CHAPTER 1: DUAL LIFE, DUAL STRESS
Ajit Singh was drowning in darkness. A thick, humid blackness that clung to his skin like oil. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. In the depths of his mind, something slithered—coiling around his thoughts, whispering in a voice that wasn’t his own.
Let go.
His body jerked awake.
Ajit gasped, eyes snapping open. Sweat clung to his forehead. The sheets were twisted around him like a straitjacket. His heart pounded against his ribs, and his breath came short and shallow. His fingers twitched as though they still held something—someone.
A dream. No. A warning.
His phone screen glared at him from the bedside table. 8:37 AM.
Ajit’s stomach dropped.
“Shit.”
He launched himself out of bed, nearly tripping over a tangle of discarded clothes on the floor. His dorm room was a war zone—textbooks stacked haphazardly, notebooks with half-scribbled equations, a protein shake bottle long since abandoned to the gods of fermentation.
Ajit yanked open his wardrobe, grabbed the first set of clothes that didn’t smell like last night’s rooftop chase, and threw them on. A quick glance in the mirror—unshaven, bloodshot eyes, hair that looked like he’d been electrocuted. Not great.
He’d been up till 4 AM dealing with a drug bust in Thangal Bazaar. That should’ve been a routine takedown—until the criminals started mutating. Their veins blackened, their eyes flickering yellow. Their bodies moved like broken marionettes, jerking and twisting in ways they shouldn’t.
He shook the memory off, throwing his bag over his shoulder. No time for theories—he was late.
The moment he opened the door, he ran into Rajesh.
“Whoa, Naga Man,” Rajesh said, stepping back. “You look like hell.”
“No time—exam—dying—” Ajit mumbled, shoving past him.
Rajesh grabbed him by the collar. “Exam’s next period. You, however, are currently missing Sharma Sir’s lecture, and if you don’t show up in the next—” he checked his watch, “—seven minutes, he’s marking you absent. Again.”
Ajit groaned. “Please tell me Sharma Sir is in a forgiving mood today?”
Rajesh just smiled. The kind of smile that said, You’re already dead, my friend.
Ajit didn’t wait to hear the rest. He sprinted down the hallway, weaving through students like a shadow.
Outside, the campus was already bustling. Motorcycles revved, street vendors peddled breakfast from behind steaming metal carts. The smell of chai and fried samosas hit him like a gut punch—his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since… when?
No time.
He vaulted over a low brick wall, cutting across the lawn. A couple of first-years gasped as he soared past them. His reflexes took over, muscles stretching, his body already anticipating the movement before his mind caught up. He landed, rolled, and kept running.
4 minutes.
He could make it.
The lecture hall was in sight, doors already closing—Ajit pushed harder. He lunged forward, one foot off the ground—
Slam.
The door shut in his face.
Ajit pressed his forehead against the wood, panting. The universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
From inside, Sharma Sir’s voice carried through the door. “And that, students, is the exact lack of discipline that will ensure your failure.”
A few students chuckled.
Ajit exhaled slowly, letting his head fall back against the wall. His bones ached, his mind was foggy, and his stomach felt like it was digesting itself.
Being Naga Man was killing his GPA.
And he wasn’t sure he cared anymore.
Ajit slumped onto the stone bench outside the lecture hall, rubbing his temples. His brain was running on fumes, his body stiff from last night’s patrol. If he closed his eyes for more than a second, he was sure he’d pass out right there.
The door swung open, and students poured out like water escaping a broken dam. Conversations buzzed around him—whispers, jokes, complaints about Sharma Sir’s impossible expectations.
Then came Laxman.
Tall, broad-shouldered, perpetually annoyed—Laxman Patel was the kind of guy who made everything seem effortless. Top of the class, sharp-witted, always in control. And right now, he looked at Ajit like he was a math equation that refused to balance.
“You missed the entire lecture,” Laxman said, arms crossed. His voice was level, but Ajit knew that tone. It was the same one he used when dissecting bad plays on the football field.
Ajit forced a yawn. “Yeah, I figured that out when Sharma Sir used my absence as a teaching moment.”
Laxman exhaled sharply through his nose. “Ajit, this is, what, the third time this week? You’re barely keeping up as it is.”
Rajesh strolled up, hands in his pockets, grinning. “To be fair, he did make it all the way to the door before it shut on his face. That has to count for something.”
Ajit shot him a glare. Rajesh just shrugged.
Laxman wasn’t laughing.
“You used to care about this, man,” he said. “When we started here, you wanted to be an engineer. You wanted to do something big. Now you’re—what? Just barely scraping by?”
Ajit sighed. He wanted to argue, to tell Laxman that he was wrong. But the truth was, he wasn’t.
Ever since that bite, ever since he became Naga Man, everything else had started slipping away. Assignments, deadlines, friendships—they all felt like they belonged to someone else.
