Things were moving too fast for Rohit to make sense of.
One moment, he was about to leave a café after catching up with an old friend. The next, chaos erupted around him.
Why did it have to come to this?
He had apologized—politely, sincerely. Sure, the rowdies might've hurled a few insults, maybe pushed him around a bit to feel superior. Rohit was prepared to stomach it, take it in stride.
But this?
This wasn't supposed to happen.
The answer lay with Sathya.
Something had changed in him. Deeply. Radically. The straight guy Rohit once he knew was gone. Replaced by someone sharper, colder—dangerous.
Before Rohit could dwell on it, another slap snapped him back. The sting seared across his cheek, loud enough to echo.
The thug towering over him sneered, eyes gleaming with sick satisfaction. He gripped Rohit's collar like he owned him, like Rohit was a stray dog waiting to be put in place.
Rohit's fingers twitched. He stared at the man's hand clenching his shirt—heavy, calloused, veins bulging with aggression.
I don't like this, he thought. I don't like the way he's looking at me.
Instinctively, his hand rose and gripped the thug's wrist.
A voice inside him whispered, Just let it happen. A couple more slaps, a little begging, and it'll be over.
But something else—something deeper—rose to the surface. A tight, burning refusal.
He clenched his jaw. His heart thundered in his ears.
No.
Not this time.
The thug's arm reared back, ready to deliver another blow.
So Rohit moved.
He swung—wild and untrained—but driven by instinct. His fist crashed into the thug's face with a messy thud, the force knocking the man back into his friend behind him, who staggered under the sudden weight.
Silence cracked into gasps. The café, already teetering on chaos, tipped into madness.
The thug roared, spitting blood onto the floor.
"I'm going to kill you!"
His friend barked to another, "Let's get him!"
The third man gave a sharp nod—and all three lunged.
Rohit's pulse spiked. Panic surged. He backed up, eyes darting for escape—none.
The café was emptying fast. Chairs overturned, cups shattered under fleeing feet. The manager stood frozen by the counter, fumbling his phone, shouting to no one in particular.
And in the middle of it all—like some supernatural painting—Sathya and Mohit were locked in battle.
Mohit's arms shimmered with a golden sheen, fists pulsing with strength. In Sathya's hand, a jagged crimson blade—made of his own blood—glimmered with an eerie heat. The two circled each other, eyes locked, movements deliberate and deadly.
Rohit blinked.
What the hell happened to Sathya?
But there was no time to think.
The thugs were closing in.
Desperate, Rohit snatched a metal tray off a table. He gripped it with both hands like a shield, stepping back until his heel hit a fallen chair. Breath short, hands slick with sweat.
I'm not a fighter, he told himself. But I won't be a punching bag either.
As the first man lunged, Rohit swung the tray—clumsy, loud, but it connected with a clang, sending the thug sideways into a row of chairs.
The second tackled him from the side. Rohit went down hard, tray skittering across the floor. He twisted, elbowing wildly, catching the man in the ribs. They rolled—scrambling, fists flying, curses grunted through clenched teeth.
The third thug grabbed Rohit's shoulder—he turned and took a punch to the jaw. Pain exploded across his face. He fell, coughing, tasting blood.
But he crawled forward, fingers grasping for anything—his hand closed on a ceramic plate.
He turned and flung it.
It shattered against a man's knee. The thug howled, hopping back.
Rohit scrambled to his feet, chest heaving, face burning.
Across the room, Sathya dodged Mohit's swing and slashed upward with his blood blade. Sparks flew as it met the gold-coated arm. Mohit grunted, forcing him back with a heavy shoulder slam.
They were titans among rubble.
Rohit wasn't a titan.
But he wouldn't kneel either.
He planted his feet as the two remaining thugs closed in.
"No more running," he muttered.
They rushed him.
He roared, charging forward with everything he had left.