Chapter 25 Death Of Black King
On the hillside, Vihaan’s cold smile only deepens as he watches the chaos and destruction he has orchestrated. Far below, in the heart of the city, the aftermath of the inferno rages on. Firefighters continue battling the flames, CID teams comb through the wreckage, and ambulances rush the injured and the dead away from the ruins.
Suddenly, a bomb squad member rushes toward the lead inspector, his face tense, breathing heavy.
“Sir!” he says urgently. “We’ve found a body on the top floor… in the main cabin. Completely burned. Unrecognizable.”
The inspector turns sharply, shock flashing across his face. “The main cabin?”
The officer nods gravely. “Yes, sir. It was Samar Rathore’s office. From the position and location… we believe it’s his body.”
The inspector’s face turns pale. His voice drops to a whisper. “Oh God that means SR is dead?”
A heavy silence falls over the officials. The name that once carried power, fear, and dominance SR now echoes only as ash and loss.
Just then, media vans screech to a halt outside the perimeter. Reporters swarm forward, microphones raised, camera flashes lighting up the ruins.
“Inspector! Is it true that Samar Rathore has died in the blast?”
“Was this a terrorist attack or personal revenge?”
“What is the truth behind SR Empire’s destruction?”
They surround the inspector, turning tragedy into spectacle. He pauses, drawing in a breath, because this isn’t just the death of a man it is the fall of an empire.
Before he can respond, SR Empire’s private security steps forward tall, imposing men forming a human wall.
“No questions,” one of them says coldly. “All media personnel, step back immediately.”
Another guard pushes a camera down firmly. “No filming. Press entry is not allowed.”
A third scans the crowd and warns, “This is private property. Back off. Now.”
Despite protests, the guards remain unyielding. Slowly, the reporters retreat. Sirens fade. Only crackling flames and silence remain.
When I regain consciousness, I find myself lying on a hospital bed, a drip attached to my hand. My eyes flutter open, confusion clouding my thoughts as I stare at the ceiling.
A nurse approaches gently. “How are you feeling?”
I nod slowly, then my heart starts racing. “There was someone with me where is he?”
She gives me a soft smile. “Your family is outside. I’ll call them.”
Moments later, Mr. Shobha, Mrs. Shobha, Mr. Ajay, Karan, Neeti, Ruhi, Rohit, and Mr. Shekhawat enter the room. Every face is pale. Every pair of eyes is soaked in grief. Fear grips me instantly.
My gaze locks onto Karan. I struggle to sit up. “Karan Mr. Rajput where is he?” My voice trembles. “He must be injured too, right? He’s admitted here, isn’t he?”
Karan stays silent, eyes lowered. I clutch his hand. “Tell me, Karan where is he?”
His voice breaks. “Samar is no longer with us.”
The world stops. I can’t breathe. My chest feels hollow. Silence crashes over the room. Ruhi and Neeti break down. Mrs. Shobha collapses into uncontrollable sobs a mother shattered forever. Someone pats my back Mr. Shekhawat but nothing reaches me.
After some time, the doctor allows my discharge. I’m weak, but my eyes are firm. Karan helps me into a wheelchair, and we leave the hospital in silence.
Outside, everything feels unreal. Ambulances, people, noise but all I see is Samar. Inside the car, silence suffocates us. Tears slide down my cheeks without sound. I don’t scream. I don’t ask questions. My eyes only ask one thing why.
Mr. Shobha, Mrs. Shobha, Mr. Ajay, Ruhi, and Neeti sit broken. