The moment Arman stepped into Sagar Jewellers, he felt it.
A strange, unsettling weight pressed against his chest. The shop was brightly lit, filled with the gleam of golden necklaces, sparkling bangles, and rows of silver rings, but something about the air was off. It was thick—almost suffocating.
He glanced at the staff members, all wearing black T-shirts and jeans with Sagar Jewellers printed in golden letters. They moved through the shop with routine efficiency, assisting customers with polite smiles. Everything seemed normal.
But Arman's instincts screamed otherwise.
A low voice echoed in his head.
"Hey, kid. Did you feel that?"
Arman's body stiffened. He recognized the voice—it was his spirit companion.
"Yes," he responded in his mind. "What is this uneasy feeling?"
A deep hum vibrated through his skull.
"You're sensing spirit energy… and not just any kind. It's dark. Evil. Which means there's a Voidborn here. And more than one."
A chill ran down Arman's spine. Voidborn.
The cursed entities that fed on fear and chaos.
He had fought one before, and it didn't go very well for him. He nearly died if the spirit hadn't helped him defeat it.
And now, there were more than one inside this shop.
Arman clenched his fists.
"How many?"
His spirit's voice was grim.
"Hard to say. But they're here. Watching. Waiting."
Arman's heartbeat quickened.
His gaze shifted across the room, scanning the customers and the staff. At first, nothing seemed amiss—people admiring jewelry, discussing prices, staff assisting them.
But then—
His eyes locked onto a man standing near the farthest counter.
Tall. Dressed in a dark brown coat despite the heat. He wasn't looking at the jewelry. He wasn't looking at the staff.
He was staring straight at Arman.
A cold shiver crept down Arman's neck.
The man's pale lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile.
And then—he vanished.
Arman's breath hitched. He didn't walk away. He didn't turn. One second he was there, and the next—gone.
He took a step forward, but before he could move any further, a voice interrupted him.
"Hey, Arman! What are you doing?"
Riyan's voice snapped him out of his daze.
Arman turned, forcing a casual expression. "Nothing. Just looking around."
Ayesha raised an eyebrow. "You look weird. Are you okay?"
Arman hesitated. Should he tell them?
But before he could answer—
A sharp gust of cold air rushed through the shop.
The lights flickered.
The golden jewelry seemed to lose its shine for a brief moment, as if the air itself had been drained of warmth.
The shopkeeper behind the counter flinched, looking around in confusion.
And then—a woman screamed.
---
Ayesha spun toward the sound. A middle-aged woman near the entrance had collapsed onto the floor, clutching her chest. Her breathing was ragged, her face pale as chalk.
Her husband knelt beside her, shaking her shoulders. "Reema! What happened? Say something!"
The entire shop fell into stunned silence.
Arman's pulse pounded. He knew what this was.
"Kid," his spirit whispered urgently. "It's starting."
The woman's eyes fluttered open—but something was wrong.
Her pupils were dilated, almost completely black. Her lips trembled, and when she spoke, her voice was not her own.
It was deep. Hollow. Wrong.
"He is coming."
A chill ran through everyone in the shop.
Her husband's face twisted in horror. "Reema, what are you saying? Who is coming?"
But she didn't respond. Instead, her body jerked violently—as if something inside her was trying to break free.
Then—her mouth stretched open unnaturally wide.
And from the darkness within her throat, a sickening, guttural growl emerged.
The Voidborn had taken her.
"Move!" Arman shouted, pushing past stunned customers.
The woman let out an inhuman shriek, and the glass cases around the shop shattered, sending shards flying everywhere.
Staff and customers screamed, some rushing toward the exit, others frozen in terror.
Arman's hands burned with energy.
"Stay back!" he warned.
Riyan, Ayesha, and Zubair instinctively stepped behind him.
But before Arman could act—
The lights went out.
The shop was plunged into complete darkness.
And in that darkness—something moved.
---
A sickening whisper filled the air.
"Arman… we see you."
A cold breath tickled his neck. He spun around, but nothing was there.
His spirit's voice growled. "They know you're here, kid. And they're coming for you."
Arman took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. "How many?"
A pause. Then—
"Five."
Five Voidborn.
Too many for a public place. Too many innocent lives at risk.
