CHAPTER 3: WHEN A HERO SLIPS
The night reeked of sweat, blood, and fear.
Ajit crouched on the edge of a rooftop, his breath slow, controlled. Below, in the industrial sector of Imphal, floodlights bathed the scrapyard in harsh yellow. Rusted car frames and mountains of twisted metal cast long, jagged shadows.
And in the center of it all stood Rhinox.
Seven feet tall. Muscles layered over muscles. Skin like stone, reinforced with cybernetic plating. His horned helmet gleamed under the lights, his massive fists clenched.
Ajit had fought him before. A brute with no finesse—just overwhelming force.
But tonight… tonight felt different.
Rhinox grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Where’s that confidence, Naga Man?” His deep voice rumbled across the scrapyard. “Last time, you ran circles around me. Thought you’d be more fun.”
Ajit felt the hunger stir inside him.
His fingers twitched. His forearm still throbbed from the infection, the black veins hidden beneath his sleeve. His body was tired, aching. But his rage was awake.
Rhinox charged.
The ground shook under his weight, steel beams bending beneath his stomps. He swung—a massive haymaker meant to shatter bone.
Ajit should have dodged.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he caught the punch—barehanded.
The impact rippled through his body, sending shockwaves into the ground. The force should have launched him backward, should have broken his arm—but Ajit didn’t budge.
Rhinox hesitated.
Ajit’s grip tightened around the villain’s fist. His fingers dug into the cybernetic plating, cracking it.
Something inside him smiled.
Ajit twisted—hard.
There was a sickening pop. Rhinox roared in agony as his massive wrist snapped backward.
Ajit didn’t stop.
He drove his knee into Rhinox’s ribs—once, twice—then slammed an elbow into his jaw. The brute staggered.
Ajit followed, moving too fast, his strikes too brutal.
He could hear bones breaking.
Rhinox was on his knees, coughing blood, his good hand raised in surrender. “Naga Man—wait—”
Ajit didn’t wait.
He grabbed Rhinox by the throat and lifted him.
The urge to finish it burned in his chest. The whisper inside him cheered.
“Yes. Don’t stop. Make them fear you.”
Ajit’s grip tightened.
Rhinox gagged.
And then—Ajit saw his reflection in the brute’s helmet.
His own eyes.
They weren’t his.
They were black.
Ajit let go.
Rhinox collapsed, gasping for air, clutching his throat. Ajit stumbled back, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.
He clenched his fists, his mind screaming.
He had never fought like that before.
Never enjoyed it like that before.
Something inside him was changing.
And for the first time—he wasn’t sure if he could stop it.
“Is Naga Man out of control?”
The question blared from the news anchor’s lips as Ajit sat in his dorm, staring at the television screen. The broadcast played footage from last night’s fight in the scrapyard—grainy, shaky camera phone clips of him.
Not the clean, precise fighter Imphal had come to know.
Not the disciplined hero.
But something else.
The first video showed him lifting Rhinox by the throat, veins bulging in his arms, his movements too vicious. The slow-motion replay zoomed in on his eyes—a glimpse of the blackness that had overtaken them.
Ajit swallowed hard.
The news anchor continued, her voice sharp and biting.
“Sources claim that Rhinox suffered extensive injuries—three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and severe internal trauma. Witnesses report that Naga Man was more brutal than ever before, bordering on sadistic.”
The footage cut to an eyewitness interview. A middle-aged shopkeeper, his face filled with fear.
“I’ve always supported him, but… I don’t know anymore. He didn’t look like a hero last night. He looked like a monster.”
Ajit’s stomach twisted.
A monster.
He turned off the television and buried his face in his hands.
His pulse was still too fast. His fingers still tingled with the phantom feeling of Rhinox’s throat in his grip. His muscles remembered the violence.
And a small, traitorous part of him…
Had liked it.
A knock at the door.
Ajit exhaled sharply. “It’s open.”
Rajesh walked in, his usual easygoing energy missing. His laptop was tucked under his arm, his expression unreadable.
He didn’t sit. Didn’t joke.
Just stood there.
Watching.
“You saw the news?” Rajesh asked, voice quiet.
