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There was once a time when kings ruled entire empires with swords in their hands and fire in their eyes. Back then, kingdoms were built on loyalty, power, and blood. But as time passed, the world slowly changed. Crowns disappeared, palaces turned into history, and kingdoms faded away.
But power... power never truly dies.
It only changes its form.
Now those kings rule the world differently. Some call them mafia kings, some call them underworld devils, while others fear them enough to simply whisper their names in silence. Different names, different methods... but their purpose remains the same destroying evil and turning darkness into their own version of order.
And just like every empire once had its ruler... every state now has its own king.
The old lady spoke softly while little Sitara sat beside her on the temple steps, listening with wide curious eyes. The sound of temple bells echoed around them as the aarti continued in the background.
"In our Rajasthan," the old lady continued proudly, "the king of this empire is Rudradev Rajvanshi."
The moment she heard the name, little Sitara's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"So, Nani..." she asked innocently, tugging lightly on her grandmother's saree pallu, "today is the day that king is taking over the power na? That's why everyone is celebrating?"
Her grandmother smiled softly at her curiosity and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Yes, mere Taru," Savitri Devi said lovingly. "Today is his Rajtilak... the day he officially takes over the empire."
Little Sitara's eyes sparkled immediately after hearing that.
"Then he'll give me chocolates and cakes too na, Nani?" she asked excitedly, her tiny hands clapping together. "Kings are very rich na? So he must have lots and lots of chocolates!"
Savitri Devi laughed softly, shaking her head lovingly at the little girl's innocence. She pulled Sitara closer into her lap and kissed her forehead gently.
"Yes, mere Taru," she said warmly. "Kings can buy entire shops filled with chocolates and cakes for little princesses like you."
Sitara gasped dramatically, her mouth forming a small "o."
"Sachii?"
"Haan, bilkul sach."
The little girl immediately stood up on the temple steps with excitement shining all over her face.
"Then I also want to meet this king!" she declared proudly. "I'll ask him for chocolates... and strawberry cake too!"
Savitri Devi smiled while watching the innocence in her granddaughter's eyes, completely unaware that fate had already written a dangerous connection between that little girl and the king she was so eager to meet.
Inside the temple courtyard, little Sitara was jumping excitedly while holding her grandmother's hand tightly.
"Nani! Nani! What if the king really gives me chocolates?" she asked with sparkling eyes. "Not only chocolates... I also want strawberry cake... and ice cream too!"
Savitri Devi laughed softly seeing the happiness on the little girl's face.
"Aiyyo, mere Taru," she teased lovingly, "at this rate you'll empty the king's entire treasure."
Sitara giggled loudly before looking toward the huge palace lights visible from far away.
Somewhere inside her innocent little heart, the image of a king had already become something magical...
Someone powerful.
Someone grand.
And kind enough to buy her endless chocolates.
But on the other side of the city...
Darkness ruled.
The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, swallowed by shadows thick enough to feel alive.
Silence hung in the air.
Not the peaceful silence of the night.
Not the comforting silence of an empty room.
This was the kind of silence that made people question whether they were still alive.
The kind of silence that existed before a storm.
Before death.
Everything stood still.
Everything waited.
And then—
CREEEEEAK.
The ancient door at the end of the hallway groaned open.
The sound echoed through the corridor like a gunshot.
THUD.
THUD.
Two sets of footsteps emerged from the darkness.
Slow.
Measured.
Deliberate.
Each step carried the weight of something dangerous.
Two guards stood before a massive door.
The first one was new.
Sweat dripped from his forehead.
His hands trembled around his weapon.
His heartbeat thundered inside his chest.
The second guard had seen things.
Terrible things.
Yet even he looked uneasy.
Because both of them knew exactly who was coming.
THUD.
THUD.
The footsteps grew closer.
And then they appeared.
Two men.
Walking through the darkness as if it belonged to them.
Cold faces.
Sharp eyes.
Not a trace of emotion.
Only purpose.
Only danger.
One of them gave a slight nod.
The other simply stared ahead.
Without saying a word, they pushed open the heavy doors.
CLICK.
The doors shut behind them.
Like a coffin sealing itself.
The first guard exhaled shakily. His entire body trembling.
His composure crumbling like a dam breaking.
"Bhai... who were they?"
