedom, would you take it? You, your soldiers?"
Rajan's jaw tightened. "No. I won't. My duty is to him."
"And the villagers? The children?" Amar pressed. "Would they choose death over life?"
The question hung heavy. Rajan paused, eyes flickering. "The children… the villagers… if they could be saved, that'd be good. But there are 700 here—men, women, kids. How do you save them? Kapoor won't release them."
Amar tightened his hold, shadows flaring despite the light. "I'm a stronger proxy than him. I can contract any number of people—hundreds, thousands—if they'll accept. I don't want your lives, your service. I just want you free."
Rajan dropped to his knees, bowing his head to the ground. "Master, if you could free the villagers, the children… every soldier here would die gratefully. But it's impossible."
Kapoor, gasping, sneered despite his pain. "No one can contract that many at once. Release them? Never. If I die, they die with me."
Rajan's frustration flashed, quickly masked. He stood, voice low. "There are two other villages like this—Kerala's Western Ghats, Hyderabad's Nallamala Hills. Each has 1000 soldiers, 500-700 villagers, just like here. All contracted to him."
Amar's chaotic heart sank, the weight of thousands of lives crashing down. "Three villages… thousands of souls." He memorized the locations, his mind racing for a solution.
A playful whisper broke his thoughts—the Messenger's voice, unbidden, in his head. Quite the pickle, God of Darkness. This cube's comms can reach the other facilities. If Rajan explains to their captains—tells them Kapoor's done for—anyone who wants to live can ask for your contract. You can save as many as will listen.
Amar's eyes widened, shadows stirring. "The facilities can talk. You can spread the word—freedom or death." The choice loomed, vast and heavy, as Kapoor's labored breaths echoed in the silent room.