Chapter 6: The Order Strikes Back
The dawn broke over Kolkata, but the golden light brought no solace to its streets. A smog of unease blanketed the city, thickened by the relentless reports on television and radio. Markets that should have been bustling with activity stood eerily quiet, their usual hum replaced by the distant wails of sirens and murmurs of unrest.
Vishakha blended seamlessly into the crowd, her black shawl and simple kurta making her indistinguishable from the people around her. She moved with purpose, her eyes sharp beneath her hood as she surveyed the tension in every corner.
The attack had started three hours earlier. Power outages swept across key districts, plunging homes, hospitals, and businesses into chaos. Simultaneously, coordinated riots erupted in multiple neighborhoods, seemingly fueled by nothing more than whispers of false promises and conspiracies.
Shadow Order fingerprints were all over it.
She ducked into a narrow alley, avoiding a police patrol moving in tight formation. A makeshift checkpoint loomed at the end of the street, the officers’ faces tense as they scanned the sparse crowd for trouble.
Her earpiece crackled to life, Dev’s voice cutting through the distant din of the city. “Vishakha, it’s worse than we thought. This isn’t just a distraction. Aryan’s sleeper agents are making their moves.”
“What kind of moves?” she asked, her tone low as she kept to the shadows.
“Two high-ranking officials in Bharat Varsha’s government have gone dark,” Dev replied. “Both were vocal critics of key Shadow Order fronts. We’re looking at targeted eliminations.”
Vishakha’s jaw tightened. “And the riots?”
“Coordinated. Amrita’s handprints are all over this one.”
At the mention of her sister’s name, Vishakha’s grip on the shawl tightened. “Where is she?”
“Hard to say,” Dev admitted. “She’s smart—staying mobile. But the way these attacks are timed… she’s definitely in the city.”
Vishakha stepped into another alley, her katars concealed beneath the folds of her shawl. “Then we find her.”
The chaos deepened as Vishakha made her way through the city. Groups of looters moved openly, their faces covered with scarves as they smashed storefronts and set small fires in the streets. Police forces were stretched thin, their sirens blaring as they attempted to restore order.
She slipped past them, heading toward one of the city’s underground clubs where she knew the Shadow Order’s influence ran deep.
The club, Vermillion Veil, was a hidden den for informants, smugglers, and those willing to turn a blind eye to the city’s turmoil in exchange for profit. Its neon sign flickered faintly in the gloom of the street, the sound of muffled bass seeping through the cracked walls.
Vishakha entered, her posture calm but alert. The heavy atmosphere inside was thick with smoke and tension. Men and women huddled in booths, their conversations hushed but charged.
Her gaze swept the room, landing on a lone figure at the bar. He was dressed in a nondescript jacket, his hands wrapped around a glass of whiskey. But it wasn’t his drink that gave him away—it was the faint scar running along his jawline, a mark she remembered from her time at the Chhaya Institution.
Shadow Order operative.
She approached him casually, sliding onto the stool beside him without making eye contact. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Do you feel it? The shift in the air?”
The man stiffened, his grip on the glass tightening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do,” Vishakha said, her tone calm. “The city’s falling apart. And you’re here, drinking like it’s just another night.”
The man glanced at her, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”
“Someone who knows what you’re about to do,” she said, her hand slipping beneath the bar to grip the hilt of her katar. “And someone who can stop it.”
His eyes darted to the exit, his posture shifting ever so slightly. Vishakha caught the movement instantly.
“Don’t,” she warned. “You won’t make it.”
For a moment, the tension between them hung heavy in the air. Then, in a swift motion, the man lunged toward her, his hand reaching for a concealed blade.
Vishakha was faster. Her katar was out in an instant, slicing through the air and pinning his hand to the bar. He cried out in pain, the sound quickly drowned out by the pulsing music.
“Talk,” she demanded, leaning in close. “Where’s Amrita?”
Blood dripped onto the counter as the man gritted his teeth, his face pale with pain. “You don’t understand,” he hissed. “She’s already won.”
Vishakha’s grip tightened. “Where. Is. She?”
He coughed, his breath ragged. “Market Square. But it’s a trap. She’s waiting for you.”
“Let her wait,” Vishakha said, yanking her blade free.
The man slumped forward, clutching his injured hand as Vishakha disappeared into the crowd.
Outside, the city’s chaos raged on, but Vishakha’s focus was razor-sharp. Market Square was only a few blocks away—a sprawling open-air plaza surrounded by shops and cafes, now abandoned in the wake of the riots.
