The Cricket System : Rise of the Pace Demon

Chapter 63: Ashes of the Underworld

"Who the hell are you two?!" the leader roared, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "How the fuck did you get in here?! Are you tired of living?!"

Monu stood there under the harsh floodlight, resting the heavy steel pipe casually across his broad shoulders. He looked around at the eighteen armed thugs surrounding them, completely unbothered, a cocky, mocking smile lighting up his face.

"Who, us?" Monu said smoothly, his voice laced with pure, dripping arrogance. "Oh, don’t mind us, boys. We were just taking a nice, peaceful evening walk in the neighborhood... and we figured we’d stop by to deliver a fresh batch of fists and kicks just for you!"

A hulking brute with a scarred eye and a rusted butcher knife in his left hand stepped out from the circle of thugs, sneering as he approached Monu. He spit onto the dusty concrete, glaring at the two intruders as if they were simple lunatics who had accidentally walked into a lion’s den.

"Hey, are you two complete idiots or what?" the brute barked, cracking his thick knuckles. "You step right into our primary warehouse, surrounded by twenty men, and you dare talk trash to us like that? You must have a suicide wish, stupid bastards. But hey, why should I care? The Boss gave us explicit orders—anyone who stumbles in here dies tonight. So both of you are going down, plain and simple."

Vikram raised his hands in a calm, placating gesture, taking a subtle half-step backward while his eyes calculated the angles, the exits, and the nearest threats. A polite, almost regretful expression washed over his sharp features.

"Wait... wait... boys," Vikram said smoothly, his voice steady despite the overwhelming odds. "Can’t we just talk this out? Is violence really necessary here? We can settle this like reasonable men."

The brute threw his head back and burst into a booming, mockingly high-pitched laugh, joined quickly by the rest of the gang members. The metallic clinking of iron chains and the unsheathed scrape of blades rang out as they stepped closer, tightening the circle.

"Na na na... ladleee..." the thug sneered, his yellowed teeth flashing in the dim yellow light of the warehouse. "Talk time is long gone! Bate ab Anything else won’t work... now, only kicks and punches will do!"

Vikram sighed softly, shaking his head with an expression of profound pity as he glanced toward Monu.

"I’m really sorry, Monu," Vikram muttered under his breath, shifting his weight onto his back foot. "I honestly thought I could save their lives by talking some sense into them. But these fools clearly don’t want to live. What else can I even do?"

"You talk too much, Vikram," Monu grunted, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned ghostly white around the steel pipe. "Save your breath for the workout."

The scarred brute lost his remaining patience. With a guttural roar, he lunged forward, raising his heavy butcher knife high into the air. "You two fucking bastards! Go straight to hell!"

Before the knife could even begin its downward arc, Monu moved.

His speed was terrifying, completely defying his massive, heavy frame. With an explosive shift of his hips, Monu brought the heavy steel pipe swinging horizontally through the air in a lethal, blinding arc.

CRACK!

The heavy steel pipe crashed directly into the side of the thug’s head with horrifying, sickening force. The bone of his skull cracked instantly like a dry twig. A thick, violent spray of crimson blood erupted from the man’s ear and nose, splattering across the concrete floor as his body went instantly limp. He hit the ground like a sack of wet bricks, motionless, a pool of dark blood rapidly expanding around his head.

For a single fraction of a second, absolute silence gripped the warehouse. The thugs froze, horrified by the sheer brutality and speed of the strike.

"KILL THEM!" the gang leader screamed, breaking the spell. "PULL OUT YOUR BLADES AND GUT THEM ALIVE!"

The remaining seventeen men charged in a frantic, wild frenzy, roaring like madmen as they swarmed Monu and Vikram from all directions.

What followed over the next fifteen minutes inside that abandoned factory was not a fight—it was an absolute massacre.

The air thick with dust, diesel fumes, and the metallic stench of fresh blood shattered with the horrific, sickening sound of breaking bones, shattering joints, and agonizing screams. Monu moved like an unstoppable juggernaut, a force of nature driven by pure, incandescent rage.

THWACK! CRACK!

A thug swung an iron rod at Monu’s back, but Monu didn’t even flinch. He spun around, caught the man by his throat with his bare left hand, and slammed the heavy steel pipe straight into the man’s kneecap. The bone exploded inside the skin, bending backward at an unnatural ninety-degree angle. The thug shrieked in agony before Monu planted a heavy boot into his chest, launching him ten feet back into a stack of wooden crates.

