Devil's Invitation

The envelope sat on Aksh's desk, an unassuming thing.

Black. No insignia. No sender. Just an address and a command.

Meet me. Alone.

It wasn't a request—it was a summons. A challenge wrapped in shadow.

Aksh turned it over in his hands, expression unreadable. The weight of it wasn't physical, yet it pressed against his chest like a buried memory scratching at the surface.

Across from him, Mr. Jung watched in silence. The older man had been with him for years, had seen him walk into countless traps and emerge unscathed. Yet this time, something in his stare felt different.

"This could be a mistake," Jung said finally.

Aksh smirked. "Then let's see who's bold enough to make one."

---

The location was a masterpiece of power.

A grand estate, hidden behind iron gates and history soaked in silence.

Every step Aksh took inside, he felt it—the weight of something unseen, something watching.

It wasn't just the security.

It was the very walls.

Like they had witnessed things no one should have survived.

His presence was noted, acknowledged, but not stopped. The halls stretched wide, bathed in low golden light, and the silence around him felt almost... curated.

This wasn't just an invitation. It was a stage. A performance waiting for its final act.

Then—the sharp, deliberate click of heels on marble.

Someone was coming.

A man emerged from the darkness, stepping into the dim glow of the chandeliers.

He was tall, composed, draped in an expensive suit that had never known a wrinkle. His presence wasn't loud, but it commanded—like a silent storm waiting to break.

Like he had been here all along, waiting for Aksh to catch up.

Their eyes met.

Aksh didn't move. But inside, something twisted.

It was in the way the man stood. The way his lips curled—not in amusement, but in recognition.

Not an enemy. Not a stranger.

Something worse.

"Aksh," the man greeted smoothly, his voice a blade sliding through the quiet. "You came."

Aksh's fingers curled slightly at his sides. "You sent the attacks."

A slow smirk. "Of course I did."

The air between them crackled.

There was no denial. No hesitation. No pretense of innocence.

The man took a slow step forward, his shoes echoing like a countdown.

"Tell me, Aksh," he murmured, "why do you think you have the same nightmares as her?"

Something inside Aksh stilled.

The world around him blurred.

His pulse didn't quicken—but the air thickened, pressing against his ribs like a vice.

No one knew about that.

Not his men. Not Mr. Jung.

No one.

And yet, this man stood here, speaking the words like a prayer already written.

Aksh's jaw locked. His voice, when it came, was low, controlled. "How do you—"

"How can you forget so easily?" the man interrupted, tilting his head slightly. His gaze was unreadable, yet piercing. "Or is it that you don't want to remember?"

A thread of something dark. Something unspoken.

Aksh never forgot.

He never ran.

But this—this was different. This was a shadow slipping through the cracks of his mind, a whisper he had spent a lifetime silencing.

And this man... he had been there.

A slow chuckle escaped the stranger, soft and edged with something old. "You're not as lost as you think, Aksh."

Another step. Another breath stolen.

"You're just running from the truth."

Aksh held his ground, his stare unwavering—but inside, a storm raged.

A part of him wanted to remember.

A part of him feared what he would find.

The man's smirk deepened, as if he could see straight through him.

"Tell me, Aksh..."

The air pulsed.

"Are you ready to remember?"

The silence stretched between them like a loaded gun.

Aksh's mind was a machine, gears turning, processing—calculating. But something about this moment felt different. Unfamiliar.

He had walked into traps before, had faced men who thought themselves powerful, untouchable.

This wasn't that.

This wasn't arrogance or desperation.

This was certainty.

The man standing before him—the one who had orchestrated the attacks, who had drawn him here like a puppet on invisible strings—was certain of something Aksh wasn't.

And that alone was dangerous.

The stranger adjusted the cuff of his pristine suit, exuding nothing but control. "I expected you to hesitate more before walking into my den."

Aksh tilted his head slightly, smirking despite the tension coiling in his chest. "And I expected you to hide longer before showing your face."

The man chuckled. A soft, knowing sound. "Hiding? No, Aksh. I've been waiting."

Waiting.

The word sent a ripple through Aksh's spine.

Before he could speak, the man took another step forward, his voice dipping lower.

"You think you've been hunting, don't you?" His gaze flickered, sharp and unrelenting. "That every lead, every attack, every move has been your game."

Aksh's fingers twitched at his side. He said nothing.

"But tell me something, Ghost of the Underworld—"

The name slithered from the man's lips like a taunt.

"—why does it feel like you're exactly where I want you to be?"

Something cold settled in Aksh's stomach.

Because he wasn't wrong.

This wasn't just an attack. This wasn't just revenge or a power play.

This was something deeper. Something personal.

The man smirked, watching the shift in his eyes like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

"You walked right into my world, Aksh," he said, voice laced with something dark. "And now, you're playing by my rules."

Aksh's jaw tightened. His instincts screamed, warning him of something unseen, something lurking just beneath the surface of this moment.

Something he hadn't anticipated.

He wasn't outnumbered. He wasn't outgunned.

Then why did it feel like he had already lost something?

The man leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell me, Aksh—"

The air crackled.

"—do you still think you're the one in control?"