As she moved, her mind raced with possibilities. Amrita wouldn’t set a trap without ensuring every detail was accounted for. The square would be crawling with operatives, the area sealed off to prevent escape.
But Vishakha wasn’t planning to escape.
She activated her earpiece. “Dev, I’ve got a location.”
“Market Square?” Dev asked, his voice tight.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m going in.”
“That’s exactly what she wants,” Dev warned.
Vishakha’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Good. Let’s see if she’s ready for me.”
The air was heavy in Market Square, the faint scent of smoke mingling with the stale remnants of earlier chaos. Broken glass and scattered debris littered the once-bustling plaza, the faint echo of distant sirens underscoring the eerie silence.
Vishakha crouched in the shadows of an abandoned shop, her katars drawn and glinting faintly in the moonlight. Her eyes swept the square, cataloging every overturned cart and shattered display as potential cover.
“Dev,” she whispered into her earpiece. “Do you see them?”
“I’m picking up faint heat signatures,” Dev replied, his voice low and tense. “They’re scattered around the square—six operatives at least. And Vishakha…”
“I know,” she said, cutting him off. “Amrita’s here.”
The presence of her sister wasn’t just a logical assumption; it was something she felt deep in her bones. Their connection, though fractured and poisoned by betrayal, still lingered like an unhealed scar.
She scanned the rooftops, catching the faintest glint of metal—a sniper’s scope reflecting the dim light. She shifted slightly, keeping herself concealed.
“They’re waiting for me to step into the open,” Vishakha murmured.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Dev said. “You’re walking into a kill box.”
“Let them try,” she said, her voice cold. “I’m done running.”
Vishakha moved with calculated precision, slipping between shadows as she approached the center of the square. Each step was deliberate, her body tense and ready for the ambush she knew was coming.
She paused near a fallen column, her ears straining for any sound beyond the faint rustle of the wind.
The attack came in an instant.
A gunshot rang out, the sharp crack echoing through the plaza. Vishakha spun, her katar flashing as she deflected the bullet with impossible precision. The sniper cursed from above, their position betrayed by the muzzle flash.
Vishakha didn’t hesitate. She hurled a throwing needle in the sniper’s direction, the sharp whistle of its flight followed by a grunt of pain as it found its mark.
Chaos erupted.
Operatives emerged from their hiding places, their weapons raised as they moved to encircle her. Vishakha counted six—spread out and coordinated, their movements practiced and disciplined.
But they weren’t fast enough.
She moved first, her katars slicing through the air as she darted toward the nearest operative. Her blade caught him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a cry of pain. She turned, narrowly avoiding a burst of gunfire as she closed the distance to her next target.
The fight was brutal and efficient, every strike and counterstrike a testament to Vishakha’s training. She weaved between her attackers, using their own momentum against them as she incapacitated them one by one.
In the end, only silence remained, broken only by the sound of her breathing.
“Well,” Amrita’s voice rang out, sharp and clear, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Vishakha turned slowly, her katars still raised. Amrita stood at the edge of the square, her white-and-gold combat suit pristine despite the carnage. Her talwar was already drawn, the blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
“You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” Amrita said, her tone laced with mockery.
“And you always did like to gloat,” Vishakha countered, her voice cold.
Amrita stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate. Her gaze was fixed on Vishakha, her expression unreadable.
“You’ve caused a lot of trouble, sister,” Amrita said. “Aryan’s not happy.”
“Good,” Vishakha said, her grip on her katars tightening. “He should be worried.”
Amrita’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You think you’ve done something significant here? All you’ve done is delay the inevitable.”
“You’re wrong,” Vishakha said, her voice steady. “I’ve exposed Aryan’s network. The Order isn’t untouchable anymore.”
Amrita’s smile faded, her expression hardening. “You really think you’re the hero in all this, don’t you?”
“I think I’m the only one willing to stop Aryan’s madness,” Vishakha shot back.
Amrita’s grip on her talwar tightened. “Then stop talking and prove it.”
The sisters charged at each other simultaneously, their blades clashing in a burst of sparks. The sound of metal on metal echoed through the square as they fought, their movements a deadly dance of precision and power.
Amrita’s strikes were forceful and deliberate, each swing of her talwar designed to overwhelm Vishakha’s defenses. But Vishakha was faster, her katars deflecting and countering with blinding speed.
“You can’t win this, Vishakha,” Amrita said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t need to win,” Vishakha replied, her voice sharp. “I just need to stop you.”
