CHAPTER 4: ALHA STRIKES
The market was alive with movement.
Vendors called out their prices, the scent of masala chai and fried snacks thick in the air. Crowds shuffled between fruit stalls and spice carts, negotiating loudly, bargaining like it was a sport.
It was normal.
For the first time in days, something felt normal.
Ajit stood at the edge of the chaos, hood pulled low over his face, sipping chai from a clay cup. His body still ached from the fight with Alha. His veins still throbbed beneath his skin, dark and restless.
But for now?
For now, he was just Ajit Singh.
Then the screaming started.
His fingers tightened around the cup.
He heard it before he saw it—a heavy, mechanical hum, rising above the noise of the market. Something massive descended from above, landing with a force that shook the street.
The vendors froze. Conversations died.
Ajit turned slowly, his breath catching.
Alha stood in the center of the marketplace.
Out in the open. In broad daylight.
Its golden eyes locked onto him immediately.
“Naga Man.”
The voice carried across the entire street.
People turned. Gasps. Murmurs. Fear.
Ajit cursed under his breath.
This wasn’t a fight in the back alleys. This wasn’t a battle hidden in the shadows.
This was a public execution.
Alha stepped forward, the ground groaning beneath its weight. Vendors abandoned their stalls, mothers grabbed their children, the market erupted in chaos.
Ajit’s heartbeat quickened.
“Engage. Now.”
Alha moved.
Faster than any machine should.
Ajit barely had time to react before a shockwave of force slammed into him, sending him skidding backward into a cart of fresh vegetables. Tomatoes and chilies exploded around him, the air thick with the scent of crushed produce.
“Shit.” Ajit wiped the juice from his face and launched himself forward.
The market was still filled with people. He needed to move this fight now.
Alha struck again—a devastating fist aimed straight for Ajit’s head. He twisted, barely avoiding it, the impact splintering the stone wall behind him.
Ajit gritted his teeth.
The machine wasn’t holding back.
This wasn’t a test anymore.
This was a kill order.
And in the middle of it all, the city was watching.
Ajit moved first.
He didn’t have a choice. The market was too crowded, too vulnerable. If he let Alha dictate the fight, people would die.
His body launched into motion—instinct, muscle memory, survival. He leapt over a fallen cart, twisting mid-air, then snapped his leg out in a brutal heel-kick aimed at Alha’s head.
Alha tilted slightly.
Not dodging. Calculating.
Ajit’s foot connected. A direct hit to the temple—
Nothing.
The impact rippled through Alha’s metal skull like a pebble against a mountain. No reaction. No stagger.
Only data.
Ajit landed and barely had time to process before—
Retaliation.
Alha’s counterstrike came in a blur. A palm-thrust—perfectly timed, aimed precisely at Ajit’s sternum. A strike designed to incapacitate.
Ajit twisted his torso—just barely dodging—but the shockwave of force sent him tumbling back. He rolled with the impact, flipping over a street vendor’s table and landing in a crouch.
The vendor ran.
The rest of the crowd wasn’t moving fast enough.
Ajit’s mind raced. He had fought cyborgs before, enhanced mercenaries, even people with faster reflexes. But this was different.
Alha wasn’t fighting him.
It was learning him.
Every move he made. Every dodge. Every feint.
It was recording, adapting.
Optimizing.
Alha spoke, its voice perfectly calm despite the destruction around them.
“I have analyzed your evasion patterns. You prioritize lateral movement and low-ground sweeps. Adjusting countermeasures.”
Ajit’s stomach dropped.
Alha moved.
A feint. A fake-out. It shifted left—but the real attack came from the right. A brutal elbow strike aimed at Ajit’s jaw.
Ajit saw it too late.
The hit landed.
His head snapped to the side, pain exploding across his skull. His vision blurred for half a second—half a second too long.
Alha followed up with a knee strike to the ribs—Ajit barely managed to block, but the force still sent him skidding across the pavement.
His chest ached. His arms felt heavier.
Alha was figuring him out.
Fast.
Too fast.
Ajit exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He needed to change his strategy.
If Alha was adapting to him—
He had to be unpredictable.
