The story begins in utter darkness. Bodies are strewn everywhere—lifeless, cold, and forgotten. An old man sits among the dead, his eyes heavy with grief and wisdom. He speaks to someone in the shadows.
"You've taken your revenge, but listen to me—control yourself. The world will point fingers when you make a mistake, but when you do something good, they'll praise you... and still, not all of them will clap for you. Some will burn with jealousy. Some will speak ill behind your back. Do you understand? This world... it's twisted."
Suddenly, the scene changes.
A surreal, unearthly place comes into view. Between majestic, glowing mountains untouched by time or man, a voice echoes through the silence:
"Why do these memories haunt me, even after death?"
And then—
The scene cuts sharply to London.
Inside a high-security government chamber, 14 VVIPs sit on leather-bound chairs around a circular table. Among them: members of royal families, political powerhouses, and the President of London himself. But one chair is empty—seat number 13.
In the center of the room, facing them all, is a mysterious man. Sir D.
He wears a dark cloak, his face hidden behind a haunting, emotionless mask.
The President speaks. "Everyone, please remain silent. Sir D wishes to speak."
The room falls quiet. Yet minds race. Who is he? Why does the President honor him like this? And that mask—why?
The President nods toward Sir D. "Please, go ahead."
Sir D's voice echoes through the chamber. Calm. Deep. Terrifying.
"Attention, please."
A ripple of unease moves through the room. Some murmur. Is that a human voice? Or a devil's?
Sir D speaks again. "The Mysore Diamond... is unstable. If it breaks, the consequences will be catastrophic. Not just for London—this is a global threat. Evil energy is leaking from it."
Lord Hamza bin Rehman, representative of Pakistan, raises his hand. "May I speak?"
The President grants him a nod.
Hamza stands. "How did this happen? When? And what exactly are the consequences of this 'evil energy'?"
Sir D responds without flinching. "The danger isn't the object itself... but what lives within it. What's trapped inside—that's what matters."
Confusion spreads like smoke. Eyes glance around. Anxiety, curiosity, fear—they all mix.
Someone finally asks, "What exactly is inside the diamond?"
Sir D turns his head slowly. "We ran research tests on the location where the diamond was last stored. The results were... abnormal."
He pauses.
"It showed signs... of life. A heartbeat."
Gasps echo. Then—
One man notices something. His gaze is locked on seat number 13.
"That seat... who's missing?"
Whispers ripple.
The Crown Prince Al-Mansur of the Saudi Dynasty. Silent. Elusive. Whispers say he possesses samples of Black Magnotium.
Sir D's masked face tilts slightly. He too stares at seat 13—for a moment, a flicker of rage burns in his eyes.
But then, he snaps back.
"Let's move forward. Time is not on our side."
---
Cut to: Outside Heathrow Airport, London.
Vikram stands beside a black SUV. Rain dots the windshield. He opens the car door.
Aryaan approaches, concerned. "Sir, where are you going? Grandpa is unwell. I think I should come too."
Vikram replies calmly, "He won't recognize me. To them, I died in that car blast years ago. No one survived—not officially."
He stops.
"But tell me, Aryaan. The day of the blast—where was Aditya Uncle? I don't mean any disrespect... I just want to know."
Aryaan takes a breath. "He had gone shopping. I was with him. I remember... your mother placed you on the ground and moved a little away. Then the car exploded. He... Aditya Uncle... tried to save you. His back was burned in the fire."
Vikram nods, eyes distant.
"We're here. The airport."
Aryaan smiles. "Like you said, no one knows your face anymore. Let's go home the other way. Book something private. I'll come too."
---
Scene cuts to: Jeju Island, Korea.
Darkness.
Screams echo through unseen tunnels.
A monstrous voice growls:
"After thousands of years... even demons lose their minds in this prison. Humans are like insects to us."
A group of chained demons tremble. One dares to speak.
"But master, he—he looked at us like prey..."
A laugh rolls like thunder.
"You fools are nothing but mice to him. He doesn't need to fight. He waits for his master's signal."
Another demonic voice snarls:
"So what now?"
Silence.
Then—a whisper. Cold as death.
"Let the cursed one awake. The Devil."
A pause. A chuckle.
"And remember this—humans are just bugs. Worthless bugs. Hahaha..."
End of Chapter Start.