Meanwhile, Vikram was a phantom of cold, surgical precision. He didn’t use brute force like Monu; he used momentum, pressure points, and ruthless speed.

Dodging a lunging knife strike with an elegant sidestep, Vikram drove the thick steel reinforcement rod into a thug’s solar plexus, knocking the air cleanly out of his lungs. Before the man could double over, Vikram swept his leg, sending him crashing face-first into the concrete, then slammed the rod down onto the back of the man’s elbow, shattering the joint with a sickening POP.

Another thug tried to sneak up behind Vikram with a heavy wooden bat. Without even looking back, Vikram ducked under the wild swing, grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted it until the bones splintered, and plunged his elbow straight into the thug’s jaw. Teeth flew through the air like thrown gravel as the man crumpled to his knees.

"GET OFF ME!" Monu roared as three men tried to tackle him simultaneously to the ground.

Monu flexed his massive back muscles, threw his arms outward, and hurled all three men off his body through sheer physical power. He grabbed one by his hair and drove his forehead straight into the man’s face in a brutal headbutt. The thug’s nose collapsed flat against his skull, blood spraying everywhere.

The factory echoed continuously with the sound of snapping arm bones, shattered ribs, broken jaws, and desperate, tear-filled pleas for mercy. The gang members, who had spent years terrorizing the innocent citizens of Delhi, were now being broken into bloody pieces by two unyielding monsters.

Fifteen minutes later, the chaotic roaring had completely died down.

Silence returned to the cavernous warehouse, broken only by the crackle of a flickering overhead light, the dripping of blood onto concrete, and the agonizing, pathetic whimpers of dying men.

Every single one of the eighteen gang members lay scattered across the floor in pools of their own dark blood. Arms were bent at impossible angles, legs were shattered, and shattered teeth littered the floor. None of them could stand. Most were barely conscious, gasping for breath through broken ribs and shattered jaws.

Monu and Vikram were breathing heavily, their clothes torn and stained with sweat, mud, and splatters of blood. Monu had a small cut along his left cheekbone where a blade had grazed him, and Vikram was favoring his left shoulder, but otherwise, they stood tall amidst the carnage.

Monu blinked slowly, raising his left hand to wipe a smear of dark blood away from his eye. His chest heaved as his wild, terrifying eyes scanned the ruined floor.

In his right hand, he held the heavy steel pipe, entirely covered in dark, sticky crimson. In his left hand, Monu was forcefully clutching a handful of greasy hair, dragging the unconscious, heavily bleeding gang leader across the concrete floor like a bag of trash.

The leader’s legs dragged helplessly behind him, leaving a long, thick red smear across the dusty ground.

Monu dragged him to the center of the bay, dropped him unceremoniously onto the concrete, and casually sat down right on top of the man’s shattered chest, using him as a footstool. The leader let out a wet, raspy cough, spitting a mouthful of blood onto Monu’s boots.

The gang leader looked up through one swollen, bloodied eye, his entire body trembling violently with absolute, paralyzing terror. He looked at the two figures standing above him not as humans, but as primordial demons that had crawled straight out of hell.

"You... you two... demons..." the leader wheezed, his voice trembling uncontrollably, tears of pure agony mixing with the blood on his bruised cheeks. "Who... who the fuck are you?! Why... why are you so strong?! Why are you doing this to us?! What gang... what gang do you belong to?!"

Vikram walked over slowly, his face devoid of any emotion. Without saying a single word, Vikram delivered a swift, brutal kick straight to the leader’s bloody mouth, cutting off his panicked rambling.

THWACK!

"You ask too many questions for a man with one foot in the grave," Vikram said, his voice dropping into a ice-cold, dangerous tone. "You aren’t the one asking questions tonight. You only answer ours."

Monu leaned forward on his makeshift seat, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying intensity that made even the air around them feel heavy.

"Your boss," Monu growled, his voice deep and menacing like rolling thunder. "What is his real name?"

Before the leader could even process the question, Monu brought his steel pipe down with terrifying force, smashing it directly into the leader’s left kneecap!

CRACK!

"AHHHH! AGHHGH!" the leader shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched scream of pure agony as he thrashing frantically under Monu’s weight.

"Why are you hitting me?!" the leader sobbed hysterically, blood and saliva pouring from his lips. "Why are you hitting me before I even answer?! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything! Just stop! Please, don’t hit me! Please!"