Their blades locked, the tension between them palpable. For a moment, neither moved, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.
“You betrayed us,” Amrita hissed. “You betrayed me.”
“No,” Vishakha said, her voice steady. “I broke free.”
With a sudden burst of strength, she shoved Amrita back, breaking the lock. Amrita stumbled but quickly regained her footing, her talwar raised once more.
Before either could strike again, the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. Amrita glanced toward the edge of the square, her expression darkening.
“This isn’t over,” she said, her voice cold.
“It never is,” Vishakha replied.
Amrita turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Vishakha alone in the square as the sirens grew louder.
The sirens wailed louder as Vishakha melted into the shadows of a nearby alley, the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through her veins. She moved swiftly and silently, her black-and-gold combat suit blending with the dimness of the backstreets. The taste of the confrontation with Amrita lingered bitterly, her sister’s accusations echoing in her mind.
“You betrayed us.”
“You betrayed me.”
The words gnawed at her resolve, though she buried the doubt deep. There was no time for hesitation or second-guessing—not when Aryan’s network was still operational, not when Amrita was still out there hunting her.
Vishakha climbed to the roof of an abandoned building, crouching low as she surveyed the city below. Kolkata, usually a thriving metropolis, was in disarray. Fires burned in several districts, their smoke curling into the night sky like silent accusations. Police and emergency services scrambled to contain the chaos, their presence dwarfed by the scale of the destruction.
“This isn’t just retaliation,” Dev’s voice crackled through her earpiece. “Aryan’s making a statement.”
Vishakha frowned. “A statement to who?”
“To you, to Bharat Varsha, to anyone who thinks they can oppose him,” Dev replied. “He’s showing the world what happens when you defy the Shadow Order.”
Her gaze shifted to a nearby plaza, where a group of looters had overturned a car. Their shouts blended with the sound of breaking glass, the violence feeding on itself.
“This isn’t just him,” she said, her voice low. “Amrita’s pulling the strings. This chaos—it’s her style.”
Dev was silent for a moment. “You think she’s doing this to get under your skin?”
“She doesn’t need to,” Vishakha said. “She knows exactly where to hit me.”
A memory surfaced, unbidden and sharp. It was years ago, in the training halls of the Chhaya Institution. Vishakha and Amrita sparred in a ring, their every move watched by the institution’s overseers.
Amrita had always fought with brute force, each strike heavy and relentless. But Vishakha had been faster, her agility and precision giving her the edge. That day, though, Amrita had fought differently—her moves calculated, her strikes deliberate. She had adapted, learned.
By the end of the match, Vishakha was on the ground, Amrita’s talwar at her throat.
“See?” Amrita had said, her voice calm but triumphant. “I can change.”
The overseers had applauded, their voices cold and dispassionate. But Vishakha had only felt a pang of unease.
Now, years later, that unease had turned to certainty. Amrita was no longer the younger sister she remembered, the one who had clung to her in the cold dormitories of the institution. She had become something else, something ruthless and unyielding.
“Vishakha,” Dev said, pulling her back to the present. “You need to hear this.”
His tone was grim, and it sent a chill down her spine. “What is it?”
“I just intercepted a Shadow Order transmission,” Dev said. “They’ve identified your allies—former operatives, informants, anyone they think might have helped you since your defection.”
Vishakha’s stomach tightened. “And?”
“They’re being hunted,” Dev said. “Systematically.”
She exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on the hilt of her katar. “How many?”
“Too many,” Dev admitted. “Some have already gone dark. Others are in hiding. But it’s only a matter of time before the Order finds them.”
A flicker of guilt passed through her. These people hadn’t asked to be caught in her war. They had their own lives, their own battles to fight. And now they were being targeted because of her.
“They’re using me to draw them out,” Vishakha said, her voice quiet but resolute.
“Exactly,” Dev said. “If they can’t kill you, they’ll destroy anyone connected to you.”
For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the weight of it settle over her. But when she opened them again, her resolve was sharper than ever.
“Send me their locations,” she said.
“What?” Dev’s voice was incredulous. “Vishakha, you can’t—”
“Send me their locations,” she repeated, her tone brooking no argument. “I can’t let them die because of me.”
Dev hesitated, but finally, he sighed. “Fine. Sending them now. But you can’t save everyone, Vishakha.”
“I don’t have to save everyone,” she said, standing. “Just enough to send Aryan a message of my own.”