Ajit’s eyes flashed gold.
Time to break the machine’s rhythm.
Ajit’s ribs ached from the last hit. His vision was still swimming, but he forced himself to stand. Alha wasn’t stopping.
The machine studied him, its golden eyes flickering as it processed his movements.
Ajit rolled his shoulders, shaking off the pain. If Alha was adapting, he had to be unpredictable.
Be faster.
Be stronger.
Alha lunged again. A precise, calculated punch aimed at Ajit’s center of gravity.
Ajit should have dodged. Should have moved like he always did—fluid, elusive.
But he didn’t.
Something inside him snapped.
A whisper.
“Let me in.”
Ajit’s body reacted before his mind did.
He didn’t dodge.
He caught Alha’s punch mid-strike.
The impact should have shattered his wrist, sent him flying.
It didn’t.
Ajit’s grip tightened around Alha’s metallic fist. His veins burned. His arms felt lighter. Stronger.
His vision darkened at the edges.
The whisper wasn’t a whisper anymore.
“Yes. Yes. Finally.”
Ajit’s nails dug into the metal plating of Alha’s arm— and the steel buckled.
Alha hesitated.
“Strength output increased by 21%. Unexpected.”
Ajit’s lips curled into a smirk.
He twisted Alha’s wrist with unnatural force, the servos in its arm snapping.
Then he drove his knee into its chest—a brutal, full-force strike.
Alha crashed into the ground, the impact shaking the street.
Ajit exhaled hard. His breath felt different. The world felt sharper. His heartbeat wasn’t his own anymore.
And deep inside him—something moved.
Something shifted.
“More. Take more.”
Ajit took a step forward—but then he saw his reflection.
In the cracked glass of a nearby store window, his own eyes stared back at him.
They weren’t gold.
They weren’t human.
They were black.
Ajit’s stomach dropped.
Alha recovered instantly, already recalculating.
“Unstable energy signature detected. Your physiology is changing.”
Ajit forced himself to breathe.
He let go. The strength faded. The blackness in his vision retreated.
His hands shook.
He had tapped into something else.
Something worse.
And for a moment—he had liked it.
Ajit’s hands shook.
The power had felt right. For a moment, he had been stronger than ever—faster, ruthless, unstoppable.
And then he had seen his own eyes.
Not gold.
Not human.
Black.
A shiver crawled up his spine, but he had no time to process it. Alha was already on its feet, recalibrating, analyzing his instability.
“Your physical enhancement was not a function of the Nagamani alone,” Alha said, tilting its head. Its golden eyes flickered with new calculations. “There is another factor at play. Unstable. Unknown.”
Ajit’s pulse hammered in his ears. He needed to end this fight.
But before he could move, Alha struck first.
A low, sweeping kick—too fast. Ajit’s footing broke, his body twisting mid-air. He landed hard, concrete shattering beneath him.
A scream erupted nearby.
The crowd.
Ajit’s chest tightened. He had been so focused on the fight, on himself, that he had ignored the most important thing—the people.
And now?
They were still here.
A mother pulled her child away from the chaos, vendors scrambled to grab what they could, a man limped toward an overturned cart, blood trailing down his forehead.
This wasn’t a fight in an alley.
This was a war in the middle of a city.
Ajit gritted his teeth. “We finish this elsewhere.”
Alha’s response was immediate. “Negative. This battleground is acceptable.”
Then Alha raised its arm—and fired.
A pulse of raw kinetic energy blasted outward, a concussive wave that ripped through the marketplace.
Ajit’s stomach dropped.
The nearest building—an old apartment complex—buckled. Cracks raced up the walls, windows shattered, and with a deep, groaning sound, the structure began to fall.
Ajit moved.
His body launched forward before his mind could catch up.
A woman was in the impact zone, frozen in terror. She clutched her daughter, shielding her with her body as debris rained down.
Ajit reached them in time—barely.
He grabbed them both, wrapped them in his arms, and pushed off the ground with all his strength.
They soared—high, too high, too fast.
Ajit barely managed to twist mid-air, landing hard on the roof of a neighboring building, the force of impact rattling through his bones.
Below, the apartment collapsed in a cloud of dust and rubble.
