ƘɑɑӀí

The smoky air of Mount Road was alive with whispers. A man stood nervously at the corner, handing over a bundle of cash to an informer dressed in torn khadi. The informer leaned close, muttering quickly:

“𝙃𝙚’s at trial today.”

The man froze. His heart skipped. Without another word, he shoved the remaining notes into the informer’s hand and darted back to his base.

[KALI’S MANSION]

The mansion wasn’t a single house—it was a fortress. A series of row houses connected to a grand palace-like structure, with a vast courtyard in the middle. It was more than a home; it was a kingdom.

He rushed inside, breathless, scanning the corridors.

“Where’s 𝐊𝐀𝐀𝐋𝐈?” he demanded.

“Upstairs,” came the reply, casual and cold.

The man didn’t wait. He stormed up the winding staircase, flung open the heavy wooden door—

And 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦.

Before him, against a towering, jewel-studded window, sat a throne. High-backed, carved with dragons and lions, it dwarfed the two smaller chairs beside it. Upon that throne sat Kaali.

charcoal-black hair slicked back, a salt-and-pepper beard trimmed sharp, and eyes glowing like embers beneath half-closed lids. He wore a dark silk shirt, sleeves rolled, veins visible, and a heavy gold chain hung from his neck. In his hand was not a weapon, but a book—its cover read 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 . His long fingers turned a page lazily, as if the world outside did not exist.

“𝐊𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐢…” the man stammered.

No response.

“𝙆𝙖𝙖𝙡𝙞!” he shouted louder.

This time Kaali’s eyes lifted. A slow, deliberate turn of his head. His gaze cut through the man like a blade. With the slightest tilt of his chin, he gestured him closer.

Trembling, the man stepped in. He began spilling out the news in a rush, words tumbling over each other.

But Kaali raised a hand. A single, calm gesture.

The book closed. A silence heavier than gunfire filled the room.

“𝙒𝙝𝙤 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪?” Kaali’s voice was low, rich, dangerous.

“Uh… Kaali? I… I’m one of your men,” the man stuttered.

Kaali’s eyes narrowed. In one fluid motion, he pulled out his revolver. A thunderous crack filled the chamber as the bullet tore into the man’s leg. The scream echoed against the decorated walls.

“𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑶 𝑨𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑴𝑬 𝑩𝒀 𝑴𝒀 𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬? Kaali thundered, descending from the throne in a single leap. His boots struck the marble floor like an executioner’s hammer.

“Even Aamir… even JD…” his finger jabbed upward, “…cannot look me in the eyes! And you—some street rat—think you can call me Kaali?”

The man writhed, clutching his leg, crying out: “But Kaali—!”

“𝙎𝙄𝙍!” Kaali roared, voice like a whipcrack.

The air turned to stone.

“From now on—Sir. Or else…”

The unspoken threat lingered, sharp as the smell of gunpowder.

The man trembled, clutching his bleeding leg.

“Speak,” Kaali ordered, his voice calm yet heavy with menace.

“I–I’m sorry, Sir…” the man gasped, wincing, “I was scared… I forgot my manners—ahhh!” He cried out as the pain seared through him. “But I… I got the news…”

Kaali’s eyes narrowed. His shadow loomed larger as he stepped closer.

“𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐑𝐀𝐌…” the man stuttered. “…he’s on trial today.”

For the first time, Kaali’s expression changed. His head snapped to the side sharply, like a predator catching scent of prey. The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, with a cold steel edge in his tone, Kaali muttered just three words:

“Call Aamir. Call JD.”

Deep beneath Kaali’s mansion lay the gold vault. The air inside shimmered with the glow of stacked bars, piles of treasure rising like a forbidden mountain. On those very bars, sprawled lazily, was a man.

Black vest, short curly hair, tattoo ink running down his right arm, a pipe between his lips—Aamir. He lay there with a half-smirk, eyes lost in the smoke curling above him.

“Mr. Aamir!” a guard called from the doorway, nervous. “Sir is summoning you… and he requests you bring JD with you too.”

Aamir frowned. Kaali never summoned without reason. Pushing himself up, he exhaled a long trail of smoke, brushing gold dust from his vest. Why so sudden?

He walked down into the party room, a den of music and chaos. In the center, shirt half-open, hair brushing his collar, cigarette dangling from his lips, stood JD. His strong frame swayed as he poured whiskey straight from a bottle of Jack Daniels, dancing and laughing with his men.

“JD!” Aamir called out. No response.

“JD!!” he barked louder.

This time JD looked over, a wild grin cutting across his face.

“Kaali Sir summoned us. Come on.”

JD’s grin faded. He tossed the bottle to one of his men and followed Aamir out, silence replacing the party music behind them.

They entered the throne chamber. At the far end, under the decorated window, sat Kaali—his presence towering even in stillness.

But they weren’t alone. A trembling man knelt before the throne, clutching his hands together.

“Sir, please… I didn’t do anything wrong,” the man begged.

Kaali’s gaze was sharp, his words measured.

“I received news. You rebelled against our syndicate. You tried to carve your own path.” He leaned forward, voice like thunder ready to break. “Now you shall perish… before you cause more damage, traitor.”

The man’s fear twisted into a smirk. He raised his chin.

“My men are loyal to me. More than you think, Kaali.”

For a moment, silence. Then Kaali leaned back on his throne—

And burst into a laugh so deep and powerful it echoed across the mansion walls.

The gold, the walls, the very air shook with his laughter.

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