Thunder rolled across the sky like the growl of an angry god.
The storm didn't feel natural. It felt summoned—drawn by the violence unfolding below. Floodlights burned through the darkness, harsh and merciless, illuminating a nightmare carved into the ancient land. Massive iron machines clawed at the earth with mechanical fury, their drills screaming as they tore through soil that hadn't seen the sun in centuries.
Ancient trees fell one by one. Some cracked loudly, splitting in half under the weight of steel. Others collapsed slowly, groaning as they hit the forest floor, as if protesting their own deaths.
Animals fled in a blind, heart-pounding panic. Deer crashed through the undergrowth, and clouds of birds burst from the canopy in frantic shadows. Below them, streams that once ran clear now flowed black and viscous, thick with oil and chemical waste. A strange, unnatural froth bubbled on the surface, glowing with a sickly light.
The forest wasn't just dying. It was screaming.
High above the devastation, standing on a cliff that overlooked the mining site like a king above a graveyard, was Nirmul.
He was immaculately dressed, his long black coat fluttering in the polluted wind. He stood perfectly still, untouched by the mud or the rain, his sharp frame outlined by the frequent flashes of lightning. He watched the destruction below with the detached admiration of an artist looking at a masterpiece.
Nirmul inhaled deeply. He didn't smell the rain or the wet earth. He smelled oil. Smoke. Metal.
"Beautiful… isn't it?" he said softly. The words were almost tender, which made them even more terrifying. "The sound of trees crying..." He tilted his head, listening to the agonizing crash of a massive oak. "...is the sound of money."
Beside him, a business partner—a man whose expensive suit was already ruined by ash—trembled violently. "S-Sir…" he stammered. "The government… they warned you. These forests are protected land."
Nirmul didn't turn. Lightning flashed, reflecting a faint, predatory red glow in his eyes. "Protected?" he repeated, sounding amused. "By whom?"
"By… by nature. By law. By—"
Nirmul laughed. It wasn't a loud or dramatic sound. It was a cold, dry chuckle that stayed in the throat.
"Nature bends," he said calmly. "Law breaks. And anyone who stands in my way…" He stepped closer, forcing the man to back up toward the cliff's edge. "…kneels."
With a snap of his fingers, two massive guards moved like machines. The man's pleas were silenced as he was dragged away into the shadows. Nirmul didn't blink. He simply turned back to the machines. "Continue."
INT. POLICE STATION – THE NEXT DAY
The air in the local police station was thick with laziness and the smell of stale tea.
Officers lounged in their chairs, feet up on desks, ignoring stacks of paperwork. A ceiling fan creaked overhead, barely stirring the humid air. One officer pulled open a drawer, revealing a thick envelope stuffed with cash and stamped with the Nirmul Industries logo.
"Today's donation from Mr. Nirmul," the officer said, patting the money. "Very generous."
"As long as the money flows," another replied, "we don't see a thing."
BANG!
The doors slammed open. Dr. Prakruthi stormed in, her eyes blazing with a fury that seemed to fill the room. Behind her, Rakshit followed, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap.
Prakruthi slammed a folder onto the desk. Photos of poisoned rivers and satellite images of illegal mining spilled across the wood. "Officer! We have proof! Nirmul is destroying protected land!"
The officer picked up the evidence slowly. He looked at the photos, then at Prakruthi. And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he tore the papers in half.
Prakruthi froze. "What… what are you doing?!"
"You don't accuse Mr. Nirmul," the officer said, his voice flat. "Ever."
"So you work for him now?" Rakshit demanded, his fists curling.
The officer laughed. "For him? No. We work under him."
Footsteps echoed from the hallway—heavy, measured, and rhythmic. Every officer in the room stood up instinctively. Nirmul entered, flanked by guards. His presence was like a sudden drop in temperature.
"Doctor Prakruthi… Rakshit," Nirmul said pleasantly. "What a brave couple."
Prakruthi stepped forward, her voice trembling. "You monster. You're destroying everything nature has protected for centuries."
Nirmul tilted his head. "Monster? No." He offered a thin, razor-sharp smile. "I am evolution."
He stepped closer to them, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. "Walk away. Forget the forest. Forget the evidence." He picked up a pen from the desk and snapped it effortlessly between two fingers. "Or this is what will happen to your lives."
"We will never stop," Prakruthi hissed.
Nirmul's smile vanished. "Then your family will pay the price."
BANG!
The doors burst open again. This time, it was Mokshit.
He was drenched from the rain, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes weren't their normal brown—they were pulsing with a faint, emerald light.
"Stay away from my parents."
Nirmul turned slowly. For the first time, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face. He studied the boy, sensing something he couldn't quite name—a vibration in the floorboards, a sudden gust of wind that blew leaves into the sterile station.
"And who," Nirmul asked, his voice dripping with curiosity, "might you be?"
Mokshit stepped forward. The lights overhead flickered. "I'm someone who won't let you harm nature."
Nirmul leaned in, face-to-face with the teenager. He breathed in, searching for that scent of oil and metal, but all he found was the smell of fresh rain and growing things. "I'll remember your face, boy."
As Nirmul brushed past him to leave, the room felt like it was losing its oxygen. Mokshit's veins glowed beneath his skin.
"I'm going to stop him," Mokshit said, his voice steady.
Prakruthi grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with fear. "No, Mokshit… he's too dangerous. You don't know what he's capable of."
Mokshit looked at his hands, where tiny green sparks were dancing between his fingers. "Neither does he."
The wind swirled through the station, and for the first time in his life, Nirmul felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The war had begun.