“Look,” Ajit said, forcing a grin, “I’ll catch up. Sharma Sir’s notes are in the group, right?”
Laxman scoffed. “Yeah, because reading a few notes is the same as actually being in class.”
Ajit opened his mouth, ready with some excuse, but Laxman wasn’t finished.
“Do you even have a plan, Ajit?” His voice was sharper now, cutting through the casual atmosphere like a blade. “Because right now, it just looks like you’re coasting. And it’s getting old.”
The words hit harder than Ajit expected.
Before he could respond, Laxman shook his head and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of students heading to their next class.
Ajit sat there, watching him go, a strange knot forming in his chest.
“Damn,” Rajesh muttered. “You really pissed him off this time.”
Ajit leaned back, staring up at the sky.
Yeah. He knew.
And the worst part?
Laxman had every right to be angry.
Ajit needed food.
His stomach had been screaming at him since morning, and after getting verbally annihilated by Laxman, he figured he at least deserved a decent meal. The marketplace outside campus was alive with movement—hawkers yelling over one another, auto-rickshaws honking, the smell of frying samosas and spiced tea mixing with the humid Imphal air.
He made his way toward his usual tea stall, fishing out a few crumpled bills from his pocket. The owner, an elderly man with a thick Manipuri accent, recognized him instantly.
“Beta, you look like a ghost,” the old man chuckled, pouring out a glass of milky chai. “No sleep again?”
Ajit smirked, taking the cup. “You know me, Uncle. Always burning the midnight oil.”
The man shook his head. “One day, that fire will burn you too.”
Ajit didn’t respond.
A crash erupted from deeper in the market. A stall overturned, sending crates of vegetables tumbling across the street. A woman screamed.
Ajit tensed, every nerve in his body sharpening.
The crowd scattered as they emerged.
Six men, moving like jackals—low, predatory. Their bodies were wrong. Gaunt, hunched over, their muscles twitching beneath their skin like something was moving inside them. They weren’t just looters. They looked hungry.
Machetes flashed in their hands. One of them, a skeletal man with wild eyes, hissed at a vendor.
Ajit put down his tea.
His hands curled into fists as he stepped forward. “Hey! Back off.”
The skeletal man turned toward him. His lips peeled back in a grin, revealing elongated canines. Not normal. Not human.
“You smell like prey,” the man rasped.
Ajit didn’t wait. He moved.
One second, he was standing. The next, he was in the fight.
His fist connected with the first attacker’s jaw, sending him flying into a stack of bamboo baskets. The second came at him with a machete—Ajit ducked, twisting his body in a way no normal man should, his leg snapping up to crack against the man’s ribs.
Something was wrong with them. He could feel it. Their skin was damp, their veins black. And yet, despite their emaciated bodies, they were strong—unnaturally so.
The skeletal man lunged at him, his jaw stretching open wider than it should.
Ajit’s eyes narrowed. Nope.
He slammed his elbow into the man’s temple, knocking him out cold.
The remaining attackers hesitated, looking at Ajit like a pack of animals suddenly unsure if they were the predators or the prey. Then, just as quickly as they had come, they scattered, disappearing into the maze of alleys.
Ajit straightened, his breath coming hard and fast. The market was in chaos—vendors picking up their wares, people whispering in fear.
That wasn’t just a gang.
That was something else.
And deep inside him, where the Nagamani pulsed against his chest, Ajit felt it too.
Something was coming.
Ajit’s heart was still pounding as he watched the last of the strange attackers disappear into the alleys. His hands flexed instinctively, every muscle coiled, his heightened senses scanning the air for anything that might hint at what the hell just happened.
And then—
Pain.
A sharp, electric stab in his chest, just below the collarbone.
The Nagamani burned.
Ajit staggered back, clutching his chest as a searing heat pulsed from the gem embedded in his skin. His vision fractured—the market, the people, the sounds around him shattered like glass—
And suddenly, he was somewhere else.
A vast ocean of black.
The sky churned with unnatural colors, sickly green and deep crimson. The air was thick with the smell of rot, of something ancient and wrong.
And rising from the abyss—a mountain of writhing flesh.
Serpents. No, not serpents—something worse.
Their scales pulsed like living wounds, their eyes burned with sickly yellow fire. And at the center of it all, a figure—towering, monstrous, draped in smoke and shadow.
Ajit couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
The figure turned toward him.
Narakasura.
Its voice was a hundred voices, screaming in unison.
“THE FIRST DROP OF HALĀHALA. THE FIRST POISON. THE FIRST CURSE.”
Ajit gasped, feeling the weight of it crash into his mind like a tidal wave. His veins burned, his head filled with a thousand whispers, writhing inside his skull.
“YOU CARRY THE TAINT. THE BLACK VENOM. AND IT WILL CONSUME YOU.”