Ajit didn’t answer.
Rajesh sighed and placed the laptop on the desk, tapping a few keys. The screen lit up with a paused video file.
Not a news broadcast.
Security footage.
Ajit leaned in. It was the market. The night he first fought the Mongoose Men. The moment he got scratched.
The footage was grainy, but Rajesh had enhanced it. Slowed it down.
And there—frame by frame—Ajit saw it.
The black veins creeping from the wound.
His body healing slower than usual.
His eyes flickering—just for a second—from gold to black.
Rajesh turned to him, arms crossed. “You want to explain this?”
Ajit’s jaw clenched. “It’s nothing.”
Rajesh narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”
Silence stretched between them.
Rajesh exhaled. “Ajit, something is happening to you. And you’re pretending it’s not.”
Ajit stood, pushing past him. “I don’t have time for this.”
Rajesh grabbed his arm. “Make time.”
Ajit ripped free.
Too fast.
Too strong.
Rajesh stumbled back, eyes widening.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then, slowly, Rajesh’s voice dropped. “You almost killed Rhinox last night.”
Ajit didn’t deny it.
Rajesh stepped forward, his tone firm. “If you don’t figure this out, it won’t be a villain you kill next time.”
Ajit clenched his fists. Fighting against the whisper in his head.
“Let go.”
“Let me in.”
He swallowed the words down.
“Stay out of this, Rajesh.”
And with that, he walked out—leaving behind the laptop, the footage, and the best friend who was trying to save him.
The exam paper sat in front of him like a tombstone.
Ajit stared at the first question. His mind was blank.
The classroom was silent except for the scratching of pens, the occasional shuffle of paper. Students were hunched over their desks, brows furrowed in focus. Sharma Sir stood at the front, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk waiting for the weak to stumble.
Ajit’s fingers tightened around his pen. He forced himself to read the question again.
“A charged particle moves through a magnetic field. Derive the Lorentz force equation and—”
His vision blurred.
The words warped, shifting on the page, letters twisting into unreadable shapes. His forearm throbbed, the black veins beneath his sleeve pulsing like something alive.
His heartbeat was too loud.
“Let me in.”
Ajit clenched his jaw. Not now.
He forced his hand to move, tried to scribble something onto the page. But his mind was a fog, his thoughts fractured. His body still remembered last night—the impact of his fists, the feeling of Rhinox’s throat in his grip, the moment he almost didn’t stop.
He glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes left.
And he had nothing.
Sharma Sir’s footsteps echoed as he walked down the aisle, glancing over shoulders. Ajit gripped his pen harder, trying to force his mind to work.
“Focus. You can still—”
His fingers spasmed.
The pen snapped in half.
Ink splattered across his paper. His breath hitched. His vision swam again, the classroom tilting, the walls stretching too far. For a split second, he wasn’t sitting in the exam hall—
He was sinking.
Back in the black ocean, the sky bleeding green, something moving beneath the waves—
“You are wasting yourself.”
Ajit gasped, slamming his hands onto the desk. The classroom snapped back into focus. Sweat clung to his skin. A few students turned, shooting him confused glances.
Sharma Sir’s voice cut through the silence.
“Ajit Singh.”
Ajit looked up. The professor stood over him, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicked to the ink-stained paper, the snapped pen in Ajit’s hands.
“Is there a problem?”
Ajit opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Sharma Sir exhaled, shaking his head. “Time’s up. Hand in your paper.”
Ajit swallowed, staring at the blank pages in front of him.
Slowly, he closed the booklet and passed it forward.
As Sharma Sir walked away, Ajit slumped back in his seat.
His scholarship was done.
And for the first time in his life, he didn’t care.
Ajit sat on the campus steps, staring at the sky as the first drops of rain kissed his skin. His exam paper was gone, his scholarship hanging by a thread, but his mind wasn’t on any of that.
It was on the whisper. The thing inside him.
“You are wasting yourself.”
His fingers twitched against his knee. His body still remembered the fight. The way his strength had surged, how his bones had felt lighter, sharper. How he had been one second away from—
“Ajit.”
He looked up.
Rajesh and Padmini stood in front of him.
