"How far is that dock anyway?" Power asked Vikram.
Vikram was flying through the air, leaping from building to building.
"A little more. We're heading toward the Wadala dock. It's about 20 kilometers from Amrut Nagar," he replied.
Power's voice echoed in his mind. "Why there specifically?"
Vikram answered in a neutral tone, like it was just casual information. "That area is famous for a few incidents."
He paused for a second, landed on a nearby building, and then launched into another big jump.
"A major shootout involving Manya Survey happened in Wadala. Someone even conducted a salt raid there. And recently, some kids were found dead in a water tank nearby."
Power asked, "Ohh... so maybe there's a specific gang involved?"
Vikram responded with an awkward tone, partially agreeing. "That area has two gangs. Both are unhinged. One controls the fish market, and the other has influence over the containers coming in and out of the docks. Their names are Fisherman Anna's Gang and the Rokda Gang."
Power replied, "I bet there's some kind of history between those two."
Vikram landed again, turned his head to the left, ran across the building, and leapt to another rooftop.
"Yeah, I've heard that Fisherman Anna has been trying to gain full control over the docks. But the Rokda Gang is much bigger and more weaponized. I think we should take out Rokda first and send a message to the Fisherman Gang."
Power nodded in agreement. "Hmm hmm, that's a golden thought from your brilliant brain. I'm with you—let's break their bones together."
Vikram giggled. "Alright, alright, my goddess."
"Start the car, quick!" Samradh said urgently to Ansh.
Despite it being the middle of the night, the entire police force was gearing up rapidly. They were equipping shields, batons, guns, extra bullets, and wearing bulletproof jackets. The police station was packed with movement and tension—like they were preparing for a war.
By around 3:30 a.m., multiple police vehicles were heading toward the Wadala port.
"There was no intel at all... how did this happen?" Ansh said, surprised, glancing quickly at Samradh while driving.
Meanwhile, Samradh was on the radio, calling in backup from the nearby police stations.
"SSP Samradh speaking. We have confirmation that the NE gang has teamed up with the Rokda gang. They're planning to wipe out Fisherman Anna's gang. Be ready. If necessary, you're authorized to shoot."
Ansh's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "How did this gang war suddenly erupt?"
Samradh responded calmly, his eyes fixed on the flickering lights ahead .
"There's been tension between them for months. Fisherman Anna tried to assassinate a Rokda leader with a few of his own men. But his own people betrayed him."
He paused and added, "When his son found out, he rallied all the gang members and launched a full-scale assault on the Rokda gang."
Ansh nodded and said, "Honestly, I think we should just let them wipe each other out before we get there."
Samradh glanced at him coldly, his voice firm and icy. "As long as I'm the SSP, they won't even be allowed to kill themselves."
Ansh looked straight ahead and silently continued driving.
They are heading toward the dock, but before them stands the fourth pillar of democracy — the media.
The aftermath of the battle that took place at the dock is now being shown on the news, and even they are shocked by what they see. The sound of reporters echoing across the area has even woken up the local residents — some have gathered on the road, some are watching from their buildings, and a few are whispering from their rooftops.
"It looks like a disaster — even the crane was split clean, like someone ran a blade through butter."
"Did you see those limbs? How did they end up on top of that container? There are more down on the road…"
Upon witnessing the scene, a female reporter vomits.
Her stomach twisted violently. A wet, choking gag escaped her lips — then came the heave, loud and messy.
"Bleegh—!" She clutched her knees, gasping as the sour taste hit her tongue.
Arms and legs were scattered here and there — some on containers, some on the ground. All the dock's cranes were cut down, crushing people beneath them like ants. The entire dock was smeared with blood. Even the containers and roads were slashed — slashed in such a way that it seemed like someone had dragged a blade vertically and horizontally across a sheet of paper. The cuts on the road were so deep that if someone's phone fell, the sound of it hitting the bottom would be heard only after 3 minutes.
The screams of the wounded — the cries of pain — were drowned out by the crowd of media and surrounding people. Still, if you focused and listened carefully, you could hear a faint sound. The smell of various things and machines kept in the containers, mixed with blood — and now, even mixed with human digestive acids — has become unbearable.
Ansh stood at the scene, pressing a handkerchief to his nose.
Next to him, Samradh scanned the area, his expression twisted.
