Aanchal finally stepped forward, chains dragging lightly across the floor. "If we walk away, we let them own this war. If we take it, maybe just maybe we tip the balance. I've seen what they do to people in these walls. Experiments. Tests. They'll tear this world apart piece by piece if they can weaponize it fully. We can't let that happen."
Rathod's jaw clenched, her baton sparking faintly as if echoing her frustration. "Carrying that thing is like strapping a grenade to your chest. You all want to be martyrs? Fine. But don't pretend this is strategy it's suicide."
Naina's reply was calm, almost surgical. "No, it's foresight. Leaving this here is the real suicide. Today it's one shard-gun. Tomorrow it's an arsenal."
Aman looked between them, torn. His eyes landed on Dikshant, who gripped the pipe like it was the only anchor he had. "And you? You think we can just walk out with this thing and it won't kill us on the way?"
Dikshant nodded firmly, though his hands trembled. "I think Bhumika built her machine for a reason. I think she was meant to work with this, not SynerTech. And I think we can keep it safe until she does."
The silence stretched. Alarms still blared beyond the door. Boots echoed faintly, getting closer again.
Finally, Aman exhaled through his teeth. He set down his lathi, removed his jacket, and stepped toward the crate. "If this thing goes off, I'll haunt you all," he muttered. He carefully lifted the shard using the heavy fabric, wrapping it tight so none of them touched the surface directly. Even through the cloth, the crystal pulsed, its glow bleeding faintly through the layers.
Rathod swore under her breath. "This is insane."
Aanchal's voice was steady, almost grim. "So is fighting a war we're not equipped for."
Naina allowed herself the faintest nod of approval. "At least now we have something worth bleeding for."
The shard hummed softly, like it recognized its new carriers.
On the far counter, the prototype gun remained in its casing. Aman slung it over his shoulder with a grunt. "This, too. If they've figured out how to harness fragments, we need to study it before they refine the process."
The group moved quickly now, knowing every second ticked louder against them. Rathod led the way out, baton raised. Aanchal kept the chains wrapped around her wrists, the improvised weapon clinking softly. Naina stayed sharp with her bolts, while Dikshant clutched his pipe, eyes darting between corners.
As they slipped back into the corridor, Mansi's voice crackled in their ears again. "Movement on your six. Two squads closing fast. You've got maybe three minutes before this place swallows you whole."
Aman's jaw tightened, the shard glowing faintly against his chest through the wrapped jacket. "Then we make it count."
Behind them, the lab fell into shadow again. But in their hands burned the future raw, unstable, alive.
They didn't know if it would save them or kill them. Only that leaving it behind was no longer an option. At the same time, in the shadowed corridors of the gala hall, Shivam faced Veeraj. The noise of the panicked guests was muted here, replaced by the echo of boots and the hum of the shard carried farther down the hall. The glow cast long veins of violet light across the floor, flickering like a heartbeat neither man could ignore.
Veeraj stood broad and immovable, shoulders rolling as if preparing to carry the weight of the entire fight on sheer muscle alone. Shivam loosened the last of his tie, letting it fall around his neck, his tux open at the chest. His stance shifted lower, balanced, his eyes never leaving the brute in front of him.
"You should have stayed out of this," Veeraj said, voice a low growl.
Shivam's jaw set. "And let you walk out with that shard? Not a chance."
There was no more room for words. Veeraj charged first, the floor trembling under his weight. Shivam pivoted, letting the momentum carry Veeraj past him, then struck with a sharp elbow to the ribs. It landed clean, but Veeraj absorbed it, spinning and swinging a fist the size of a hammer. Shivam ducked, the punch smashing into the wall with a sickening crack that sent plaster raining down.
Shivam countered fast, low kicks snapping into Veeraj's thigh, then a jab to the chin. For a second Veeraj staggered back, but his eyes lit with fury. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Shivam's torso and slamming him into the wall. Shivam's back hit hard, air exploding from his lungs.
Veeraj pinned him, fists driving toward his face like pistons. Shivam slipped one strike, then another, but the third clipped his jaw. Pain flashed white, but training steadied him. He twisted his hips, hooking a knee up into Veeraj's ribs, forcing space between them. Shivam shoved off, rolling away before another blow could land.
Blood tasted iron at the edge of his tongue, but his stance reset. He bounced lightly, fists up, eyes calm. Veeraj stalked him, breathing heavy, raw power in every step.
"Still standing?" Veeraj's voice carried a twisted amusement.
Shivam wiped his lip with the back of his hand. "You hit harder than last time. But I'm not the same fighter you remember."
Veeraj answered with a wild swing meant to break bone. Shivam slipped under it, sliding close to hammer two clean strikes into the ribs, then a short hook to the jaw. Veeraj's head snapped back, but he retaliated instantly, grabbing Shivam by the collar and hurling him across the corridor. Shivam hit the ground, rolled, and came back to his feet in one fluid motion.
Their duel became a storm of opposites. Veeraj's blows shook the walls, each swing a threat of finality. Shivam responded with precision, cutting angles, redirecting force. He struck when openings came, then slipped away before brute strength could crush him. Every move was MMA discipline sharpened by war low kicks, clinch elbows, choke attempts countered by Veeraj's raw grappling and bone-crunching power.