Rajesh’s hands were in his pockets, his usual smirk missing. Padmini’s arms were crossed, her expression caught between concern and frustration.
Neither of them sat down.
“You failed the exam,” Rajesh said, voice flat.
Ajit shrugged. “Yeah.”
Padmini inhaled sharply. “That’s it? Yeah?”
“What do you want me to say?” Ajit muttered.
“How about the truth?” Rajesh shot back. “That you’re falling apart?”
Ajit clenched his jaw. “I don’t need this right now.”
“Yes, you do,” Padmini snapped. “Ajit, I’ve watched you spiral for weeks. And now? You don’t even care?”
Ajit looked away.
Padmini stepped closer. “This isn’t just about school. You disappear every night. You barely sleep. You’re losing fights you should win. And the ones you do win? People are starting to fear you.”
Ajit’s hands curled into fists.
Rajesh crossed his arms. “We saw the footage.”
Ajit froze.
Rajesh’s voice was quieter now. “Your eyes, Ajit. In the scrapyard. They weren’t your eyes.”
Ajit swallowed. His mind flashed back to the moment he had seen his reflection in Rhinox’s helmet—the blackness slithering through his irises.
“It was just—” He forced a breath. “Stress. Adrenaline.”
“Bullshit.” Rajesh shook his head. “Something’s wrong with you. And you know it.”
Ajit stood abruptly, stepping past them. “I’m fine.”
Padmini grabbed his wrist.
He flinched.
Not from her touch—but from the heat beneath his skin. His muscles coiled, ready to react, to strike—
He ripped his arm away too fast.
Padmini stumbled back.
The moment froze.
The look in her eyes gutted him. Not anger. Not frustration.
Fear.
Ajit’s chest tightened. “I—”
Padmini shook her head. “You don’t even see it, do you?”
Her voice was quiet. Hurt.
Rajesh exhaled. “Ajit, whatever’s happening to you—you can’t fight this alone.”
Ajit’s nails dug into his palms.
“You don’t need them.”
“You don’t need anyone.”
He forced a smirk, his own voice feeling alien in his throat. “I’ve handled worse.”
Then, before they could say another word, he turned and walked away.
Leaving them behind.
Leaving himself behind.
The machine watched.
Perched atop an abandoned radio tower, its golden eyes flickered in the darkness, scanning the city below with surgical precision. Data streamed through its mind—a thousand calculations per second, mapping the streets, tracking movement patterns, anticipating conflict zones.
At its core, deep beneath the reinforced alloy of its chest, a singular directive pulsed:
Test the subject. Measure his limits. Break him.
Alha’s fingers flexed, the servos in its wrists humming softly. It had studied every recorded instance of Naga Man’s battles—his strengths, his weaknesses, his evolving patterns of movement.
And now?
Now it would face him in the real world.
A new data stream opened.
Target located.
Alha turned its head, locking onto the heat signature of a lone figure moving across the rooftops.
Ajit Singh.
The experiment was about to begin.
Ajit moved like a shadow through the night, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. His body felt lighter than usual—more efficient. The exhaustion he had felt all day had faded into something sharper, something focused.
Maybe it was the adrenaline.
Maybe it was something else.
He landed on the edge of a construction site, crouching low, scanning the city. His instincts were on fire. Something was wrong.
Then he heard it.
A low hum. Mechanical. Rhythmic. Close.
Ajit turned just in time.
A blur of silver and black slammed into him with inhuman speed.
Ajit barely had time to react. One second, he was crouched on the edge of the construction site—the next, he was airborne. The force of the impact sent him crashing through a half-built scaffolding, metal poles snapping like twigs as he tumbled across the rooftop.
He rolled with the momentum, twisting mid-air, and landed on his feet. His muscles coiled, eyes scanning for the attacker.
Then he saw it.
A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the moonlight.
Seven feet tall. Human in shape, but not human at all.
Its body was a sleek fusion of metal and synthetic muscle, designed for efficiency, for destruction. Dark steel plating covered its chest and arms, shifting seamlessly with its movements. Its face was expressionless—a smooth, polished mask with two burning golden eyes.
