Chapter 8: Fractured Light

Generally, the notion of Manisha overpowering this hooded figure would have been absurd—a fleeting delusion shredded by the cold, unyielding reality of his menace, his presence a suffocating shadow that drowned hope in its wake. He wasn't some clumsy brute; he moved with the lethal elegance of a blade drawn across silk, every step a calculated promise of ruin, every twitch of his frame radiating a predator's certainty. Yet here she was, alive, her knee grinding into his spine, pinning him face-down to the cracked tiles, blood seeping from the jagged slash on her side, sweat dripping from her brow to mingle with the crimson streaks on her shirt as she twisted his arm until his bones groaned and threatened to snap. It was a defiance of all reason, a miracle woven from grit and desperation—but it wasn't some cosmic favor keeping her upright. It was his misstep, his arrogant dismissal of these school teens as frail, insignificant prey not worth a flicker of caution. Why wouldn't he underestimate them? The stitched "A" on his collar marked him as Axiom, a name tied to a secret organization so vast and powerful its mere whisper warped the air—its agents were specters who reshaped reality with blood and silence. To him, they were dust motes in a storm, irrelevant—until Manisha's relentless fury pierced the armor of his contempt, her raw, unpolished strength turning his overconfidence into a noose he hadn't felt tightening around his neck. 

"Done yet?" she snarled, her voice a guttural roar torn from exhaustion and rage, wrenching his arm harder—his muffled howl scraped the tile, his creepy smile twisting into a rictus of pain as his shoulder popped under the strain. Neha hovered nearby, clutching a dented metal tray, her breath shallow and panicked as she darted in—her foot kicked his shin, a feeble jab that barely dented his thrashing but gave Manisha a split-second's leverage. His knife lay just out of reach, glinting coldly on the floor, its hilt taunting him as his pinned hand clawed the air, fingers trembling inches from salvation. 

"What's it for—the rock?" Aadi rasped, stepping closer, fists trembling, scars burning—chest red and slashed, arm jagged, ribs welted—that ember of defiance flickering against the crushing weight of despair. The hum roared in his ears, a chaotic tempest tied to Ria's bag, pulsing green and wild like a heartbeat gone mad. He didn't know the force behind this figure—just a shadow, powerful, crushing, tied to his torment—but he needed answers, something to claw back from the void. 

The figure laughed, a guttural rasp muffled by Manisha's hold, his smile stretching despite the agony. "The rock? What're you babbling about?" His tone was dismissive, vague, brushing off the question like it was the rant of a lunatic, his eyes glinting with mockery—his true purpose shrouded: to observe, to reclaim the rock, no deeper intent slipping through his taunts. He bucked hard, free hand clawing at her leg with desperate strength—she grunted, slamming her knee deeper into his spine, pinning him tighter, her muscles quivering with the effort. "Nice try!" she spat, twisting his arm further—his elbow creaked, his grimace deepening, fingers stretching in vain as the blade mocked him from the floor. 

Ria wailed, rocking against the wall, her bag flaring with that eerie glow—its power driving her deeper into a spiraling madness. "Mine—mine—they can't—it sings!" Her voice fractured, unhinged, nails raking her scalp until blood streaked her face, the light casting jagged, twitching shadows as her sanity dissolved with each frantic pulse, her eyes wild and unseeing, lost to the rock's relentless song. 

"Neha—again!" Manisha barked, her grip faltering as he thrashed like a trapped beast—Neha lunged, tray swinging with a panicked arc, slamming his clawing hand—the knife skittered further across the tile, his hiss sharp and venomous as he recoiled, arm jerking back in pain. "Feisty ones… I like that," he taunted, smile snapping back into place—his intent veiled behind that grin, no whisper of his deeper game beyond the rock's pull. 

"You killed me…" Aadi croaked, voice trembling with that fragile spark, stepping closer—desperation fueling him as the figure's taunts, Ria's insanity, and the rock's glow collided in his mind like a storm breaking stone. "Why's she got it? Why me?" 

The figure chuckled, pinned but unbroken, his voice a low, oily taunt. "Killed you? I don't know what you're saying—this is the first time I've seen you. Keep asking, see where it gets you." He twisted, sudden and savage, rolling Manisha off with a surge of raw power—she hit the tile hard, grunting, blood smearing as she scrambled to her knees—Neha yelped, tray clattering to the floor as he sprang up, lunging bare-handed for Ria's bag with a snarl of intent. 