She moved across the rooftops with the grace of a shadow, her mind racing with strategies. Every step brought her closer to the nearest target, a former Chhaya operative named Kavya who had defected years ago and built a quiet life in Kolkata.
Kavya had been one of the few who had shown Vishakha kindness during their time at the institution. She had shared food when rations ran low, whispered words of encouragement during grueling training sessions.
And now, she was in danger.
Vishakha reached Kavya’s apartment just as two Shadow Order operatives were breaking down the door. Their black combat suits blended with the night, their movements swift and precise.
She didn’t hesitate.
Her first throwing needle struck one of the operatives in the neck, dropping him instantly. The second spun, his weapon raised, but Vishakha was already on him. Her katar flashed, disarming him with a single fluid motion before delivering a decisive strike to his abdomen.
The man crumpled, and Vishakha stepped over his body to enter the apartment.
Inside, Kavya stood in the living room, her face pale but defiant. She held a kitchen knife, its blade trembling in her hand.
“Vishakha,” Kavya breathed, her relief palpable.
“Come on,” Vishakha said, her tone urgent. “We don’t have much time.”
Kavya nodded, dropping the knife as she followed Vishakha out into the night.
As they moved through the city, Vishakha’s earpiece buzzed with updates from Dev. More targets, more operatives, more danger.
But Vishakha didn’t falter. Each rescue, each victory against the Shadow Order, was a small but meaningful defiance against Aryan’s tyranny.
And though the cost weighed heavily on her, she knew she couldn’t stop.
Not until the war was won.
The safehouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of the generator powering its dim lights. Vishakha stood at the center of the room, poring over a map of Kolkata pinned to the wall. Red circles marked the locations of recent Shadow Order attacks, forming a web of chaos that spanned the city.
Behind her, Kavya sat on a worn couch, her hands trembling as she sipped a cup of lukewarm tea. Her relief at being saved had given way to the silent realization of the danger that surrounded them.
“They’re targeting every district,” Vishakha said, her voice low. “Power grids, communication hubs, transit lines. It’s not just random chaos—they’re cutting the city off piece by piece.”
Kavya nodded slowly. “It’s like they’re trapping everyone here, forcing them to stay in the destruction.”
“Exactly,” Vishakha said, her gaze narrowing. “Aryan’s creating a siege. He wants to control the city entirely—every exit, every resource.”
“And Amrita?” Kavya asked hesitantly.
Vishakha’s jaw tightened at the mention of her sister. “She’s the one making sure it happens.”
Dev’s voice crackled over the earpiece. “Vishakha, I’ve got something. There’s chatter on the Shadow Order’s private network. They’re coordinating another operation, but the details are vague.”
“Where?” Vishakha asked, her tone sharp.
“Warehouse district,” Dev replied. “But there’s something off about it. The operatives on-site are heavy hitters—this isn’t a standard mission.”
Vishakha’s instincts flared. “It’s a trap.”
“Probably,” Dev admitted. “But it might also be a chance to disrupt their operations. Your call.”
She glanced at Kavya, who met her gaze with a mixture of fear and determination.
“Stay here,” Vishakha said. “Lock the doors. Don’t let anyone in.”
“What about you?” Kavya asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Vishakha pulled her katars from their sheaths, the blades gleaming in the faint light. “I’ll be fine.”
The warehouse district was a maze of towering structures and narrow alleys, the air thick with the scent of oil and rust. Vishakha moved like a shadow, her footsteps silent as she approached the coordinates Dev had provided.
The warehouse loomed ahead, its doors slightly ajar. Faint voices drifted from within, their tones hushed and conspiratorial.
“Three heat signatures inside,” Dev said in her ear. “And one more… Vishakha, it’s Amrita.”
She exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on her katars. “Of course it is.”
The voices inside fell silent as she entered. The interior was cavernous, stacks of crates casting long shadows under the flickering fluorescent lights. She moved carefully, her eyes scanning every corner, every crevice.
“Hello, sister,” Amrita’s voice rang out, sharp and clear.
Vishakha froze, her muscles coiled as she turned toward the sound. Amrita stepped into view, her white-and-gold combat suit gleaming even in the dim light. Her talwar was already drawn, its edge glowing faintly with energy.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” Amrita said, her lips curling into a faint smile.
“I knew you would,” Vishakha replied, her voice steady. “It’s why I came.”
Amrita’s gaze flicked to the shadows behind Vishakha, and she realized too late that she wasn’t alone.