The corridor bore the scars of their clash. Cracked plaster, shattered crates, dented steel beams. The shard's glow flickered brighter, pulsing in time with their strikes as if it too fed on violence.
At one moment, Veeraj caught Shivam's arm mid-strike and twisted, nearly snapping it. Shivam spun with the motion, rolling onto Veeraj's back. He locked his arm around the brute's throat in a rear choke, legs hooking tight. For seconds, it looked like Veeraj would drop. But with a roar, Veeraj slammed himself backward into the wall, crushing Shivam between him and steel. Shivam released, gasping as the air rushed from his chest.
Both staggered, breathing heavy now. Shivam steadied first, raising his fists again. Veeraj spat blood onto the floor, grinning through the crimson.
"You fight cleaner than last time," Veeraj said, his voice ragged. "But clean won't win."
Shivam's eyes sharpened. "It's not about clean. It's about control."
The next exchange came faster. Shivam's fists flashed, landing two, three blows, each precise. Veeraj roared and answered with one massive strike, knuckles glancing off Shivam's temple. Both men reeled, both refusing to drop.
The corridor narrowed their world to fists and breath, to strength versus skill. Every second was balance. One slip, one mistake, would decide it.
At the far end, Kairav's voice echoed faintly, urging his guards onward, the shard slipping farther into the dark. Shivam heard it through the haze of fists and blood. His focus sharpened. He could not lose time here.
Shivam ducked a heavy swing and drove his knee up into Veeraj's stomach, then slammed an elbow into his temple. Veeraj staggered back a step, shaking his head like a bull refusing to drop.
They locked eyes, both panting, both bloodied. Shivam's voice was calm, stripped bare of anything but resolve. "This ends here."
Veeraj cracked his neck, squaring his stance again. "Then come and try."
The corridor rattled with their collision, fists echoing like gunfire against the walls. Shivam's breath came sharp and steady now, his focus narrowed to the man in front of him. Veeraj still carried the weight of a bull, but for the first time, Shivam could feel the rhythm of the fight tipping.
Veeraj swung a heavy right, knuckles cutting through the air with brutal speed. Shivam slipped inside the arc, shoulder brushing Veeraj's chest, and drove a short hook into the ribs. The impact jolted through bone, and before Veeraj could recover, Shivam slammed an elbow into the side of his head. Veeraj stumbled, catching himself against the wall.
Shivam pressed, not letting space grow. He snapped low kicks into Veeraj's thigh, targeting the same spot again and again. The bigger man winced, his footing weakening. Shivam's voice cut through the chaos, low and measured.
"You're not unstoppable. Not anymore."
Veeraj's reply came as a grunt, half laughter, half defiance. He lunged, trying to smother Shivam with sheer size. Shivam braced, pivoted, and redirected the rush into the wall. Veeraj's shoulder slammed against steel, the corridor ringing with the sound. Shivam followed with a rapid combination jab, cross, knee to the gut, then a sharp downward elbow to the back of the neck.
For the first time, Veeraj dropped to one knee. His palm hit the ground, eyes burning with disbelief as much as rage.
Shivam backed only enough to keep balance, chest rising and falling like a drumbeat. He had learned from their last encounter. He could not match raw power blow for blow. But he could control it, bend it, break it piece by piece.
Veeraj pushed up to his feet, blood smeared across his mouth. His breathing was heavier now, shoulders slower to rise. "You think you've won?" His voice was guttural, dragging air between words.
Shivam tightened his fists. "No. I know I can."
They met again in the center of the corridor, the clash of fists and forearms echoing like steel on steel. Veeraj tried to smother him, grappling, using weight. Shivam shifted his stance, dropped his hips, and threw Veeraj over his shoulder in a clean judo sweep. The brute crashed onto the floor, the sound shuddering down the hallway.
Shivam loomed over him, sweat dripping, knuckles bruised, eyes steady. Veeraj swung from the ground, but Shivam caught the arm, twisted it, and locked it into an armbar. The crack of strain filled the air. Veeraj roared, thrashing, but Shivam held firm.
"Stay down," Shivam hissed, his voice edged with command.
Veeraj snarled, teeth bared, but his movements slowed under the pressure. For the first time, fear flickered in his eyes thin, but undeniable.
Shivam released before the arm broke. He shoved back, letting Veeraj roll to his side, gasping for air. He could have ended it, but ending it wasn't the mission. The shard was slipping farther away with Kairav, and Shivam's eyes stayed fixed on that path.
Still, victory settled in his stance. He stood tall, shoulders loose, bloodied but unbowed. Veeraj leaned against the wall, chest heaving, staring up at him with a mixture of fury and reluctant respect.
"You're not the same fighter," Veeraj said hoarsely.
Shivam wiped blood from his mouth, his voice steady. "Neither are you. But tonight, I'm better."
The sound of retreating footsteps carried from deeper in the hall Kairav and his men, the shard glowing faintly like a lantern of doom. Shivam's focus shifted. His body ached, but his resolve sharpened. Veeraj was no longer the wall blocking his way. He was the ground Shivam had just climbed over.
Shivam took one step forward, then another, leaving Veeraj behind in the wreckage of the corridor. His voice carried back without turning.
"Tell Kairav I'm coming."
The shard's glow pulsed ahead, the promise of a storm yet to break. Shivam walked into it, fists clenched, knowing the fight was far from over.