VIKRAM returns

JD and Aamir entered the chamber just as one of Kaali’s henchmen stepped forward. In his trembling hands was a phone. He pressed play and held it before the kneeling man.

On the screen, the traitor’s worst nightmare unfolded—his own men, the ones he had boasted were loyal, were burning down his company, looting everything, laughing as they betrayed him.

“No! Nooo!” the man screamed, agony splitting his voice. He clutched his head, his pride shattered.

Kaali threw his head back and laughed, a deep booming laugh that rattled the decorated windows. He rose from his throne, walked to the massive curtains, and flung them open.

Outside, the courtyard turned into a vision of hell—ten men hung upside down, each bound with thick rope, struggling weakly. Tied to them were giant glass containers stuffed with money, glittering under the dim light.

The traitor’s screams mixed with the muffled cries of those outside. Kaali’s laughter rolled louder, echoing through every wall of the mansion.

He turned, his eyes falling on JD.

“JD…” Kaali’s voice dropped, a dangerous calm beneath the storm. “It’s time.”

JD and Aamir looked at each other, shock in their eyes.

“Anna…” JD hesitated. “…which brand?”

Kaali smirked. His face hardened with memory, his eyes burning with something beyond rage.

“The day I fought him,” Kaali said slowly, every word heavy, “I swore I would never drink again… until his return. That night, I took one last sip…” He spread his arms wide, his shadow stretching across the throne room.

His smirk turned into a grin of fire.

“After thirty years… he’s back.”

Kaali roared—

“BRING IN THE 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄  !”

Kaali’s laughter faded into a cold silence. He walked back to his throne, pulled open a drawer beside it, and carefully placed something on the table.

An old 1980’s radio, dusty yet majestic, its knobs gleaming under the light. He turned it on—

🎶 “𝒱𝒶 𝒱𝒶 𝒫𝒶𝓀𝓀𝒶𝓂 𝒱𝒶…” 🎶

The crackling old melody filled the chamber, drowning out the screams of the kneeling man.

JD grinned wide, lifted the thick Powerhouse bottle, and tossed it across the room.

The heavy glass spun through the air—

Kaali’s hand snapped forward. Perfect catch.

He looked at the bottle as though meeting a long-lost love. His eyes softened for a moment, memories flashing like shadows of the past.

With a single tap, he hit the bottom, flicked the lid open, and raised it high.

Then—jugged it down.

The liquor burned, the fire lit inside him once more.

Aamir and JD burst into laughter, raising their own bottles. Soon, the entire room exploded into celebration—men dancing, pouring drinks, the old tune blaring louder. Smoke, gold, and liquor mixed into a feverish haze of power.

At the center of it all, Kaali sat, eyes closed, savoring every drop of the Powerhouse, like a king reclaiming his throne.

And in the corner, the kneeling traitor sat frozen, eyes wide in disbelief, watching the monster he had dared to defy.

Inside a damp, forgotten jail cell, a man sat shackled head to toe. Darkness wrapped around him, broken only by the faint glint of chains. His head hung low, his breathing heavy, like a beast caged too long.

The iron door creaked open. A guard stepped inside, baton tapping against the bars.

“Come on,” he muttered. “It’s your trial time.”

The prisoner opened one eye—cold, sharp, alive. He grunted, chains rattling as he stood.

This man… was Vikram Nayagan.

The last heir of the Nayagan Pariwar.

The man who once fought the monster.

---

The courtroom buzzed with whispers as Vikram walked in, heavy chains dragging behind him. He stood tall, calm, his face unreadable.

The judge cleared his throat, voice shaking the hall.

“Vikram Nayagan… thirty years ago, you were imprisoned for your crimes—not for what you did, but for what you failed to do. You let the monster run free. We spared your life then. But today… we cannot allow a single drop of your family’s DNA to roam this world. You shall die as the last of the Pariwar.”

The hall went silent.

Vikram raised his head.

A grin curled at the edge of his lips—calm, cunning, dangerous.

---

[Kaali’s Mansion]

A henchman came running, breathless.

“Sir! Sir! He’s there!”

Kaali’s laughter, echoing from the radio and the party, slowly faded. His eyes narrowed.

“Blow it up.”

---

[Courtroom]

BOOOOOOM!

The hall erupted into flames. Pillars cracked, glass shattered, men and women screamed as fire swallowed the chamber. No one knew who lit it, or how—it was as if hell itself had opened inside the courtroom.

---

[Kaali’s Mansion]

“It’s done, sir,” the henchman reported.

Kaali stretched out his hand. “Give me the phone.”

The device was pressed against his ear. All he could hear was chaos—screams, the roar of fire, people crying for help. He waited. He wanted one voice. Just one.

But instead—

The sound changed. Fists, bones cracking, men groaning in pain.

Kaali’s lips curled. His grip on the Powerhouse bottle loosened. For a second, it almost slipped from his hand.

Then the phone was snatched. A deep, familiar voice spoke, calm and deadly.

“𝘼𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙠𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙡𝙖.”

The word struck like thunder.

Kaali froze—then burst into roaring laughter, the sound shaking the entire mansion.

Because he knew…

𝚅𝙸𝙺𝚁𝙰𝙼 had returned.

Kaali’s laughter shook the walls of the mansion. In one smooth motion, he reached behind his throne and pulled out two Ingram MAC-10s, the classic Uzi-style beasts that spat fire like dragons.

The ten men hanging upside down twisted, their eyes widening in horror. From where they dangled, they looked down into the courtyard. A huge crowd of Kaali’s men had gathered there, waiting, watching, hungry for his next move.

Kaali turned to the kneeling traitor, who was now drenched in sweat, broken beyond words.

“Kanna…” Kaali’s voice rolled heavy, almost like a sermon. “This whole world runs on one thing—wealth. Everyone is loyal… everyone is faithful… until they’re shown gold and paper with a man’s photo on it.”

He crouched low, eye to eye with the man. His smile widened, cruel and certain.

“Look at you. Look at your empire. Crumbling to dust. By the very people you called loyal.”

The man shook his head, muttering in disbelief. Kaali leaned closer, whispering like poison.

“They weren’t loyal. They were just slaves… slaves who would slit their own brother’s throat for one more bundle of notes.”

The entire hall erupted in laughter—Aamir, JD, the henchmen. The traitor’s screams were drowned in the echo.

And then—

RATATATATATA!

Kaali raised both MAC-10s and unleashed hell. Bullets tore through the air, shredding the hanging men like paper dolls. The glass containers burst open, showering the courtyard in a golden storm of money.

The crowd below went wild. Like starving beasts, they clawed and trampled each other, diving for the notes that rained from the sky.

The kneeling man lifted his head, tears burning his eyes.

And there he saw it.

Not a man. A monster.

Kaali stood at the open window, guns smoking in both hands, his silhouette cut against the glow of falling money. Ruin and chaos danced around him, but he stood tall, untouchable, smiling—

the king of fire and gold.

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