"Shit… the stench is so bad, I can smell it even through this cloth," he muttered.
Samradh turned sharply. "Stop whining. Seal off the area. Check everything thoroughly. See if anyone's alive. You—block off the perimeter. The rest of you, get to work!"
As soon as the command was given, the entire force spread out across the dock.
Some formed a human chain to keep people away, others moved into the blood-soaked scene, carefully navigating through the aftermath.
Their footsteps echoed across the emptiness, the sound bouncing off containers and cranes — the only sound left in the silence, aside from the flies buzzing over the corpses.
No one was alive.
Just the stench.
Just the blood.
And then — a sound, faint but different.
A dull, heavy thud.
Thum.
It came from a distant rooftop. Different from their own footsteps. Something... or someone else was here.
Vikram had arrived at the dock.
"This crowd… and the others dared to act before our arrival? Unforgivable," Power said.
"But still… what's done is done," Vikram muttered.
He jumped up and landed on a nearby building. Looking around, he noticed that almost everyone was still awake. His eyes scanned the area — the police squad was scattered all over the dock, moving from one side to another. Some barely alive gang members were being dragged and thrown into vehicles.
"I don't think even a single one of them will survive," Vikram said with a pity in his tone.
"Looking at this level of destruction, I feel like someone must've unlocked a Mudra. Just like you," Power said.
"Ah, I also wanted to ask you about yourself and these Mudras… You said you'd explain later," Vikram said.
Power sighed. "But looking at the situation, listen now. There are four types of Mudras:
King Mudra – gold color
Final level: Great Chariot-Warrior
Queen Mudra – silver
Final level: Exceptional Chariot-Warrior
Soldier Mudra – bronze
Final level: Chariot-Warrior
Civilian Mudra – iron
Final level: Warrior."
"Wait… mine was King Mudra, right? So does every Mudra user get an assistant like you?" Vikram asked.
Power's expression changed immediately, anger flashing across her face.
"Watch your tongue! A lowlife like you getting my company is already a big deal. And no, each Mudra user has a different type of ability," she snapped.
Vikram fell silent, thinking. He touched his chin and asked, "So… are you my ability? Or from how you speak, are you an entirely separate being?"
Power seemed caught off guard and quickly replied, "What, did you think a heavenly angel came just for you? I am your ability — in human form. Now focus! Look there, in that alley — some people are trying to escape."
"Where?" Vikram asked.
As soon as he said that, he looked down and noticed three figures running through a small alley on his left. He jumped into the air and chased them. They turned into a left alley, two lanes ahead.
"Hurry! Ahhh, he's a demon!"
"How can this be happening?! God, forgive me — save me!"
"Don't cry! The police might see us! We have to run — if he catches us, we're done for!"
The three of them were panicking, talking to each other as they ran. Suddenly, Vikram landed a flying knee on the one in the middle. The man was launched several meters away, rolling along the ground. Vikram landed on one hand, rolled forward, and stood up right in front of the remaining two.
Ansh moved from one container to another, checking if anyone was still alive. His footsteps were slow and deliberate.
Tap... tap... tap...
He approached a container from which a mix of water and blood was leaking out. As he reached it, he touched the edge of a slit that looked like it was made by a blade.
Gulp.
His heartbeat accelerated. As he peered inside, the ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble.
Inside the container were several girls — most likely ones who were going to be trafficked elsewhere tonight. But now, with a single cut, all of them were dead.
Meanwhile, Samradh was scanning the other side of the dock like an eagle, observing everything.
"Ahh… uhm… hhhh…"
A faint moan of pain caught his attention. He looked over to find a man lying on the ground, his body torn apart but still barely alive. Samradh rushed over and radioed in:
"Medical team, hurry up! East side of the dock. Oi, oi! Look here — he's not going to last. Tell me… who did this?"
Samradh knelt beside the man, gently trying to keep him conscious.
Elsewhere, Vikram had knocked one man unconscious and restrained another. He sat him down.
"Speak. Who did this?" Vikram demanded.
The man beside Samradh groaned in pain and whispered, "It… it wasn't a gang…"
And the man with Vikram — who had just been neutralized — added, "It was one man… A fisherman anna …"
Before he could say anything more, the one near Samradh took his last breath and died.
Vikram looked at him and said, "Explain…"