The Shaitaan hissed, black tendrils curling off its body like smoke.
It stood tall—at least ten feet—with twisted horns and skin like cracked stone. But Armaan didn't flinch. His posture was relaxed, casual even, like he was waiting for a late-night rickshaw rather than standing before a creature that could tear a building apart.
The alley was silent now, save for the slow crackle of corrupt prana dripping off the beast's claws and the occasional distant honk from the city that was still unaware of the darkness prowling its edge.
"Big guy," Armaan muttered, rolling his wrist and letting the blade spin once before catching it behind his back. "Guess you're the last course of the day."
The Shaitaan lunged—fast.
But Armaan was faster.
A flicker—shoom—he was behind it in an instant. The creature skidded to a halt, confused, then screamed as a thin line of light appeared across its back.
"Too slow," Armaan said, turning, his coat fluttering with the motion. "You guys never learn. All roar, no rhythm."
The Shaitaan, now furious, slammed both claws into the concrete, launching a blast of corrupted energy toward him. The shockwave tore through crates and cracked the alley walls, but by the time the dust settled, Armaan was standing on top of a streetlight.
Balancing with one foot.
Drinking a juice box.
"You done?" he called down, slurping noisily.
He tossed the empty box aside and jumped, flipping once midair before driving the heel of his shoe straight into the Shaitaan's shoulder. A sharp CRACK rang out as the beast staggered, howling.
But Armaan didn't press the attack. Instead, he stepped back, dragging the tip of his blade gently across the ground, the prana humming softly.
His eyes weren't cold. They weren't even angry. Just focused.
"I'm in a good mood today," he said. "So let's not make this ugly, yeah?"
The Shaitaan paused—breathing ragged, one eye still bleeding shadow.
And then… surprisingly, it grunted.
Then dropped to its knees.
Armaan blinked.
"...What?"
The creature's form began to fade—crumbling like ash caught in the wind. A black spiral lifted from its chest, whispering upward, vanishing into the night.
Armaan watched in silence as the last of it drifted away.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then—he smiled faintly. "Guess even monsters get tired."
The blade returned to its sheath with a quiet click.
Armaan turned to leave—but paused.
The boy.
He was still there, eyes wide, unmoving.
Armaan walked over and offered a hand.
"You alright?"
The boy hesitated, then nodded quickly, taking his hand and getting up. "Y-You're… you're him, right? The protector?"
Armaan raised an eyebrow. "Rakshak?"
The boy nodded again, starry-eyed.
Armaan scratched his cheek, suddenly awkward. "Yeah, I guess…"
"That was so cool!" the boy blurted. "Like—whoosh—and then the sword—and the juice box—and then BAM! The monster just gave up!"
Armaan couldn't help it—he laughed.
"Yeah, something like that."
The boy suddenly pulled a notebook from his schoolbag, flipping to a crumpled page. "Can I have your autograph?"
Armaan blinked again. "...Seriously?"
The boy nodded eagerly, holding out a pen. "Please!"
With a grin, Armaan scribbled something quick.
"Stay safe," he added, ruffling the boy's hair.
And with a flash of prana—he was gone.
A little later, back in his room…
Armaan toed off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed with a long groan. His muscles were starting to complain—first football, now a surprise Shaitaan cameo. His body wasn't built for double shifts, no matter how cool the coat made him look.
He glanced at the clock. 11:52 PM.
His phone buzzed.
ALYA 💕: How was practice, Armaaan? 😴
He smiled.
ARMAAN🥷: Tiring. But good. Scored five. Fought a demon. Got a juice box.
ALYA 💕: ...Excuse me???
ARMAAN🥷: Ignore the middle part. Focus on the juice box. Grape flavor 😎
ALYA 💕: You're a grape idiot 😆
He chuckled.
The conversation faded into emojis and sleepy gibberish, and eventually, Alya sent a "gnight" with a sleepy cat sticker.
He stared at the screen for a few moments, then locked it.
His mind drifted, just for a second, back to Advika's voice on the call earlier.
There was something odd about it, right?
That shift in tone.
The way she said Alya's name.
He shook his head.
"Nah… probably nothing."
But as he drifted off to sleep, one last image filled his mind—
Advika. Sitting on her bed. Cracking her knuckles with a devious smile.
He had no idea why that popped into his head.
He'd soon find out.
But for tonight… he just smiled, pulled the blanket over his chest, and let the silence of the city lull him to sleep.
[FOUR DAYS LATER]
The sun hung high over the school ground, a pale yellow spotlight on Armaan as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His breathing was heavy, but there was a hint of satisfaction in the curve of his lips. The final match was just three days away, and he wasn't wasting a second. Every pass, every sprint, every shot — it all mattered now.