His voice cracked.
Barely above a whisper.
The older guard looked at him. Pity and warning mixing in his eyes.
"You're new, aren't you?"
His voice was low.
Grave.
Carrying the weight of too many secrets.
Too much trauma.
The new guard nodded nervously.
Swallowing hard.
Throat so dry it felt like sandpaper.
The older guard leaned in closer
His voice dropping to a terrified whisper "That... that was Kabir Shekhawat, And Reyansh Rathore."
He said the names like they were curses.
The new guard's eyes widened. Pupils dilating with fear. "Kabir? Reyansh? The—"
"Bade sahab ke dost." The older guard cut him off, his voice trembling. "Kabir sir, dil ka achha hai. Sabse hanste-baat karte hain. But Reyansh sir... jo baat karte hain, woh kam ki baat karte hain."
His face contorted with pure terror.
"But both are dangerous when it comes to killing people who betray them. Especially Kabir sir. Jab woh gussa hota hai... toh sabko uske raaste se hat jaana chahiye. And Reyansh sir... agar woh kisi ke saamne khada ho jaye... toh samajh lo ki unki maut likh di gayi hai."
He swallowed hard. His throat bobbing.
"Together... they are death's messengers."
He paused. His eyes darting toward the closed doors.
"But the one inside..."
He shuddered violently. His face went whiter than death itself.
"...that one is something else entirely."
The new guard hesitated for a moment.
Despite the fear clawing at his chest, curiosity got the better of him.
"Who is he?"
"What's so special about him?"
The older guard's face went pale. Paler than death itself. His hands began to shake violently.
"Special?" He let out a hollow, broken laugh. The laugh of someone who had seen too much.
His voice dropped to a whisper. Barely audible.
"Aur woh abhi ATHAARAH saal ka hai — ATHAARAH! Usne pehle hi woh conference room bana liya hai... jahaan log zinda jaate hain, aur jo nikalte hain... woh laash bankar nikalte hain."
The new guard's blood ran cold. "Eighteen? That's impossible—"
A blood-curdling scream erupted from behind the door, freezing both guards in place.
Their faces drained of color as they exchanged a terrified glance.
Inside the conference room lay an abyss—a cavern of darkness that seemed to swallow light itself.
The darkness felt alive.
The walls were lined with shadows so dense they appeared solid, as though one could reach out and touch them, feel them pressing against the skin.
A single bulb flickered overhead, its dim glow pulsing like a dying heartbeat. It seemed too afraid to shine properly, as if even the light feared what it might reveal.
The air was suffocating—heavy and oppressive—so thick with tension that even the smallest breath felt like betrayal.
Every man sat frozen around the table, eyes glued to the floor. Their hands were clenched so tightly that their knuckles had turned white, nails digging into flesh, drawing blood.
No one dared to move. No one dared to speak.
Because in this room...
Even a single breath could be your last.
The men seated around that table were powerful.
Dons.
Lords.
Kings of their own territories.
Men who had made others tremble.
Men who had ordered deaths without blinking.
Men who had built empires on blood.
And yet...
Here they sat.
Trembling like children trapped inside a nightmare.
Suits soaked with sweat.
Faces drained of color.
Eyes filled with terror.
The air carried the sharp smell of fear.
Sweat.
Blood.
And something worse.
Someone had already lost control of their bladder.
But no one judged.
Because every person in that room understood.
Every person in that room felt the same thing.
Fear.
And then—
He rose from his chair.
The sound of his movement broke the silence.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Made the air grow colder.
The men shivered. Not from cold. From terror.
In one hand, a hammer.
Heavy.
Bloodstained.
Well-used.
Metal glinted under dim light , Carrying stains of countless previous victims.
In the other hand, nails. Long. Sharp. Waiting for flesh. Waiting for screams.
Step.
Step.
Step.
He began circling the table, footsteps measured and predatory — the gait of a hunter who knew prey had nowhere to run.
Every man felt their soul shrink, felt their life flash before their eyes, felt their heart stop for a moment, felt their blood run cold.
They clutched their hands together, praying to every god listening.
Please... please... please...
He stopped behind one man. The man's breath caught and stopped completely, his eyes wide and frozen, sweat pouring down his face in rivers.