Arman's mind raced. He needed to lure them away.
His spirit seemed to sense his thoughts. "Smart. But be careful."
Arman turned to his friends. "Listen to me. Take everyone and get out of here. Now."
Ayesha grabbed his wrist. "What? No! We're not leaving you alone!"
Riyan's face was filled with uncertainty. "Man, you're acting weird. What's going on?"
Zubair scowled. "Arman, if something's wrong, tell us."
Arman hesitated. They weren't ready for this. If they knew what was happening, they'd try to help. And that would get them killed.
So he did the only thing he could.
He forced a smile.
"I'm fine. Just get the others out. I'll catch up."
For a second, it looked like Ayesha was about to argue—but then another scream cut through the air.
From the back of the shop, a second person collapsed. Their body twitched violently before going still.
Arman pushed his friends toward the exit. "GO! NOW!"
And as they turned to run, he faced the darkness.
Waiting.
Listening.
Because he knew—
The hunt had begun.
---
Aamir and his friends had made it out of the shop, but before they could catch their breath—
A scream shattered the air.
Aamir's heart clenched. He spun toward the sound.
Meera.
She was crouched under a broken table, trembling, tears streaming down her face.
Panic surged through him. "Oh no—Meera! What is she doing here?!"
Before he could move, the man in the dark brown coat appeared before him.
His lips moved slowly—almost lazily—but Aamir heard the words clearly.
"Join us… Serve the Master… or they will hunt you and everyone you love."
Aamir's breath hitched. His hands clenched into fists.
He was scared—but he refused to let it show.
"I'll never join monsters like you—who kill innocent people for no reason!"
The man smirked. "Oh, we don't need a reason. These foolish, ugly creatures—" he gestured toward the terrified people outside, "—they deserve death."
Before Aamir could react, a Voidborn materialized behind Meera—its long, black claws wrapping around her tiny neck.
Meera gasped, choking.
"What are you doing?! Let her go! She's just a kid!" Aamir shouted, rage flaring inside him.
The Voidborn tilted its head, its voice like a whispering storm. "So what? She is human. She deserves to die."
Aamir's blood boiled. "No… I won't let you hurt her!"
A sudden voice boomed inside his mind.
"Kid, focus on your surroundings. Feel the energy. Gather it. And think of a weapon."
Aamir hesitated. "A weapon?"
"Just do it!"
He took a deep breath. Focused.
And then—he felt it.
A strange energy swirled around him, invisible yet powerful. He reached out—not with his hands, but with his mind. He gathered it, pulling it toward himself.
A weapon. He needed a weapon.
A vision flashed through his thoughts—a long sword, glowing red like molten metal.
The energy in his hands shifted, molded, solidified.
A long red sword took form in his grasp.
Just as his mind snapped.
And then—he wasn't in control anymore.
---
His body moved on its own.
Before the Voidborn could react, Aamir vanished—then reappeared in front of it in an instant.
SLASH!
A single, clean cut. The Voidborn's hand fell to the ground.
The creature shrieked in agony, its form twisting like smoke.
Aamir grabbed Meera, dashed backward, and placed her safely on the ground.
He knelt beside her. "Listen to me. Run to your mom, okay? And don't tell anyone about this. It's our secret, alright?"
Meera, still shaking, nodded quickly and ran toward the exit.
Aamir exhaled. One crisis avoided.
But the fight wasn't over.
His mind snapped again—and control returned to him.
Fight With Your Own Strength
His spirit's voice returned, urgency laced in its tone.
"Kid, I can't take control of your body for long. If there was only one Voidborn, I could handle it. But there are five. It takes too much energy. Your body isn't ready for this."
Aamir wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Then what do I do?"
"You fight. With your own strength."
Aamir swallowed hard. "But I've never used a sword before!"
His spirit sighed. "Then don't use a sword. Think of a weapon that suits you. Something you know how to use."
Aamir hesitated. A weapon that fit his fighting style…
And then—he had it.
"Gauntlets."
"Good. Focus. Imagine them."
The sword in Aamir's hands shimmered, breaking apart into energy again.
The glowing red energy shifted—wrapping around his hands, reforming into massive, armored gauntlets.
Aamir clenched his fists.
They felt… perfect.
"Now, kid," his spirit said. "Let's fight."