The air inside the pub reeked of sweat, spilled liquor, and desperation. Rahul stepped through the doorway with the swagger of someone pretending he belonged.
He made his way to the counter, blinking beneath the dim, flickering lights.
"I'll have… beer," he muttered.
It was the only thing he knew to order. He didn't even like it—but anything stronger sounded like trouble. He didn't want to get drunk. Not really. He just wanted to feel something.
The bartender gave him a once-over but didn't say a word. Rahul looked older than he was. That helped. Maybe it was his dead eyes. Maybe no one here cared enough to ask.
He took the cold mug with both hands, raised it to his lips, and sipped—slow, mechanical.
There was a man sitting across the room. A tall, dark figure, hunched at a corner table. Scar above the eyebrow. One earring. Wearing a coat too heavy for this weather.
Rahul didn't know why he kept staring at him.
His gaze stayed locked—not curious, not cautious. Just fixed. Robotic. Like some dead-eyed mannequin caught in an endless loop.
He didn't blink. He didn't smile. He didn't frown.
He sipped his beer again. Slow. Measured. Hollow.
Then the man looked back.
For a second, Rahul panicked. But he didn't move. Didn't look away.
Instead, he deepened the act. Let the weight fall back on his shoulders. Let the mask of sadness sink over him like a curtain.
Dead inside. That's how he wanted to look.
No emotion. No spark. Just a broken machine pretending to be alive.
Ten long minutes passed. The man stood.
Rahul didn't twitch. Didn't move his pupils.
The man walked toward him, boots clicking. Stopped a foot away.
"Hey, brat," he said.
Silence.
"Hello?"
Still nothing.
"You in this world? Hey?"
Rahul didn't answer. The man reached out and shook his shoulder roughly.
Rahul blinked once. "Who?"
The man narrowed his eyes. "Why were you staring at me nonstop? And what the hell is a minor doing in a place like this?"
Rahul's voice came out cold, bitter. "What's your problem? I'm already f***ing frustrated… I was imagining myself raping that bitch when you showed up and ruined the dream."
The man's brows shot up. "Whoa… Hey, hey. Easy. What happened?"
Rahul sneered. "Why the hell should I tell you?"
"Because talking helps. You'll feel lighter. Trust me."
Upstairs, behind the pub's walls, a man named Xaben was watching through the grainy CCTV feed. He leaned forward in his chair, heart pounding.
The man in the footage—the one talking to Rahul—was trouble. A former Yakuza lord, now under heavy government surveillance. He could see through lies. He had wrecked past covert ops just by sniffing out who wasn't real.
Xaben's fingers clenched the armrest.
If that man figured out Rahul wasn't normal… everything would be blown. Again.
But then the boy started talking. And what he said made even Xaben freeze.
---
Rahul's voice dropped low. His face twisted as memories poured out.
"I was in class five. Just a stupid kid. There was a girl in my tuition class. Chubby, but beautiful. She made me feel… alive. I thought she was born just for me."
He took another sip. His hand trembled slightly.
"I told my best friend. Only him. I wanted to take it slow. But that bastard went and told her straight away. Told her everything."
The man leaned in. "What happened next?"
Rahul scoffed. "What do you think? She came to me and said I should say I don't like her. In front of everyone. Sir wasn't there, so she acted tough. Threatened to call our parents. And I… I was scared. I agreed."
He went quiet for a second. The beer was almost warm now.
"But my mom… she saw her once. Said she'd make the perfect wife for me someday. My wife…" He laughed bitterly. "But she hates me now."
The man waited. Silent.
Rahul's voice cracked.
"Later in another tuition, some idiot called her chubby. I got angry. Started a fight. But when sir asked who caused it, she said I called her that. And the other guy fought for her."
The man clicked his tongue. "Damn. That's rough."
Rahul wasn't done.
"Two days ago… my mother was murdered. Beaten to death by thugs in our village. I watched it happen. I couldn't even save her. My father told me to run. So I did. I ran here."
Silence filled the table. The pub noise seemed distant now.
"And last night… I lost my virginity. Against my will. Some random woman. I don't even know her name. I was saving myself for my future wife. The one my mom wanted."
His voice broke again. "Now I don't know who I am. Or what the hell I'm doing anymore."
The man finally looked away. His jaw tightened.
"Damn, kid… Someone your age has gone through all that?" He sighed. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. But… one question."
Rahul nodded weakly.
"How did you get money?"
Rahul stared into the foam. "I joined an organization. They gave me money."
The man smirked faintly. "A secret one, huh? You ever try something stronger than beer?"
Rahul looked up. "Like what?"
"Dhatura. You heard of it?"
Rahul shook his head. "Nah."
The man stood, finishing his drink. "Come on. Out the back. I'll show you something better than pain."