Ajit’s pulse quickened. He had seen this thing before.
Not in the streets. Not in the underground fight clubs.
But on Ravana’s broadcasts.
“Alha.”
The machine cocked its head slightly. A voice—perfectly calm, eerily smooth—echoed from within.
“Target identified. Beginning combat analysis.”
Ajit exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Of course.
Because tonight wasn’t complicated enough.
Then Alha moved.
Faster than anything Ajit had ever fought.
It closed the distance in a blink, striking with pinpoint precision. Ajit barely dodged the first blow—ducking just as Alha’s fist shattered a steel beam behind him. Sparks rained down.
Ajit countered—his fist lashed out in a blur, aiming for Alha’s side.
Impact.
A direct hit—but it felt like punching a wall.
Ajit winced. Shit.
Alha didn’t even flinch. Its golden eyes analyzed the movement, recalibrating.
“Inefficient strike pattern. Adjusting countermeasures.”
Ajit had a split second to process the words before Alha’s hand clamped around his throat.
His back slammed into a concrete pillar. Dust exploded around him.
Alha’s grip tightened. Cold. Unyielding.
Ajit gritted his teeth. His hands clawed at the machine’s wrist—but it didn’t budge.
“You are slower than expected, Naga Man. Your reaction time has degraded by 0.7 seconds since your last recorded engagement.”
Ajit’s vision blurred.
His lungs burned.
Then—deep inside his mind—something stirred.
The whisper.
“Let me in.”
Ajit’s fingers twitched.
His pulse slowed.
His vision darkened.
And just as the black veins beneath his skin flared—
He snapped forward, fangs bared.
Alha barely had time to react before Ajit sank his venomous fangs into its shoulder.
The metal sizzled.
Alha’s golden eyes flickered in surprise.
Then Ajit twisted, breaking free from its grip—his body moving on instinct, on hunger.
He didn’t retreat.
He lunged.
And for the first time since its creation—
Alha hesitated.
The venom sizzled against Alha’s metal frame.
Ajit could taste the corruption in his fangs, feel it seep into the machine’s synthetic muscle. Not just poison—something deeper. Older. Wrong.
Alha staggered back. Its golden eyes flickered, processing the anomaly.
“Unexpected variable detected.”
Ajit exhaled, rolling his shoulders. His breath came slower. His body felt lighter. Stronger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting something bitter on his tongue.
His vision flickered.
For a moment, the city was gone.
Replaced by the black ocean.
Ajit froze.
The waves churned, thick as ink. The air smelled of burning metal.
And beneath the surface—something moved.
No. Not moved.
Shifted. Spread.
A shadow, vast and formless, pushing against reality itself.
“Enough whispers. You are ready.”
Ajit’s knees buckled. His hands dug into the rooftop, his breath sharp. The voice wasn’t at the edge of his thoughts anymore.
It was inside them.
“You felt it, didn’t you? The power. The hunger.”
Ajit gritted his teeth. “Shut up.”
The whisper laughed.
“Why? You don’t want to stop. Not really.”
His fingers curled into a fist. His heart pounded. He could still feel it—the moment he bit Alha.
The way it had burned.
The way it had felt right.
“Naga Man.”
Ajit snapped back to reality.
Alha was still there. Still watching him.
Still scanning.
“Your vitals have destabilized. Heart rate elevated. Adrenal response increasing beyond safe parameters.”
Ajit pushed himself up, wiping sweat from his brow.
He could still hear the whisper.
Still feel it crawling under his skin.
But Alha was studying him.
Waiting.
Ajit smirked, despite the burning in his veins. “Didn’t expect me to bite back, huh?”
Alha’s golden eyes narrowed. “You are not what I was programmed for.”
The machine took a step forward.
Then another.
Ajit braced himself.
But Alha stopped.
Its head tilted, as if listening to something unseen.
Then—without a word—it turned and leapt into the night, vanishing into the city.
Ajit exhaled sharply. His hands were still shaking. His body still felt wrong.
He looked down at his arms.
The veins beneath his skin were black.
And they were spreading.
“Soon, Ajit.”
The voice was no longer whispering.
It was screaming.