A slow wind swept through the empty streets of the port-side district, carrying with it the scent of rain and something far more ominous—fear.
The sky filled with dark clouds and lightning. The rain is ready to burst at any moment.
Within the rundown police station, flickering tube lights cast a dim, yellow glow over cracked walls and rusting metal desks. The air was thick with murmurs as officers, clerks, and even high-ranking officials gathered around, whispering about the monster who sat at the farthest table.
Vikram Das.
The name had already spread like wildfire, sending tremors through the entire police force. He sat motionless, his muscular frame relaxed yet exuding a quiet menace. His wrists were bound by steel cuffs, but no one could shake the feeling that they were restraining a force far beyond their comprehension.
Before him, on a wooden table, lay the infamous Black Dragon Sword, its darkened blade appearing almost sentient, as though waiting for its master's call.