He slipped through the rear door of the pub, and Rahul followed without a word.
What neither of them knew was that others—hidden in shadow, watching from alleys, rooftops, and rooftops—moved silently behind them.
Some wore black. Some carried knives. One had a gun.
None of them meant well.
The alley behind the pub was dark, narrow, and stinking of mold and engine oil. Rahul stepped out cautiously, trailing behind the strange man—the one who'd just offered him something called Dhatura.
But before the man could say anything more, shadows spilled into the alley from both ends. Black-suited figures emerged from the darkness with rifles, blades, and red goggles that glinted beneath the moonlight.
Xaben stood at the center of them, his coat flaring behind him like a cape, his cold eyes locked on the man before Rahul.
"End of the line," Xaben said, raising a hand.
The man's smirk faded. Rahul froze. His instincts screamed danger. But instead of stepping toward Xaben, instead of revealing some smug twist like a hero in a fantasy novel…
He cowered.
He backed away.
And without thinking, he hid behind the Yakuza lord, clutching the back of the man's coat like a scared child.
Xaben blinked. His jaw tightened for a brief second, clearly thrown off.
This wasn't part of the plan.
But he played along.
"Tch… get out of the way, kid," he growled, voice low and annoyed. "This has nothing to do with you."
Rahul didn't move. His face was pale. His eyes filled with fear. If he was acting, it was flawless.
The Yakuza man looked down at the boy hiding behind him. He chuckled.
"Well, well. Looks like I got myself a little fan," he said without turning. "Xaben, maybe you're not as scary as you think."
Xaben's face hardened. "I'm not here for the kid. You know that. This ends now. Surrender peacefully, or—"
Then it happened.
From every direction of the alley, figures appeared.
Forty… fifty… maybe more.
Yakuza. Covered in tattoos, scars, and leather jackets. Some old. Some terrifyingly young. All of them looked high on something. Their eyes glowed faintly crimson.
The Yakuza lord spread his arms wide.
"Xaben. Let me show you the power of Dhatura."
He turned his head slightly. "Boys…"
Every one of the Yakuza soldiers pulled out a small crimson cigarette. Lit it. Inhaled.
The air turned thick with red smoke and a metallic tang that felt like blood on the tongue.
The man raised his hand.
"Start the war."
Chaos erupted.
Before Xaben could speak, he slammed a heavy cross-shaped weapon into the pavement.
"Bloodbloom. Chapter 1: Blood First."
A red sigil burned in the air above the cross. Suddenly, a spear of crimson energy shot out like lightning, piercing forward through the alley.
Several Yakuza dodged it with inhuman speed. But others were hit square in the chest.
Yet they didn't fall.
They stood up.
Still smoking.
Still walking.
Some pulled out rusty machetes. Others had modified pistols. One man with a crowbar grinned with half his teeth missing, his eyes glazed and glowing.
Xaben's agents opened fire. Semi-automatic bursts echoed through the alley. Shells clinked and bounced off the walls.
But it wasn't enough.
The Yakuza dodged bullets like dancers on a stage.
Rahul crouched lower, covering his ears. For a moment, he wasn't acting. This was real. This was death. And somehow, he was in the middle of it.
The Yakuza lord stepped forward as if immune to the chaos.
"Can you see it, Xaben?" His voice boomed through the alley. "I'm building a world… a new generation. Where normal people become gods."
Xaben fired his own pistol, narrowly missing the man's shoulder. He shouted over the gunfire:
"You're feeding poison to children! Turning pain into power! Is that your dream? Through drugs?!"
The man smirked. "You call it poison. I call it liberation."
He pointed to a teenage girl swinging chains like a demon. She took a bullet to the thigh and barely flinched, screaming with joy as she attacked one of Xaben's men.
"This world crushed us, Xaben. Chewed us up. And now? We take it back. With Dhatura. With rage. With freedom."
Xaben growled. "At what cost? Sacrificing their minds? Their bodies? Their futures?"
The man lit another red cigarette and inhaled.
"They had no future before this. But now… look at them."
He spread his arms again as if presenting his twisted masterpiece.
Behind him, more of his people gathered. The alley was a battlefield. Screams echoed. Blood splattered the brick walls. Gunfire. Smoke. Madness.
Rahul stared up at the man. For a moment… he felt something.
This man… this chaos… it felt right. It felt familiar.
Xaben, meanwhile, activated another sigil. A red dome formed around his body, pulsing with defensive energy.
"I won't let this continue." he said.
"Then you'll bleed here." the man whispered back.
Suddenly, from the rooftop—two more figures dropped down.
Civilians?
No.
Two more of Xaben's elites. Masked. Armed. Enhanced.
The war had just begun.