A hand shot out — fast as a striking snake — grabbed the man's wrist in a bone-crushing grip, and slammed it onto the table with such force that the wood cracked.
The man whimpered, his voice broken and desperate.
"I-I'm sorry, sir... PLEASE... leave me... PLEASE..."
His body shook uncontrollably.
Then his voice came — soft, cold, hard. It slithered through the air like a serpent wrapping around its prey.
"Why are you scared, Mr. Sharma?"
He tilted his head. Cruel smirk playing on his lips. His eyes—dark, ancient, holding depths of something inhuman.
"Don't be scared of me. You're the one who said... 'what can an 18-year-old boy do when his father doesn't care?'"
His voice was almost playful. The playfulness was worse than anger. So much worse.
Mr. Sharma's hands shook uncontrollably, his whole body convulsed with fear. He was about to pass out.
Rudradev placed a nail over his finger.
"You know, Mr. Sharma..." He continued, voice conversational. Like they were old friends catching up. "I've always wondered what goes through a man's mind when he betrays me. Do you think I won't find out? Do you think I'm blind and ignorant like my father?"
He leaned closer. Breath cold against Mr. Sharma's ear.
"Or do you just not care about the consequences?"
Mr. Sharma's words tumbled out, desperate and panicked.
"Sir, I—I didn't mean—please—"
He laughed cold and hollow. It made everyone's blood freeze in their veins, echoing through the room like a death rattle.
"The thing about people like you, Mr. Sharma—you're all the same. You think you're smart. You think you can outsmart the devil."
He positioned the hammer. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting Mr. Sharma see it coming.
"But the devil always collects his due."
And without wasting a second, he brought the hammer down.
CRACK.
Sound of metal piercing flesh. The nail drove through Mr. Sharma's hand. Deep into the table below. Blood spraying everywhere. Warm. Crimson. Everywhere.
A blood-curdling scream ripped from his throat. Sound so primal. So agonized. Made other men feel their own hands ache in sympathy.
He voice cut through the pain like a blade.
"My ears are hurting."
He leaned close. Eyes burning with cold fire.
"If you make any other sound..." He held up the hammer. Blood dripping from it. "I will insert this into your mouth."
Mr. Sharma clamped his other hand over his mouth. Tears streaming down his face.
He walked back to his chair. Calm. Unhurried. Wiping blood off the hammer with a handkerchief. Casual Routine. Sat down, Crossed one leg over the other.
He looked around the room. Eyes sweeping every trembling face. Each face registered different fear.
He saw it all.
He enjoyed it all.
A woman's voice trembled through darkness. Miss Priya. Face pale as death. Makeup running down her cheeks. Body shaking violently.
"PLEASE, sir... PLEASE forgive me this once..." Her voice cracked. Broke.
He paused. Silence stretching into eternity. Every second an eternity.
"Miss Priya, don't waste time. I will give you two options."
"How do you want to die? You can choose... or get that boy's life back that you killed."
Her sobs filled the room. Body wracking with convulsions.
"SIR... PLEASE..."
"What do you say, Miss Priya?" He tilted his head. Smirk cruel.
"Sir—"
He cut her off like butcher carving meat.
"I'll count to three. You know what happens next. If you don't... then you know what I do to the worst."
No one dared meet his eyes. They all looked down. Terrified even a glance could be death sentence.
"Teen."
"Do."
Her body shaking. Eyes squeezed shut. Tears streaming.
"S-Sir... I'm sorry... I just because—"
Before she could finish, Mr. Sharma broke free. Ripping his hand from the nail with a sickening squelch. Blood spraying everywhere. Collapsed at He's feet, Clutching his shoes.
Tears and snot running down his face in rivers.
Blood dripping from his ruined hand.
"SIR! I'M SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I'll compensate you, sir! I'll give you ANYTHING! The deal—the property—EVERYTHING! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!"
Mr. Sharma voice hysterical, Out of control Body, shaking Gasping for breath.
Everyone felt death creeping closer. Wrapping icy fingers around their throats.
"You think you can compensate me?" He looked down with utter contempt. Disgust in his eyes.
"You think you can compensate RUDRADEV RAJVANSHI?" Voice dropped to a whisper, Sharp as a knife.
"Fine. Let's see what you can do."