"Take five, team!" Coach called out, blowing his whistle.
Armaan dropped to the grass beside Samar, both of them clad in their school football jerseys, the blue and gold fabric clinging to their backs with sweat.
"You're pushing hard," Samar said, passing him a water bottle.
"Gotta. It's the finals. I don't want regrets."
Samar chuckled. "Well, you did make our goalkeeper cry with that last shot."
"Emotional damage," Armaan grinned, sipping his water.
They both laughed, still catching their breath when Roumit strolled over, a book in hand, wearing the regular school uniform — crisp white shirt, navy trousers, and a tie hanging a bit loose.
"Well, look who survived club time," Samar said.
Roumit shrugged. "Reading Tolstoy while others kick balls around? I feel like the most peaceful one here."
Armaan smirked. "Until you read the war parts."
Before Roumit could reply, a familiar voice chimed in. "You guys look like melted action figures."
Alya stood near the bench, arms crossed and teasing smile in place. Her school uniform was neat as always — the skirt just above the knees, hair tied back, and the school badge pinned on her blazer. She looked at the boys like they were a chaotic mess she had to babysit.
"Alya," Armaan smiled, brushing some grass off his jersey. "Did you come to judge or cheer?"
"Little bit of both," she smirked. "But mostly to tell you that you look like you crawled out of a swamp."
"Harsh," Roumit mumbled, flipping a page dramatically.
Samar grinned. "She has a point."
Alya walked over and handed Armaan a cold bottle of lemonade. "Thought you'd need this."
Armaan blinked. "You… brought me lemonade?"
"I had two," she said quickly, looking away. "Don't make it weird."
He chuckled, taking it gratefully. "Thanks. You always know what I need."
Alya shrugged but looked a little too pleased. Roumit watched the exchange with a knowing smirk but stayed quiet.
They sat under a tree, chatting in the breeze while the rest of the team continued practice drills.
"I invited some people to the match," Armaan said suddenly.
"Oh?" Alya turned to him.
"Yeah. Advika, Reet, and Manvi."
Alya's brows rose slightly. "Oh…"
"They said yes, actually," Armaan added. "Advika texted me this morning. Said they're excited."
[FLASHBACK]
Earlier that day, Armaan's phone had buzzed during a break in training.
ADVIKA 🐉: Captain Armaan, Reet and Manvi are in. We're coming to watch you embarrass yourself 😌
ARMAAN🥷: Wow. That was supportive. Truly. I feel very encouraged 💔
ADVIKA 🐉: Just trying to keep your ego in check before kickoff. You're welcome 😇
ARMAAN🥷: Thanks, Mom.
ADVIKA 🐉: Don't forget to wave at us after your first dramatic miss. Reet says she's bringing popcorn.
ARMAAN🥷: I'm gonna kick that popcorn straight into the stands 😤
ADVIKA 🐉: You miss the goal but you hit popcorn? Sounds about right. 😏
ARMAAN🥷: One day, I shall have my revenge.
ADVIKA 🐉: I'll be waiting. Front row.
[BACK TO PRESENT]
Alya was quiet.
Armaan noticed the slight pout on her face. "Hey... you okay?"
She blinked, then stood up quickly. "Nothing. Never mind. I just remembered I have to finish some notes."
"Wait, huh? That was sudden."
"Bye!" she said, already turning away, the back of her skirt swaying as she walked briskly toward the school building.
Roumit blinked. "What just happened?"
Samar raised an eyebrow. "Did you… say something wrong?"
"I don't know!" Armaan groaned, staring after her. "All I said was Advika, Reet, and—"
"Oh," Roumit said knowingly.
"Oh what?" Armaan asked.
Roumit just smiled and shook his head. "Nothing."
"Girls really are hard to understand… huh…" Armaan mumbled under his breath, still watching the direction Alya had run off toward.
Before the wind could carry his words too far, Roumit leaned in with a smug grin, hands stuffed in the pockets of his uniform trousers.
"Girls aren't hard to understand, bro. You're just naïve."
He nudged Samar with his elbow. "Can you believe this guy was on the news for several days?"
Armaan blinked. "Wait, what does that mean?"
Samar didn't answer. He just laughed and smacked Armaan's back hard enough to make him stagger a step forward.
"Oof—OI!" Armaan scowled.
But by then, both Samar and Roumit were howling with laughter, high-fiving like they'd cracked the funniest joke of the day. Armaan stood in between them, arms crossed, still trying to figure out what he missed.
"You guys are the worst…" he muttered.
"True," Roumit said, not missing a beat, "but we're your worst."
"Ugh," Armaan groaned, grabbing his water bottle and walking away while they kept laughing behind him.