Predator of the Black Alley
--- 10 May 2021 — 9:30 PM
Old City, West Ujjain — Black Alley Market
The alley was a crooked ribcage at night — cracked stone, damp brick, ancient sewer lines snaking under centuries of filth.
Half-shuttered market stalls still flickered with broken bulbs — neon buzz cutting through the dark like a dying insect's hum.
Aadiv stood under an old torn tarpaulin, hoodie pulled low, eyes dull as dying coals — until you looked too close and saw that ring of gold pulsing behind his stare.
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He'd tracked them for three nights: a band of petty thugs — muscle for something bigger.
They snatched runaways, trafficked women and kids, traded relic shards like sweets.
One of them bragged about "selling a girl's eyes" to a street charmer — the flame behind Aadiv's ribs flared so hot he nearly burned through his own tongue trying to hold it in.
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> Aadiv (whispers to himself, under the neon hiss):
"Rot. Walking rot. Let's see if the chain holds."
The Inner Voice was quiet tonight — like a father waiting to see if his son would bite or break.
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The biggest of the three — thick shoulders, neck tattoo of a serpent biting its own tail — ducked behind a stack of crates to piss in the alley's mouth.
Aadiv moved before the man zipped up — a ghost's shadow, barefoot on wet concrete.
His palm pressed against the thug's spine — a tiny ember sparkled through dirty cloth.
The man gasped. Too late.
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> Thug (a strangled hiss):
"W-what the—?"
Aadiv whispered in his ear — voice calm, distant.
> Aadiv:
"You know what it's like to sell a soul? Now you'll feel it devour yours."
He forced the ember forward — golden veins threading up the man's ribs. The thug's eyes rolled back, breath hitching as a chain of illusions flickered: every girl he'd sold, every child who screamed in a box, every mother who begged him to stop.
The thug dropped — a puppet cut free.
Ash and spit pooled under his boots.
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The other two stumbled around the corner — cigarettes glowing like fireflies in their dirty fingers.
They froze when they saw the corpse — slack jaw, eyes wide open, flecks of gold still glowing at the corner of his mouth.
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> Thug 2 (voice shaking):
"Oi— who's there? Show yourself, dog!"
Aadiv stepped into the flickering neon — hoodie dripping rainwater, sleeves rolled up to his burned forearms.
His palm smoked faintly — the rune-chain above his ribs humming like a hot knife behind bone.
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> Aadiv (calm, bored, almost kind):
"No more illusions. No more locked doors.
Tonight — the flame eats you alive."
They lunged.
Steel glinted in the sick light — a switchblade, cheap, filthy with someone else's dried blood.
Aadiv sidestepped — the blade grazed his shoulder. He grabbed the wrist, twisted — the snap of bone was a soft pop drowned under the neon buzz.
He pressed his burned palm against the man's chest — a hiss of steam.
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> Aadiv (a whisper only the flame hears):
"Devour. Dream. Purify."
The thug's eyes bulged. His lips cracked in silent screams — illusions wrapped him, forced him to choke on every face he'd beaten, every secret he'd sold.
His shadow turned to ash before his knees did.
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The third man — scrawny, bones like broomsticks rattling under ragged skin — bolted down the alley's ribs.
Aadiv stood still, one palm lifted — the ember flickered. The Voice finally hummed through the roar in his skull.
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> Inner Voice (soft thunder, approving):
"A chain that feeds grows sharp.
A chain that starves grows teeth."
Aadiv's eyes flashed gold — just once.
A flicker — a slash of flame cut the rat's shadow in half fifty feet away.
The man fell forward, chest smoking — eyes open, illusions gone.
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Rain started to fall — thin, icy threads washing blood into the sewer lines.
Aadiv turned his palms over. The rune-chain burned faint on his ribs — gold lines snaking to his fingertips, where ash clung like black snow.
He looked at the bodies — then at his reflection in a cracked neon sign's glass.
> Aadiv (to the reflection, voice steady, not proud — just true):
"I am the predator now."
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In the shrine miles away, the Eclipse Chamber pulsed once — sensing the Ash-Born feeding it a new kind of rot.
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