The first strike came from behind—a heavy blow aimed at her shoulder. Vishakha spun, her katar intercepting the attack just in time. A Shadow Order operative loomed over her, his massive frame blocking out the light.
She ducked beneath his second swing, her blade slashing across his thigh. He grunted in pain but didn’t falter, his fists swinging like hammers as he pressed the attack.
Before she could counter, another operative joined the fray, his knife gleaming as he lunged at her. Vishakha deflected the blade, her movements fluid as she twisted and struck, her katar finding its mark.
The fight was chaotic, the confined space of the warehouse making every movement perilous. But Vishakha’s training was relentless, her strikes precise and devastating.
Within moments, the two operatives lay motionless at her feet.
“Well done,” Amrita said, her voice calm as she stepped forward. “But you’re not fighting them now.”
Vishakha raised her katars, her stance shifting instinctively into readiness. “Then let’s end this.”
Amrita laughed softly. “Oh, Vishakha. Always so eager to prove yourself.”
She lunged, her talwar slicing through the air with deadly precision. Vishakha blocked the strike, the clash of metal on metal ringing through the warehouse.
Their movements were a deadly dance, each attack and counterattack executed with lethal grace. Amrita’s strikes were powerful and deliberate, designed to break Vishakha’s defenses. But Vishakha was faster, her agility and precision keeping her one step ahead.
“You can’t win this,” Amrita said, her voice sharp as their blades locked.
“Neither can you,” Vishakha replied, her tone cold.
Amrita’s expression darkened, and she shoved Vishakha back, breaking the lock. For a moment, they stood apart, their gazes locked in silent challenge.
“This isn’t over,” Amrita said, her voice low.
“It never is,” Vishakha replied.
Amrita turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Vishakha alone in the warehouse.
The fight had taken its toll. Vishakha leaned against a crate, her breathing heavy as she surveyed the scene. The operatives were down, but Amrita had escaped again.
“Vishakha,” Dev’s voice crackled in her ear. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though the ache in her body told a different story.
“She let you go,” Dev said, his tone laced with unease.
Vishakha nodded slowly. “I know. And she won’t make that mistake again.”
The faint glow of a laptop screen illuminated the dingy room as Vishakha stepped inside, katars at her sides and every nerve on edge. This safehouse, buried deep within the forgotten slums of Kolkata, was more like a bunker—a labyrinth of narrow halls and hidden doors leading to a room barely larger than a closet.
The man at the desk barely glanced up as she entered. Thin and wiry, with messy hair and thick glasses, he looked more like a university dropout than someone who had made a name for himself as one of Bharat Varsha’s most infamous rogue hackers.
“Nice of you to drop by, Shadow Dancer,” he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Vishakha closed the door behind her, the sound sharp in the cramped space. “Dev said you had intel for me.”
The hacker, who went by the name Nishant—or just “Nish”—leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced behind his head. “I don’t know what’s more surprising—that Dev trusts me, or that you actually showed up.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Vishakha said, her tone flat.
Nish chuckled, swiveling his chair to face her fully. “Relax. I’m not here to double-cross you. If I wanted to sell you out to the Shadow Order, I wouldn’t have spent the last three days decrypting their comms network.”
He gestured to the laptop screen, where lines of code scrolled endlessly.
“What did you find?” Vishakha asked, stepping closer.
“Plenty,” Nish said, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. “Aryan’s got sleeper agents embedded in places you wouldn’t believe—media outlets, private corporations, even a few religious institutions. But that’s not the worst of it.”
Vishakha’s jaw tightened. “Go on.”
“He’s planning something big,” Nish continued, tapping a few keys to bring up a map of Bharat Varsha. Red markers dotted the screen, each one representing a Shadow Order cell or operative. “All this chaos in Kolkata? It’s just the start. He’s laying the groundwork for a nationwide power grab.”
“Details,” Vishakha demanded.
Nish clicked on one of the markers, zooming in on a location near Varanasi. “He’s consolidating his forces here—a place called the Shadow Throne. It’s their nerve center, the hub for all their operations.”
“The Shadow Throne,” Vishakha repeated, the name heavy with meaning.
“Yeah,” Nish said, leaning forward. “It’s not just a stronghold—it’s their tech base. Aryan’s been building a new AI-driven surveillance system there. If it goes live, he’ll have access to everything: communications, infrastructure, even private security systems. He’ll be untouchable.”
Vishakha stared at the screen, her mind racing. “How long do we have?”