The figure lurched forward, its arms stretching like liquid shadow—reaching for him—
Ajit snapped back to reality.
He stumbled, his back hitting the edge of a stall. His breath was ragged, his vision swimming.
He was back in the market. The people. The noise. The city. But everything felt off.
The Nagamani was still glowing, pulsing against his chest like a second heartbeat.
Ajit exhaled, hands shaking.
He had seen something.
Something waiting.
And for the first time in a long, long time…
He felt afraid.
The walk back to campus was a blur. Ajit’s body moved on autopilot, but his mind was still trapped in that vision. The writhing mass of serpents. The thing that called itself Narakasura. The whispers slithering into his thoughts, wrapping around his skull like constricting coils.
“You carry the taint. The black venom. And it will consume you.”
Ajit pressed a hand against his chest. The Nagamani had stopped glowing, but he could still feel it. Pulsing. Watching.
He barely noticed Padmini until she grabbed his wrist.
“Ajit!”
His head snapped up. Padmini stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“You look like hell,” she said. “And don’t give me that cocky ‘I always look like hell’ response. You’re shaking.”
Ajit blinked. She wasn’t wrong. His fingers trembled slightly, a lingering side effect of whatever the hell the Nagamani had just shown him.
“I’m fine.”
Padmini’s glare could have melted steel. “Try again.”
Ajit sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Just… a long day.”
“A long day?” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Ajit, I’ve barely seen you in class. Laxman’s about ready to punch you. And you’re walking around looking like a corpse that forgot how to die.”
Ajit smirked. “That’s a little dramatic.”
Padmini didn’t laugh. “You’re burning out.”
Her tone was softer now, but the concern in her voice cut deeper than any accusation.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” she continued. “You’re exhausted. You barely eat. You disappear at night, come back looking worse every morning. And now you’re shaking? What’s happening to you?”
Ajit’s jaw tightened. He wanted to tell her.
Tell her about the fight in the market. About the Mongoose Men and their inhuman strength. About the vision—the thing that spoke to him like it had been waiting.
But he couldn’t.
Not just because it was dangerous—because she would believe him.
And if she believed him, she would try to help. And if she tried to help…
She would get hurt.
So he forced a smile. “You worry too much.”
Padmini’s expression hardened.
“Ajit, I swear to every god I can name—if you don’t start taking care of yourself, I’ll personally drag you to the hospital.”
Ajit held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll sleep. Eat. Meditate. Whatever you want.”
She studied him for a long moment, then sighed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but you like me anyway.”
Padmini groaned. “Debatable.”
She turned to leave, then hesitated. “Just… promise me you’re not doing anything stupid.”
Ajit hesitated.
Then, with a grin that almost felt real, he said, “Define stupid.”
She rolled her eyes. “Idiot.”
Ajit watched her go, his smile fading the moment she was out of sight.
The truth was—he had already done something stupid.
He had let the Nagamani show him something. And now, he didn’t know if it would ever stop.
The city never truly slept.
Even as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the streets of Imphal, life continued. Markets wound down, streetlights flickered to life, and the hum of traffic filled the air like a restless heartbeat.
Ajit moved through it all, silent, unseen. His exhaustion clung to him, but his instincts kept him sharp. The fight in the market, the vision, Padmini’s concern—it all swirled inside his head like a storm. He needed to clear his mind. He needed to move.
So he climbed.
His fingers gripped the concrete of an old apartment building, muscles stretching and twisting unnaturally as he pulled himself upward. He flowed up the wall, weightless, serpent-like. Within seconds, he was on the rooftop, the city sprawling out beneath him.
His breathing slowed.
This was where he felt most at home—above the world, watching from the shadows.
But tonight, the shadows were watching him.
Ajit felt it before he saw it. A prickling sensation at the back of his neck. A whisper of movement where there should have been none.
Someone was there.
His body tensed. Slowly, carefully, he turned—eyes scanning the darkness between the rooftops. The neon lights of the city cast shifting colors across the skyline, but there—in the gap between two buildings—something moved.
Not a person.
Not an animal.
Something else.
Ajit narrowed his eyes. He focused, letting his infrared vision take over. The world shifted, heat signatures flaring to life—but there was nothing.
No body. No warmth. No heartbeat.
And yet…
He knew he wasn’t alone.
Then, from the depths of the shadows, a voice.
Low. Raspy.
“You are not ready.”
Ajit’s blood turned to ice.
He sprang forward, leaping across the rooftop in a blur—but the presence was gone.
The shadows swallowed it whole.
Ajit stood there, heart pounding, his breath slow and controlled. His mind replayed the words, over and over.
“You are not ready.”
Not ready for what?
The Mongoose Men? The Halāhala? The thing from his vision?
Or something worse?
Far below, the city continued as if nothing had happened.
But Ajit knew better.
Something was coming.
And for the first time in a long, long time…
He wasn’t sure if he could stop it.