The road went unnaturally still.
No wind.
No traffic.
Even the distant hum of the city seemed to retreat, as if the world itself had decided not to witness what was about to unfold.
Kapalika, Manjulika, and Anjulika began to move—slowly, deliberately—circling Arnav like predators that knew their prey was powerful but wounded where it mattered most.
Their bare feet scraped the asphalt.
Their reversed heels pressed into the ground, leaving marks that made Ranav's stomach turn.
"You should have let us take you quietly," Kapalika said, her voice smooth, almost indulgent. "You always were difficult—even as a child."
Arnav didn't respond.
His shoulders were rigid, his breathing controlled. Not fear. Restraint.
The braids stirred.
Not violently.
Not yet.
They rose inch by inch, hovering behind the daayans like coiled whips waiting for permission.
Ranav pushed himself up on one elbow, pain screaming through his ribs. "Arnav… don't," he warned hoarsely, though he didn't know what exactly he was asking him not to do.
Arav swallowed hard. "Bhaiya…"
Kapalika lifted two fingers.
That was all.
The braids struck.
They didn't lash wildly. They targeted—one for his throat, one for his chest, one wrapping low, aiming to pin his legs.
Arnav moved.
Not fast.
Precise.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he leapt upward, the braids slicing through the space where he had been a heartbeat earlier. One slammed into the road with a shriek of metal-on-stone, carving a deep groove into the asphalt.
He landed on the hood of the car behind him.
The metal dipped under his weight, a low groan echoing through the silence.
For a moment, he stayed still—head bowed, shoulders rising and falling.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he straightened.
He lifted his head.
And flung his shoulder-length hair back in one sharp motion.
The streetlight caught his face.
His eyes burned—hellish orange, not glowing wildly but smouldering, like embers buried deep beneath ash.
The air around him felt heavier. Pressurized.
His fingers curled.
Bone shifted under skin with a muted, sickening sound as blade-like claws slid from his knuckles—clean, precise, deadly.
Not a monster's frenzy.
A weapon being unsheathed.
Ranav froze, breath lodged in his throat. He had seen Arnav lose control before.
This wasn't that.
This was control.
Arav whispered, barely audible, "He's… choosing it."
Arnav finally spoke.
His voice was low, steady, stripped of warmth.
"You flung my brothers aside," he said, eyes never leaving the witches. "You threatened my family."
Kapalika smiled, delighted. "You belong with us, Daavansh. You always have."
Arnav's jaw tightened.
"I belong nowhere near you," he replied. "And you made one mistake tonight."
The braids recoiled slightly, sensing something they hadn't expected.
"You woke me," Arnav finished. "Without her."
Silence stretched.
Then Kapalika laughed softly. "Good," she said. "Let's see how long you last without Mohana."
The three witches lowered into attack stances, braids lifting again—this time higher, sharper, ready to kill.
Arnav bent his knees slightly on the car hood.
Balanced.
Prepared.
Not possessed.
Not lost.
The Daavansh stood unchained—
not drowning in darkness,
but holding it by the throat.
The street lay unnaturally still.
Kapalika, Manjulika, and Anjulika moved silently, their braids coiling behind them like living whips. Each step scraped against the asphalt, but the sound was subtle—ominous.
Ranav and Arav froze, pressed against the ground, hearts pounding.
"You should have let us take him quietly," Kapalika said, her voice smooth and cold.
Arnav didn't flinch. His shoulders were squared, his breathing steady. Nothing about him suggested fear—only a calm waiting to explode.
The braids rose, curling like vipers, stretching toward him.
Then, suddenly, Arnav vanished.
Ranav's eyes widened. Arnav was gone—and then, impossibly, he reappeared behind Kapalika. The braids snapped past where he had been, slicing through empty air.
Arav whispered a soundless, half-terrified laugh, unable to look away.
Arnav's claws extended silently, metal glinting under the dim streetlight. His movements were measured, precise. Each strike was sharp, clean. One braid snapped. Another hissed and recoiled. The third flailed, and Arnav pivoted mid-air, landing atop the car hood like a predator settling back into its perch.
Ranav and Arav couldn't speak. Their eyes were locked on him, every muscle tense. The air itself seemed to tighten around him, charged, heavy, dangerous.
One by one, the daayans fell. Dust rose where their forms had been.
Arnav stood on the car, hair falling back, orange eyes glowing faintly with controlled fire. His claws retracted, but his posture remained taut, ready.
Ranav swallowed hard, voice trembling as he took a cautious step forward. "Bhaiya… calm down."
Arav mirrored him, eyes wide but steady. "Yeah… it's over. Come back, Bhaiya."
Arnav's chest rose and fell rapidly. Slowly, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. He looked at his brothers, their hands reaching for him, grounding him.
They hugged him, tight, anchoring him to the moment, to human reality.
The orange glow in his eyes dimmed gradually, fading until only their familiar warmth remained. Arnav straightened, calm once more, scanning the quiet street.
"It's okay," he said, his voice steady, carrying a warning they couldn't ignore.
Ranav and Arav followed closely, still shaken but relieved, holding on to him as they stepped away from the danger that had just passed.