"No!" Ria shrieked, swinging the bag wildly—the glow blazed, a pulse of green light bursting outward like a shockwave, slamming him back into the lockers—metal buckled and groaned, his hood slipping to flash the "A" stitch before snapping back into shadow. He staggered, smile twitching, blood trickling from his nose, but charged again—Manisha roared, tackling him mid-stride, driving him down to the tiles—her fists pounded relentlessly, cracking his nose further, splitting his lip, blood spraying across her knuckles as she straddled him, pummeling his face into a crimson mask. "Stay—down!" 

He laughed through the blood, a wet, gurgling sound—his elbow smashed her jaw with a brutal crack, snapping her head aside—she reeled, dazed, clutching her face as he shoved her off with a vicious kick to her ribs—she gasped, rolling away, clutching her side as air wheezed from her lungs. Neha swung the tray, clipping his shoulder—he snarled, wrenching it from her trembling hands and hurling it aside with a clang, grabbing her throat and lifting her off the ground—her feet dangled, her choked gasps echoing as she clawed at his wrists, eyes bulging in terror. "Enough games," he growled, squeezing tighter—Manisha staggered up, blood dripping from her mouth, charging with a feral yell—her fist slammed his cheek, splitting skin, but he barely flinched, his grip on Neha unyielding. 

Shadows stretched—two more hooded figures emerged from the corridor's end, silent and lethal, their "A"s glinting under the flickering lights—one wielding a knife, its edge sharp and bloodstained from that deadly night, the other gripping a scarred wooden baton, its weight swinging with grim purpose, weapons etched into Aadi's nightmares. "Can't even handle a bunch of teens?" the knife-wielder sneered, his voice a cold, cutting jab as he stepped forward, blade twirling in his hand like a promise. 

"You've had your fun," the baton-wielder added, his tone thick with mockery, baton tapping his palm as he closed in—three hunters now, a pack honed for slaughter. 

Aadi's breath hitched, scars screaming—he grabbed the fallen tray, swinging it at the first figure—metal clanged off his shoulder, a glancing blow—he laughed, "Keep swinging, kid—fun to watch!"—but the fight spiraled into chaos as the trio struck with merciless precision. The knife-wielder lunged at Manisha—she ducked, driving her knee into his gut with a guttural grunt—he staggered, gasping, but slashed back with terrifying speed, the blade slicing deep across her throat—blood sprayed in a violent arc, her eyes widening in shock as she clutched the wound, choking on crimson, her strength draining in an instant—she crumpled, hitting the tile with a wet thud, her fierce growl silenced forever, blood pooling beneath her like a dark mirror. 

Neha screamed, a shrill, broken sound—the first figure dropped her, spinning with a predator's grace—his boot slammed down, snapping her neck with a sickening crunch—her body jerked once, glasses skittering across the floor, shattering as her head lolled at an impossible angle, her terrified gasp cut to nothing, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The baton-wielder turned on Ria—she shrieked, "No—no—it's mine!"—swinging her bag in a frantic arc—he swung the baton with brutal force, cracking her ribcage—bones snapped audibly, blood bubbling from her lips as she staggered, gasping—then the knife-wielder stepped in, plunging his blade into her chest with a swift, surgical thrust—blood gushed, the glow flaring wild as she convulsed, her hands clawing at the air before she collapsed, the bag slipping from her grasp, her unhinged wails snuffed out in a heartbeat, leaving only the echo of her madness. 

Aadi froze, tray slipping from his numb fingers—blood painted the tiles, bodies sprawled in grotesque stillness, the hum a deafening wail drowning his senses—Manisha's throat torn open, Neha's neck twisted, Ria's chest pierced—his friends, gone in a blink, the three figures turning toward him, smiles glinting beneath hoods like death's own promise. "Run!" he choked, voice breaking as his legs surged forward—bolting down the hall, their laughter a chilling chorus behind him—blades and baton raised, footsteps pounding in pursuit, the air thick with the copper tang of slaughter. 

The bag cracked, a sharp, final snap—the glow flared blindingly, then dimmed, seams splitting—green light leaked like molten glass, the rock tumbling free, fractured into jagged shards, mist curling from its core like a ghostly breath as Aadi fled into the shadows, tears streaming, the hum a mournful dirge chasing his every step.