“Not long,” Nish admitted. “The AI’s not fully operational yet, but the pieces are falling into place fast. Once it’s online, taking Aryan down will be next to impossible.”
She stepped back, her arms crossed as she processed the information. The Shadow Throne wasn’t just another target—it was the heart of the Shadow Order’s empire. If she could destroy it, Aryan’s entire network would crumble.
But getting there wouldn’t be easy.
“What’s your angle in this?” Vishakha asked, her gaze sharp as she looked at Nish.
He smirked, clearly expecting the question. “Let’s just say I don’t like the idea of a megalomaniac watching my every move. And I owe Dev a favor or two.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?”
“You don’t have to,” Nish said, shrugging. “But you’re out of options. Without me, you won’t get past the Shadow Throne’s defenses.”
Vishakha studied him for a long moment, weighing her options. Trusting Nish was a gamble, but he was right—she couldn’t do this alone.
“Fine,” she said finally. “But if you try anything—”
“I know, I know,” Nish interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’ll carve me up like one of those operatives you left in the warehouse.”
Vishakha didn’t reply, her silence enough to drive the point home.
As Nish returned to his laptop, Vishakha activated her earpiece. “Dev, I’ve got the intel. Aryan’s holed up in a place called the Shadow Throne. Do you know it?”
Dev’s voice came through after a brief pause. “Yeah. It’s a myth among operatives—supposedly impenetrable. If Aryan’s there, he’s betting everything on it.”
“He won’t win,” Vishakha said firmly.
“Just be careful,” Dev said. “If he’s consolidating power there, you can bet Amrita won’t be far behind.”
At the mention of her sister’s name, Vishakha’s grip on her katar tightened. “I’m counting on it.”
Nish stood, slinging a battered satchel over his shoulder. “I’ll need a few hours to prep some tools, but when you’re ready to move, let me know.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Vishakha said. “But this isn’t a partnership. You stay out of my way, and I won’t have to remind you why people call me the Shadow Dancer.”
Nish gave a mock salute. “Noted.”
As he left the room, Vishakha turned back to the map on the laptop screen. The Shadow Throne loomed like a dark promise, its location glowing ominously amid the web of chaos.
Her path was clear. The final battle was approaching.
But before she could destroy Aryan, she would have to face Amrita one last time.
The air inside the warehouse was thick with dust, the dim, flickering lights casting jagged shadows over rows of shipping containers and heavy machinery. Vishakha slipped inside through a service door, her katars held low but ready. This was the last of Aryan’s operational hubs in Kolkata—at least according to Nish—and if there was anything left to uncover about the Shadow Throne’s defenses, she would find it here.
Her senses sharpened as she moved through the narrow aisles, each step precise and silent. The sound of distant machinery hummed faintly, accompanied by the occasional clink of metal as workers moved crates or loaded supplies. They weren’t Shadow Order operatives—just hired labor, unaware of the deadly secrets hidden in the containers they handled.
Vishakha ignored them, her focus set on the far end of the warehouse where Nish had pinpointed the server room.
“Any movement?” she murmured, tapping her earpiece.
“Couple of heat signatures ahead,” Dev’s voice came through, calm and focused. “No heavy weapons on them, but don’t underestimate these guys. They’re probably more than just guards.”
“They always are,” Vishakha muttered, ducking behind a stack of crates as a pair of operatives strode past. Their faces were partially obscured by visors, their black combat suits blending with the shadows.
She waited until they disappeared down another aisle, then continued her advance, her movements fluid and purposeful.
The server room came into view—a glass-enclosed chamber nestled between two rows of shipping containers. Inside, the glow of monitors illuminated a bank of terminals, their screens displaying streams of data.
“Got it,” Vishakha whispered.
“Be quick,” Dev advised. “If Nish is right, that server holds the Shadow Throne’s security protocols. But you won’t have long before someone notices you’re in there.”
She slipped into the server room, her katars sheathed to free her hands. The door hissed shut behind her as she approached the terminals, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she accessed the system.
The data was a labyrinth of encrypted files, each one layered with defenses designed to thwart even the most skilled intruders. But Vishakha wasn’t just skilled—she was relentless.
Lines of code scrolled across the screen as she worked, her focus unyielding.
“Almost there,” she murmured, bypassing another layer of encryption.
Her earpiece crackled. “Vishakha, you’ve got company,” Dev warned.
She glanced up, her heart pounding as the glass walls of the server room reflected the approach of three operatives. Their weapons were drawn, their movements swift and precise.
