The night swallowed the city whole.
Rain hammered the empty streets, washing neon lights into broken reflections on the asphalt. In a narrow alley behind an abandoned warehouse, a lone figure lay sprawled on the cold ground, blood mixing with rainwater as it ran into the gutter.
Rahul Verma trembled violently.
His breath came in shallow gasps, every inhale sending knives of pain through his shattered ribs. His vision blurred, shadows bleeding into one another as the storm raged above him.
He wasn't supposed to die tonight.
But fate had never cared what he wanted.
Footsteps echoed through the alley, slow and deliberate. Metal scraped against concrete, the sound sharp enough to cut through the roar of the rain.
"Get up, genius."
The voice dripped with mockery.
"Aren't you the smart one? The topper? The golden boy?"
Rahul tried to lift his head. His body refused. He coughed, blood spilling from his lips as he forced the words out.
"I didn't do anything… please… just let me go."
A second man laughed, the sound cruel and hollow.
"Let you go? You ruined our boss's plans. Now we ruin you."
Pain exploded through Rahul's side as something heavy slammed into his ribs. He screamed, the sound ripped away by the storm as his body curled inward instinctively.
He was no fighter.
Just a quiet, exhausted student who had been framed for a crime he didn't commit. The world had already taken everything from him—his future, his reputation, his dignity.
Tonight, it wanted his life too.
"Where are the files?" one of them demanded, kicking him hard in the stomach.
"Where's the evidence?"
"I don't know!" Rahul cried, his voice breaking. "I swear—I don't know!"
Another blow landed.
Then another.
Every kick.
Every punch.
Every insult.
Each one reminded Rahul of a truth he had learned far too young—he was completely powerless.
The city moved on without him. His friends had turned their backs. The people who once smiled at him now pretended he didn't exist.
No one came.
No one ever came.
Thunder cracked overhead, violent and deafening. Rahul's vision dimmed as rain washed over his blood-soaked face. The alley lights flickered, then blurred into nothing more than distant halos.
His heartbeat slowed.
Slower.
Slower.
"Why…" he whispered, barely audible. "Why me…? Why always me…?"
Then everything stopped.
The rain froze in midair.
The thunder fell silent.
Even the pain faded, suspended in a strange, suffocating stillness.
The world itself seemed to hold its breath.
A presence stirred—ancient, vast, and immeasurably cold.
A voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once.
User identified… Rahul Verma.
Rahul's eyes fluttered weakly.
"W-who… who's speaking…?"
Suffering detected.
Trauma detected.
Injustice detected.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. A hallucination, he thought. So this is how dying feels.
"I'm dying…" he murmured.
No, Rahul.
You are being chosen.
Something pulsed in the air, a low vibration that seemed to resonate inside his bones.
Your body is failing. Your heart is slowing.
Allow the Void to preserve you.
Preserve…?
Rahul's mind drifted, memories flashing through the darkness—his mother coughing blood into tissues she hid away, his father disappearing without a word, his dreams collapsing under the weight of lies and betrayal.
If this was death…
He wasn't ready.
"Say the command," the voice continued, calm and absolute.
'I accept the Void.'
Rahul's breath shook.
"I…" His voice cracked. "I accept…"
The world shattered.
Darkness surged into him like a living storm—cold, furious, and impossibly vast. It wrapped around his soul, sinking deep, claiming him from the inside out.
His body convulsed as something rewrote him at a fundamental level.
Activation complete.
Ability unlocked: VOID-SENSE.
Rahul gasped.
His eyes snapped open.
The rain fell again. The alley returned. The men froze mid-motion, their expressions twisted in confusion and fear.
Rahul Verma rose to his feet.
Not as a victim.
Not as a broken boy.
But as something new.
Something the darkness itself had chosen.