Ajit’s breath was ragged. He lowered the woman and her daughter gently.
“Run,” he rasped.
They did.
Ajit’s hands clenched into fists. His gaze snapped back to the market, where Alha stood unmoving, watching him.
Casualties.
Destruction.
All because of him.
Ajit took a slow breath. His veins burned. The voice in his head laughed.
“More, Ajit. More.”
He pushed it down.
This wasn’t about him. It never was.
He wasn’t fighting to win.
He was fighting to protect.
Ajit’s eyes blazed gold.
It was time to end this.
Deep beneath the earth, in a hidden fortress lined with ancient stone and bleeding-edge technology, Ravana watched.
The battle unfolded across a wall of screens, each displaying a different angle—security cameras, hacked drones, heat signatures.
And there, at the center of it all, Naga Man.
His movements were different. Less refined. More vicious. His instincts were shifting, his hesitation crumbling.
He was starting to enjoy it.
Ravana leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The flickering light from the monitors danced across his scarred face.
Behind him, Alha’s backup systems streamed new combat data in real time. The AI’s voice filtered through the chamber’s speakers, calm, clinical, detached.
“Subject’s aggression has increased by 32%. Strength output fluctuating beyond predicted parameters. Unstable energy signatures detected.”
Ravana smirked.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Good.”
Alha’s voice continued, processing. “Tactical projection: If hostility continues to escalate, subject will become increasingly reckless, maximizing collateral damage.”
Ravana tapped his fingers against the table, watching as Ajit threw himself at Alha again, fists moving faster, harder.
The machine was still adapting, still predicting his strikes—but Ajit was learning something too.
How to break the pattern.
How to fight like something not human.
“That’s it,” Ravana whispered, his grin widening. “Let go, Ajit Singh.”
A low chuckle escaped him, deep and knowing.
“Let the poison in.”
Behind him, something stirred in the darkness.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
Ajit’s breath came in sharp, ragged bursts.
His muscles burned, his veins throbbed, but he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
Alha had adapted too much. Every movement, every counter—it was getting ahead of him.
Ajit’s instincts told him to step back, regroup, think.
But another voice—deeper, darker, closer—disagreed.
“No. Keep going.”
Alha lunged. Ajit dodged left—too slow. A brutal kick caught him in the ribs, launching him through the air. He hit the pavement hard, skidding across the ruined street.
Pain. Sharp. Hot.
He coughed, tasting copper.
Alha approached. “Your efficiency is decreasing, Naga Man.”
Ajit pushed himself up. His body ached, but the whisper was still there.
“Let me in.”
His fingers curled into fists.
“You are wasting your strength. Why hold back?”
Alha attacked again.
Ajit moved—but this time, something changed.
His muscles didn’t just react. They anticipated.
He twisted—not away, but into the strike, closing the distance instead of evading. His hand lashed out, catching Alha’s wrist.
No hesitation. No restraint.
“Yes.”
Ajit’s grip tightened—and something cracked.
Alha staggered.
Its golden eyes flickered, recalculating. “Grip strength increased by—”
Ajit tore off its arm.
Metal screamed, wires snapping as he ripped the limb free in one savage motion. Sparks rained down, Alha’s exposed servos twitching.
Ajit froze.
He was breathing too fast.
His vision blurred at the edges.
His hands were still moving—
He wanted to do more.
“Finish it.”
Alha stumbled back, its severed limb still twitching in Ajit’s grip. “Unpredicted outcome detected. Recalculating—”
Ajit lunged.
Alha retreated.
For the first time, the machine wasn’t attacking.
It was escaping.
Ajit’s lips curled. A low, unfamiliar growl rumbled in his throat.
“Yes. Chase it. Hunt it.”
Alha leapt onto a nearby building, vanishing into the city.
Ajit didn’t move.
His breath slowed. His pulse hammered. His vision cleared.
And then—he saw his reflection.
In the shattered glass of a nearby window, he saw himself.
His eyes.
They were still black.
Ajit dropped the severed arm.
His chest rose and fell in silence.
The whisper had been so loud.
And the worst part?
For a moment—
He had listened.