As the flames in Chief Rithvik's hand roared to life, the young boy dropped to his knees, gasping for breath—his body trembling, his heart pounding in panic.
Rithvik grinned darkly.
"Now that's the look I was searching for… Where've you been hiding it, huh?"
He stepped forward without hesitation.
But before he could reach the boy, a voice boomed with raw fury:
"Don't you dare come near my son!"
The shout was so powerful, one of Rithvik's eardrums tore instantly. He staggered back, eyes flaring in recognition.
"Oh? A Echo Chakra user?" he muttered, rubbing his ear, impressed but irritated.
Then, with a sharp glance toward his men—just a flicker of his eye—he gave a silent command.
The boy's father stood firm, unaware of the impending move.
In a blink, two of Rithvik's soldiers flanked him and drove metal rods sideways through his mouth.
Blood splattered.
The boy let out a guttural scream, collapsing into despair.
His mother rushed forward, shrieking in agony, her cries echoing through the slums—helpless, broken, unable to stop the nightmare unfolding before her eyes.
She screamed beside her husband, her voice raw, her hands trembling, blood staining her fingertips as she tried to hold him together. Her pain, her fear—it filled the air like smoke.
Chief Rithvik laughed.
"What a family! The boy's a Blaze chakra user, the father a Echo Chakra user… but something was missing, right?"
Before he could finish, the mother's hand ignited in flames. With a roar of rage, she launched a blast toward him.
He barely flinched.
"Yeah… now it's complete."
In an instant, he charged through the fire, despite his ruptured eardrum, and struck her hard—his foot slamming into her abdomen. She collapsed, coughing blood, falling to her knees beside her broken husband.
Rithvik looked down at her with twisted amusement.
"What a waste of talent. If you'd been born under the Order of the Hammer, your family would've stood among the elite."
She looked up at him, defiant despite the tears and agony.
But he only stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous calm.
"But what can I do? It's your forefathers who chose the wrong side. If you want someone to blame for this misery… blame yourselves for being born as outcasts."
After delivering his cruel judgment, Chief Rithvik gestured with a flick of his hand.
"Take him."
Without a second's hesitation, two officers raised their gauntlets. Twin magnetic cuffs launched forward with a mechanical snap, binding the boy's father by the wrists. The man barely flinched—already too broken to resist.
One officer tapped the interface embedded in his gauntlet. A soft blue light blinked as it locked onto coordinates—the crash site.
"Navigation route locked."
Suddenly, the cuffs began to hum. A gravitational pull surged from the crash site—a massive magnetic plate fixed on a truck. The man's body jerked forward, dragged like a ragdoll, scraping against the ground. Each pull tore fresh wounds, but he couldn't even scream—his mouth mangled, lips trembling with agony.
Before leaving, Rithvik took another swig from his flask, then paused. His eyes caught a house that stood apart from the slum—modest, quiet, with a small grave beside it. A sword stood buried upright in the soil, a necklace wrapped around its hilt and it was looked like very expensive. The grave read:
"In loving memory of ANGEL."
Rithvik scoffed. "What a waste…" he muttered. He yanked the necklace off with no regard and smirked as he launched into the sky with his men using their jet boots.
Back in the slums, the boy and his mother cried out in agony. The outcasts watched in silence—powerless, ashamed of their helplessness.
At the crash site, the father was flung onto magnetic plate fixed on the truck and made to parked on the site.He tried to rise, blood trickling from his torn mouth—unable to speak, only gasping. Rithvik chuckled.
"Let the hunt begin."
He activated the barrier around the crash site. The man, barely standing, froze as a low hissing echoed from the misty ruins. The creature had not yet shown itself. Panic set in.
Suddenly, the interstellar beast lunged—its presence massive, unseen, and full of hunger.
The man ran, stumbling toward the D.A.F. camp. Rithvik leaned forward, grinning, eager to witness the chaos.
"Let's see what kind of beast we're dealing with," he said coldly.
The hissing stopped.
A shadow leapt.
The Interstellar Beast slithered out from the shadows—its grotesque form crowned with writhing tentacles that lunged forward and wrapped around the man. He struggled, gasping, his mouth torn and bleeding, unable to scream—his eyes bulged in panic as the monster slowly began to suffocate him in its crushing grip.