She didn’t wait for them to act.
The first operative fired, the bullet shattering the glass as Vishakha dove to the side. Shards rained down around her as she rolled to her feet, her katars flashing as she lunged at the nearest attacker.
Her blade struck true, slicing through the man’s weapon and forcing him to retreat. The second operative moved to flank her, his knife gleaming in the dim light. Vishakha spun, catching his wrist with her free hand and twisting sharply, the knife clattering to the floor.
The third operative was faster, his gun raised and trained on her chest.
But Vishakha was faster still.
She hurled a throwing needle, the projectile embedding itself in the man’s shoulder. He stumbled, his shot going wide, and Vishakha closed the distance in a blur, her katar slashing through his armor.
Within seconds, all three operatives were down, their bodies motionless on the floor.
“Dev, I need extraction for this data,” Vishakha said, returning to the terminal.
“Working on it,” Dev replied. “But you’ve got more heat signatures heading your way. You need to move.”
“Not without this,” she said, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
The final encryption layer fell away, revealing a cache of files labeled with the Shadow Order’s insignia. She transferred the data to a secure drive, her movements practiced and precise.
“Got it,” she said, pocketing the drive.
“Good,” Dev said. “Now get out of there before—”
The sound of approaching footsteps cut him off, the rhythm heavier this time.
Vishakha’s stomach sank. “It’s her.”
The door to the server room slammed open, and Amrita stepped inside, her talwar drawn and gleaming in the dim light.
“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Amrita said, her voice calm but laced with menace.
Vishakha didn’t respond, her katars raised in silent defiance.
Amrita smiled faintly, the expression more pitying than amused. “You’re predictable, sister. Always running toward the fire, thinking you can extinguish it alone.”
“I’m not running,” Vishakha said, her tone cold.
“Then why do you keep failing?” Amrita shot back, stepping closer. “You’re no closer to stopping Aryan than you were when you first turned your back on us. All you’ve done is leave destruction in your wake.”
Vishakha’s grip tightened on her katars. “Better destruction than submission.”
Amrita’s eyes flashed with anger. “Is that what you tell yourself? That your defiance is noble? That it’s worth the lives you’ve sacrificed?”
“You don’t get to lecture me about sacrifice,” Vishakha said, her voice rising. “Not when you’re the one enabling this madness.”
Their blades clashed before another word could be spoken, the sound of metal on metal reverberating through the room.
The fight was brutal and unrelenting, their movements a deadly symphony of strikes and counters. Amrita’s talwar cut through the air with lethal precision, each swing calculated to exploit Vishakha’s defenses. But Vishakha was faster, her katars deflecting the strikes and delivering counterattacks that forced Amrita to stay on the defensive.
They moved through the shattered remains of the server room, their battle destroying everything in its path. Sparks flew as Amrita’s blade sliced through a terminal, the screen shattering in a burst of light.
“You can’t win this,” Amrita said, her voice strained as their blades locked.
“Neither can you,” Vishakha countered, shoving her sister back.
Amrita stumbled but quickly recovered, her talwar raised for another strike. Before she could act, the distant sound of reinforcements echoed through the warehouse.
“Next time,” Amrita said, her expression dark as she stepped back. “You won’t be so lucky.”
She disappeared into the shadows, leaving Vishakha alone with the wreckage.
As the sounds of reinforcements grew louder, Vishakha grabbed the drive and slipped out of the server room, her body aching from the fight.
“Dev, I’ve got what I need,” she said.
“Good,” Dev replied. “Because you’ve got an entire squad converging on your location. Get out of there.”
Vishakha didn’t need to be told twice. She vanished into the shadows, her mind already focused on the next step.
The Shadow Throne was within reach, and Aryan’s time was running out.
The safehouse was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of a fan struggling against the Kolkata heat. Vishakha sat at the battered table, the stolen data drive clutched in her hand. The confrontation with Amrita lingered in her mind—the clash of blades, the venom in her sister’s voice, the heavy weight of unfinished business.
Across the room, Dev’s holographic projection flickered on a small portable device. His usually calm demeanor was strained, his eyes scanning the streams of data Vishakha had sent him.
“This is it,” Dev said, his voice low. “The Shadow Throne. Everything ties back to this place. It’s more than just a stronghold—it’s their nerve center. Aryan’s whole operation runs from here.”
Vishakha leaned back, her fingers drumming against the edge of the table. “What about the AI?”
