A Cry with No Tears
Flames crept across the ruined living room, licking at splintered wood and overturned scraps of what once stood there. The air wavered, thick with smoke, as the fire wove through the scattered debris without mercy. Light crackled through the haze, turning the wrecked room into a shifting chamber of ash and glow. As the flames fed on the broken remnants around them, they slowly reached the woman lying on the floor, wrapping her still form in their rising heat. The spreading fire climbed toward the ceiling, its glow lingering over what had once been a warrior, a lover, and a mother. Across the room, the boy’s body lay untouched for now, the approaching flames still only flickering at a cautious distance on the drapes.
“Give him a dose of Noxira to erase his memory, along with a shot of Ravex‑9, and hand him over to the police through one of our hotels. Leave some samples of Ravex‑9 in a room—make sure they’re under his name. Got it?” Rudhransh said as he handed the unconscious body of Karan to a tall, well‑built man dressed in a tight black combat bodysuit and a hooded mask.
“Sure, sire,” the man replied, taking Karan from his arms before carrying him toward a black SUV. Rudransh raised his hand and traced a slow circular motion in the air, signaling the rest of the operatives to withdraw, then turned once more toward the house where smoke still curled out of the doorway. He climbed into the SUV, and it rolled away as shadows from different corners of the area began to disperse.
But one figure did not move.
The woman in the windbreaker knelt on one knee beside the still body hidden in the shadows, her eyes closed. She counted silently—five, four, three, two, one—then opened them. She lifted the body effortlessly and walked toward the house.
About seven hundred meters ahead, she spotted a lone pedestrian approaching. Quickening her pace, she slipped into the burning house, disappearing into the thick haze of smoke and fire.
Rudraaj, sitting on his buttery-soft Italian leather couch, its golden teak frame gleaming under the chandelier and cushions embroidered with gold thread, heard his personal phone buzz. He took out the phone from his pocket and read the message which was from Adhrivan.
The next phase has been moved up. The New York schedule will be on October 31st, and the Bangalore schedule will follow eight days later.
Rudraaj looked up at the chandelier and pondered for a moment and responded.
Roger.
He kept the phone back into his pocket and laid back on the couch closing his eyes.
A bright beam of light spilled into a large room, dimly lit in blue, inside a remote-town facility in Nevada, USA, as the heavy iron door slid open with a hiss of hydraulics. The shadow of a large man in a zoot suit stretched across the floor. The towering 6’2″ man stepped inside, his face pale and sunken, eyes hollow and unblinking—expressionless yet disturbingly wrong. Shadows clung to his features, and his silent presence radiated a cold, predatory menace.
He looked toward the centre of the room, where a cylindrical column of white light fell from the ceiling onto a 6’4″ muscular man suspended a few feet above the ground. A straight titanium rod ran from the ceiling into a wrist-band of the same metal, binding the man’s arms outward on both sides. Three long spears, their rounded ends bolted to the floor, pierced upward through his leg, stomach, and right chest, emerging from his back. The spears were coated in dried blood, yet no fresh blood pooled around the wounds. A long, straight steel knight-sword ran cleanly through his heart and out his back. His body was covered, front and back, in tally marks drawn in blood. He wore nothing but a brief-sized white cloth around his waist, stained heavily.
The man in the zoot suit wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Elena, bring down the temperature to forty degrees Celsius,” he said.
“Reducing the temperature to forty degrees Celsius, Mr. Adhrivan,” the electronic female voice responded.
He stared at the suspended man as the temperature in the room slowly dropped and then stabilized.
“The current temperature in the basement is forty degrees Celsius,” the voice continued.
Adhrivan approached slowly. He took out a sharp black stone shaped like a spearhead and drew a small line on the muscular man’s thigh, adding another tally.
“Open your eyes, Rudhra,” he said.
There was no response.
Adhrivan gripped the sword lodged in Rudhra’s chest and twisted. Still nothing.
“Ah, I forgot you stopped feeling pain long ago huh. But I know you can hear me, bastard,” he muttered, twisting again as blood dripped to the floor.
He paused, then spoke evenly.
“Then keep your eyes closed and listen. We found my sister—no, your lover—and your son.”
Rudhra’s eyelids inched open, his gaze falling weakly toward the floor.
“I knew you’d react to that,” Adhrivan said with a smirk. “Rudransh found them in Bangalore, India. Do you want to know what happened to them?”
Rudhra raised his eyes toward him.
“Rudransh strangled them and killed them,” Adhrivan said flatly.
Rudhra did not react.
“You don’t believe me?”
Adhrivan pulled out his phone and played an Indian news clip showing a house fire that claimed the lives of Yodhika and Aarav.
Rudhra’s expression shifted. Slowly, grief seeped into his features—his cheeks tightening, his eyes squinting upward into a teary expression, though no tears formed. He gasped softly, breath catching as if something inside him broke.
“They burned the house to remove evidence,” Adhrivan added, still emotionless.
Rudhra’s breath fractured into a sharp, uneven gasp. His chest rose irregularly as he struggled to contain himself. Though his tear ducts were empty, his face contorted under the unbearable weight he could no longer release, his eyes glossy and strained. His whole body trembled as he fought for air, each shudder louder in the still room.
“So you can make that face,” Adhrivan said with a small smirk. “Anyway… that was the first thing I came to say.”
He slid the phone back into his pocket.
“The second thing is that the years of study on your body have ended. The verdict is final—it cannot be recreated.” He paused. “With your death, the tale of the immortals of Avantiveera will come to an end.” Another beat. “Well… immortal for now.”
But Rudhra wasn’t listening. He bit down hard on his lower lip and writhed violently against the spears, trying to force his body free.
“No use struggling,” Adhrivan said. “You have no one left to go to. And the only future waiting for you is a death.”
He pressed the black spearhead-shaped weapon against Rudhra’s chest.
“But don’t worry. We’ve written a story for you. Even though the study was a failure, we learned plenty about what affects your mind. You will live out the story we designed—and when the time is right, the place and moment of your death will be decided by us.”
He turned and began walking toward the door.
“Elena, raise the temperature back to fifty-five degrees Celsius,” he ordered as the iron door groaned open again.
“Increasing the temperature to fifty-five degrees Celsius,” Elena replied. Rudhra’s feeble yet raw cry echoed through the room as Adhrivan stepped out and the door sealed shut behind him.
(To be continued)
Karun G Nath 
Leave a comment