From outside the barrier, Chief Rithvik watched with a bored expression, his flask of cheap alcohol half-empty.
"Hmph," he muttered, tilting his head. "That's it? Just squirming and crying? Tch. Fucking boring. Let's end this farce."
With that, he stepped boldly into the barrier, his body glowing faintly with chakra flames. The beast noticed but didn't flinch. But Rithvik, now smirking, raised his hand—flames gathering at his palm like a miniature sun.
"Hellfire," he whispered.
In an instant, a massive fireball erupted from his palm, engulfing the entire area in a roaring blaze.
The beast screamed.
The man screamed—at least, with his soul.
Everything turned to ash.
No body remained. No bones.
Only the silence of the scorched earth… and the echo of a life burned out, not by a beast… but by a man worse than one.
Chief Rithvik turned slowly, his eyes like cold steel, noticing the shocked faces of the D.A.F. officers. Their expressions betrayed horror—not from the beast, but from him.
He exhaled, then said with a chilling calmness:
"If any of you report this incident to the higher-ups at C.O.S.M.O.S…"
His lips curled into a cruel smile.
"…I'll grill you like chicken. Clear?"
The officers stiffened. One quickly nodded.
"Yes, Chief! Loud and clear!"
Satisfied, Rithvik chuckled darkly.
"Good. Then disperse."
Before leaving, he turned to his personal assistant, a young yet emotionless man named Bheeshma, standing at perfect attention.
"Make a thorough report. Fabricate what's needed. I want it on my desk by morning."
"Yes, sir," Bheeshma replied without emotion.
That night, in the upscale residential sector reserved for C.O.S.M.O.S higher officials, Rithvik lounged in his luxury apartment—walls lined with high-end tech, glass shelves full of rare liquor, and dim lighting to match his mood.
He sat, shirt loose, eyes half-closed as he inhaled the potent vapors of a drug—refined from interstellar beast essence.
"Disgusting… but damn useful," he muttered, feeling the euphoria crawl into his brain.
From his pocket, he pulled out the silver necklace—the one he had ripped off from the grave back in the outcast zone.
"Angel, huh? Well, you're feeding a god now," he sneered, licking his lips as he dangled it mockingly.
Just then—the lights flickered… and died.
The power cut out. Not the whole block. Not the city. Only his apartment.
He paused.
"What the hell…?"
Outside his window, everything functioned normally. Inside—darkness. No hum of machines. No glow of screens.
And in that stillness… he felt watched.
Thunder roared. Lightning cracked through the night sky, illuminating the balcony for a split second. In that blinding flash, Chief Rithvik saw him—a figure cloaked in black, unmoving in the shadows.
"What the—?!"
Reflexively, he hurled a fireball.
It exploded against the balcony rail, shattering the glass and sending embers flying—but when the smoke cleared…
No one.
"What the fuck was that?" he muttered, stumbling. "I saw something… someone."
His mind, fogged by the interstellar drug coursing through him, couldn't make sense of it. And then—
Pain. Blinding pain.
A shortsword pierced his left eye, driving deep. He screamed, collapsing to one knee as the masked intruder emerged from the darkness, blades in both hands, slashing him mercilessly.
"DON'T MOVE, YOU FUCKING RAT!" Rithvik howled, blood streaming from his face.
He launched another fireball, but the attacker evaded with precise jet-boot maneuvers.
"What the hell?! C.O.S.M.O.S tech?! Are you one of us? A traitor?! What do you want—my rank?! My life?!"
Still, the attacker said nothing.
"Fine!" Rithvik roared. "I'll tear that mask of yours—along with your skin!"
With rage, he conjured a massive fireball, not quite Hellfire, but deadly enough. He flew backward, preparing to blast.
The masked figure, calm and calculating, tossed a small metal sphere—it spun mid-air and landed near Rithvik.
Too late, Rithvik realized.
BOOM!
The fireball collided with the petroleum orb, triggering a massive explosion.
Flames engulfed Rithvik, the shockwave tearing through his apartment. Screaming in agony, his body ignited, burning
from the inside out.
And above the flames, the masked figure vanished into the night sky—silent, jet boots propelling him far from the devastation, his black cloak making the night even darker.