Mr. Sharma babbled desperately. "Sir! I'll give you the deal! I'll write down ALL my property! EVERYTHING! PLEASE! Please don't kill me! I have a family—"
His expression was hard. Merciless. Mask carved from ice and hatred. Not a flicker of emotion.
He kicked Mr. Sharma with his left leg. Sending him sprawling. The man groaned Clutching his ribs Crying.
"Fuck your deal."
He grabbed Mr. Sharma by the collar. Other hand casually in his pocket. As if discussing the weather.
"And fuck your piece of shit property."
He dropped the man like garbage. His voice cold and hard.
"You know what I like? Fear in your eyes. That makes me feel alive. To kill insects like you."
Mr. Sharma hit the floor. Crying.
A guard appeared with a full bucket of petrol. In one swift motion, he threw it over Miss Priya. She screamed. Eyes wide with terror. Terror of a soul that knew it was about to meet hell.
Gasoline soaking her. Dripping everywhere. She couldn't move. Frozen in fear.
He pulled out his lighter. Expression cold.
"This is what they get."
He flicked it once. Twice. Flame danced like a demon in his hand.
"This is the price of crossing Rudradev Rajvanshi."
He threw the lighter.
Flames erupted instantly. Miss Priya's screams filled the room. Echoing off the walls like the damned in hell. Fire consumed her. Skin blistering. Hair burning. Sound of agony a symphony of terror.
He turned to his guards. Expression unchanged.
"Take him. He said he would compensate me." Cold smile spread across his face. "I wouldn't want to let him off with an easy death, would I?"
He looked at the sitting men like they were already dead.
"You want my empire?"
He paused. His eyes swept across the room like a predator counting its prey.
"Now watch what happens to those who try to steal from it."
He walked out without looking back.
The moment he left every man scrambled for the door. Desperate to escape. Shoving Pushing Trampling Even a second more in that room could mean their death. They knew it They had seen it.
The heavy cabin door swung open.
Rudradev stepped inside, his presence alone sucking the warmth from the room.
Kabir and Reyansh were already there.
Kabir was sprawled lazily across the leather sofa, while Reyansh stood near the window, hands tucked into his pockets.
Kabir leaned back, crossing his arms as a lazy grin spread across his face.
"Yar bhai, it's your tilak. You're becoming the king today."
Rudradev didn't react.
He walked past them, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it slowly.
Placing the empty glass down with a soft clink, he finally spoke.
His voice was cold.
Flat.
Unbothered.
As if the title meant absolutely nothing to him.
"I don't need name tags. Everyone already knows who I am. And more importantly... they know what happens when they cross me."
Reyansh pushed himself away from the window.
His voice remained calm but firm.
"But for now, come. Everyone is waiting for you."
Rudradev picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.
Without sparing either of them a glance, he walked out.
His footsteps echoed through the corridor until they finally disappeared.
The moment the door clicked shut
Kabir turned toward Reyansh.
His voice dropped into a low whisper.
"Yar... you think he'll ever marry? Or die single like this?"
Reyansh let out a dark chuckle.
"Marriage? I don't know. But he'll die a virgin — that I can say for sure."
Kabir burst out laughing.
A short, sharp laugh.
Then he leaned back against the sofa and stared dramatically at the ceiling.
"Ya, today is proof. He's worse than the devil."
He folded his hands together as if offering a prayer to the heavens.
"And I pray... even if God created a girl for him... please take her back, Bhagwan ji. She doesn't deserve this."
Reyansh shook his head, standing up. He grabbed Kabir by the arm, pulling him off the sofa.
His voice was low, amused, but carrying a hint of warning.
"Come."
"Before he notices we're missing."
Kabir groaned but followed.
As they reached the door, Reyansh paused.
A dark, amused smile touched his lips.
"And by the time his family actually finds a girl for him..."
He chuckled.
"If we miss him again, his family will probably send us to God before that poor girl gets there."
Kabir nodded immediately.
"Facts."
The two walked out together.
Laughing.
But neither of them noticed—
Fate had already found the girl.
And somewhere far away, a little village girl was busy planning how many chocolates she would ask the king for.
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So...
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👀 Glimpse of Chapter 2...
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Radhe Radhe.
Jai Shri Radhe Krishna. ✨💙🌸
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