BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Rocks and dust ripped through the air like shrapnel. Each blow landed with earth-shaking force. Rihan's body jerked, bones rattling beneath skin that could barely hold him together.
Every strike felt distant—like his pain belonged to someone else. Above him, Tita blurred into a streak of motion, his speed defying sight. From below, he looked like lightning had taken human form.
"Ugh… what the fuck… I… I will kill you," Rihan spat blood into his palm, voice trembling between rage and exhaustion.
Swish—
Tita's fist collided with Rihan's chest. The impact was so violent that sound seemed to vanish for a heartbeat before the world snapped back.
FWOOOOOM—BOOOOM—KRRRSHHHHH!
Rihan's body crashed into the ground. Asphalt shattered, spider cracks webbing outward as debris rained down. The air filled with choking dust and the bitter taste of iron.
"Ughhh… cough! Thoo!"
He spat blood, grimacing through the blur in his vision. One eye had swollen shut, the other burned with a faint, trembling fire. His lip split open, dripping crimson over his chin.
Tita hovered above the ruin, his laughter carrying through the smoke. "Heh… hehh… snickers… you really thought you could win?"
Rihan raised his head, voice hoarse but defiant. "I… cough… I will kill you. You monster."
Tita landed lightly, boots cracking bits of broken road beneath him. The sound was calm, precise—mocking.
He turned toward the nearest reporter, who stood frozen, microphone shaking like a leaf in a storm.
The bridge between silence and terror snapped.
The city held its breath.
"Record him close," Tita ordered, voice calm and cruel. "Don't let them watch from far away. They should see their hero die up close."
The reporter hesitated, throat dry. "S-sir, I—"
"Every scream should be heard," Tita interrupted coldly. "Everyone must see how his fire slowly dies."
The cameraman swallowed hard and stepped forward, the lens focusing on Rihan's mangled frame. The crowd behind him trembled in muted horror.
"Br—breaking news…" the reporter's voice cracked. "Today… we have lost one of our heroes. Blazefury has been killed."
Tears streaked down his cheeks—grief, not fear. His voice trembled as if speaking those words might summon punishment from the heavens.
Across the world, millions watched.
In America, a woman whispered, "Oh my God… he's only eighteen…"
In India, the streets of Mumbai overflowed with crowds staring at giant billboards looping the live feed from Gurugram. Each replay felt like a wound reopening.
The world didn't blink.
Tita grabbed Rihan by the hair and lifted him effortlessly, his broken body hanging limp like a torn flag.
Crunch—
The clean, sickening sound of bone breaking silenced every voice. Rihan's right hand bent backward, unnatural, useless.
"Ahhhhhh!"
His scream cut through the air—a sound so raw it stripped away all distance between hero and human.
Tita grinned wide, his teeth glinting. "Look closely, insects disguised as people. Watch your hero scream."
He twisted the other hand until it snapped. Rihan's limbs dangled, his consciousness flickering like a dying flame.
Without ceremony, Tita let him fall.
Swoooosh—THA-DOOOOM!
Rihan hit the ground hard enough to leave a crater, sliding across the concrete until he crashed into an ambulance. Metal crumpled. Alarms wailed. Paramedics stumbled out, faces drained of color.
One doctor pushed through the smoke and knelt beside him. His hands trembled as he searched for a pulse.
"Hic… sobb… sobb…"
Tears streaked his face as he pressed an ear to Rihan's chest, desperate for any rhythm of life. "He… he's dead," the doctor whispered. "Blazefury is gone."
_____
Across the nation, grief became a storm.
In Mumbai, people screamed and threw flowers toward the sky as if prayers could rewind time. "No! Our hero cannot die!"
In Delhi, men pounded their chests. Children clung to mothers' legs, asking why the good ones always died first.
A shared silence stretched across living rooms, train stations, and crowded markets. A silence so deep, it felt like the country itself was mourning.
_____
Back in Gurugram, Tita laughed—a sound like broken glass against steel. He leapt onto a crumbled pillar, arms spread, basking in the chaos.
"In this sea of thousands, not one dared to move," he mocked. "You watched your hero fall and did nothing."
His eyes glowed, catching camera lights like twin stars of madness. "God granted humans strength," he said, voice dripping with scorn, "but not wisdom."
"There are two kinds of people," he continued, stepping down slowly, "the coward and the fool."
The crowd's breathing turned uneven. Shame pooled in every bowed head.
"Those hiding in the crowd are cowards. Their presence or absence means nothing."
He looked down at Rihan's limp form. "And the corpse on the ground—your young hero—is foolish. His pride in power made him weak."
He lifted his chin, eyes sweeping the crowd. "So tell me… which is better—cowardice or foolishness?"
No one answered.
Even the wind seemed afraid to move.
Tita chuckled. "Your downcast eyes and trembling lips answer for you. Cowardice wins. It always does."
He turned to leave, satisfied.
Cough… cough… cough.
The sound froze the world.
At first, no one believed it. Then the doctor jerked his head toward the broken body on the ground.
Rihan's chest moved. Barely. Once. Then again.
A weak, stubborn breath clawed its way into his lungs.
His fingers twitched against the dirt.
The dust around his lips scattered as he exhaled, blood flecking the air.
Tita stopped mid-step. His smirk collapsed into a furious glare.
"You're like a mosquito that still wants to twitch before dying," he hissed.
The doctor leaned close. He caught Rihan's cracked whisper and smiled through his tears—a tiny, defiant smile.
For a heartbeat, something in the air shifted.
The square felt smaller, tighter.
The crowd stopped crying.
Somewhere, a child raised his head.
An ember glowed where ashes had settled.
Rihan's eyes opened, faint light trembling in them. His body was broken, but his gaze held something deeper—something unbreakable.
He looked not at Tita, but at the crowd.
And for a moment, shame began to melt into courage.
That faint hope stirred like the first wind before a storm.
Tita noticed it. His grin returned, sharper than ever.
He glanced toward a group of trembling children huddled behind a police van and tilted his head.
"Hmm," he murmured, stretching his neck. "Let's see how your hero would feel if I killed these innocent little kids."