Monu raised the pipe again, his face completely unreadable. "Tell me."

"Karan Singh!" the leader screamed out, his hands clawing at the dirt floor in sheer desperation. "Karan Singh! He is the one! Kaa... Kaa... Kaa... Karan Singh! He runs the entire distribution network! He pays off the authorities! He commands everything! That’s his name! Please, spare me!"

Despite getting the answer, Monu’s expression didn’t soften. Instead, a dark, terrifying scowl twisted his face. He lifted the heavy steel pipe and brought it down again onto the leader’s other leg.

CRACK!

"AGGGHHHH!"

"You monsters," Monu snarled, his voice trembling with sheer, righteous rage as he struck the man again and again. "You absolute scum of the earth. You poison the streets. You sell this toxic trash to kids, to innocent people, ruining thousands of families, destroying young lives just so you can line your pockets with bloody cash! You think you’re kings because you have money and weapons?!"

CRACK!

"Stop... please... stop..." the leader whimpered softly, his eyes rolling back as his consciousness began to fade into the dark void.

Beside them, Vikram stood silently, watching Monu unleash his relentless wrath. Vikram didn’t move an inch to stop him. He knew Monu better than anyone else. Normally, Monu was a loud, joking, easygoing guy who loved to mess around. But when Monu was pushed into true, unadulterated rage by the injustice and cruelty of the underworld... he became a terrifying monster. Even Vikram felt a genuine, cold prickle of fear in his gut when Monu entered this state.

When Monu gets this angry... Vikram thought silently, his eyes narrowing as he watched the steel pipe fall again, ...it terrifies even me.

After a final, heavy blow, the gang leader’s body went entirely limp, his breathing stopping completely as his head slumped to the side.

Vikram stepped forward, bending down slightly to check the man’s pulse before looking up at Monu.

"So, he’s dead," Vikram said quietly, his tone flat. He glanced around at the seventeen other gang members lying broken and moaning across the vast, bloody warehouse floor. "What about the rest of them?"

Monu stood up slowly from the dead body, tossing the bloody steel pipe onto the ground. The metallic clatter echoed sharply against the walls. His face was dark, his eyes completely devoid of mercy.

"Every single one of these bastards has their hands soaked in the tears and blood of innocent people," Monu said, his voice cold and unwavering. "They saw our faces. They know what we look like. And more than that... men like this don’t deserve to breathe the same air as human beings."

Monu turned his head toward the heavy stacks of wooden crates filled with highly flammable industrial chemicals and synthetic drug compounds.

"Burn it all," Monu ordered, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "Set this entire factory on fire and lock them inside. Let them burn in the hell they created."

Vikram didn’t hesitate or object. He understood the ruthless logic of survival in their world.

Together, they dragged the moaning, broken bodies of the seventeen gang members into a central storage room, tossing them onto the floor like discarded rags. Monu grabbed a heavy iron bar, slammed the thick metal door shut, and jammed the bar through the handles, sealing them inside permanently.

Vikram grabbed a gas can from near one of the parked cargo trucks, unscrewed the cap, and began methodically sloshing gasoline across the wooden crates, the truck tires, and the main floorboards.

Monu pulled a simple silver lighter from his pocket. He struck the wheel. A small, bright orange flame flickered to life in the dim gloom of the warehouse.

He dropped the lighter onto a trail of gasoline.

FOOOOOOOSH!

Instantly, a massive wall of violent, roaring fire erupted into the air! The flames caught the chemical crates, detonating them in a series of sharp, booming pops. Bright red and orange fire raced up the wooden support beams, spreading across the ceiling with terrifying speed and swallowing the entire warehouse in a blazing inferno.

Dense, black smoke billowed upward, choking the air as the heat in the room spiked to unbearable levels. Screams of terror began to ring out from behind the sealed metal door of the storage room as the fire reached the walls.

Vikram grabbed Monu’s arm, pulling him toward the rear exit.

"Let’s run, Monu!" Vikram yelled over the roaring thunder of the blazing inferno. "The flames and smoke are going to draw the police, the fire department, and civilians from miles away! We need to vanish right now!"

Without looking back at the burning inferno that was consuming the ’Four Poll’ gang’s empire, Monu and Vikram sprinted out into the cool, dark night air, vanishing completely into the shadows of the city as the factory burned to the ground behind them.