Dev nodded, pulling up a schematic of the facility. “The AI isn’t fully operational yet, but it’s close. According to the files, it’s designed to control and monitor all communications, infrastructure, even satellite networks. If Aryan gets this online…”
“He’ll be untouchable,” Vishakha finished.
“Exactly,” Dev said. “But there’s a vulnerability. The core infrastructure relies on a central power source buried deep within the facility. Take that out, and the entire system collapses.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Vishakha said, though her tone betrayed her skepticism.
“It’s not,” Dev admitted. “The Shadow Throne is designed to be impenetrable. The defenses are state-of-the-art—motion sensors, automated turrets, an army of operatives, and… Amrita.”
Vishakha’s jaw tightened at the mention of her sister. “She won’t let me get close without a fight.”
“No,” Dev said. “She won’t. And there’s more.”
The schematic shifted, revealing a series of red-marked areas within the stronghold. “Aryan’s built redundancies. Even if you destroy the core, the Shadow Order will still have enough resources to rebuild. You’ll have to take him out too.”
Vishakha stood, pacing the room as the weight of the mission settled over her. She had always known it would come to this—a final confrontation with Aryan, the man who had shaped her into what she was and betrayed everything the Shadow Order had once stood for.
But the stakes were higher now. The Shadow Throne wasn’t just Aryan’s sanctuary—it was the embodiment of his vision, the culmination of years of manipulation and control. Destroying it wouldn’t just be a victory; it would be a reckoning.
“Dev,” Vishakha said, her voice steady. “What’s our window?”
“Forty-eight hours, maybe less,” Dev replied. “Once the AI goes live, it’ll be nearly impossible to shut it down without causing catastrophic collateral damage.”
“Then we move now,” she said.
“Wait,” Dev interrupted, his tone firm. “You can’t do this alone, Vishakha. You need backup.”
“I don’t have time to rally a team,” she said, her tone clipped. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t risk dragging anyone else into this.”
“You’re being reckless,” Dev said. “Aryan’s expecting you. He knows you’ll come for him. That’s why he has Amrita guarding the Throne.”
Vishakha stopped pacing, turning to face the hologram. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Dev asked, his voice tinged with frustration. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re walking into a trap you can’t win.”
“Maybe,” she said, her voice cold. “But I don’t have a choice.”
The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of unspoken truths hanging between them.
Dev sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. If you’re dead set on this, at least take Nish. He’s got tech that could give you an edge.”
Vishakha hesitated, her instinct to work alone clashing with the practicality of Dev’s suggestion. Nish had proven himself useful, and his expertise with hacking and surveillance could tip the scales in her favor.
“Tell him to meet me at the rendezvous point,” she said finally.
Dev nodded. “Done. And Vishakha… just come back alive, okay?”
She didn’t respond, her gaze already fixed on the map of the Shadow Throne.
As the night deepened, Vishakha prepared for the mission with meticulous precision. Her katars were sharpened, her Chhaya Cloak recalibrated, and her throwing needles coated with a fresh layer of paralyzing toxin. Every piece of gear was inspected and secured, every contingency considered.
But as she strapped on her combat suit, a flicker of doubt crept into her mind. This wasn’t just another mission. This was the culmination of everything she had fought for—and everything she had lost.
Her sister. Her comrades. Her identity.
She pushed the doubt aside, focusing instead on the task ahead. There was no room for hesitation, no time for regret.
Aryan had built his empire on fear and control, twisting the Shadow Order into a machine of oppression. It was time to dismantle it—piece by piece.
Nish was waiting for her at the rendezvous point, a small, unmarked van parked in the shadows of an industrial district. He leaned against the side of the vehicle, his expression a mix of excitement and apprehension.
“Didn’t think you’d actually call me,” he said as she approached.
“Don’t make me regret it,” Vishakha replied, her tone dry.
Nish smirked, climbing into the van. “You won’t. I’ve got all the tools we need to crack Aryan’s defenses. Just get me close, and I’ll do the rest.”
Vishakha followed him inside, her gaze sweeping over the array of monitors and equipment that filled the van. “We’re not getting close. I am. You’re staying out of the line of fire.”
“Sure,” Nish said, though his tone suggested he had other plans.
She didn’t press the issue, instead focusing on the map displayed on the largest monitor. The Shadow Throne’s location glowed ominously, a reminder of the danger that awaited.
“Let’s end this,” Vishakha said, her voice steady.
Nish nodded, his fingers already flying over the keyboard. “Buckle up, Shadow Dancer. It’s going to be a long night.”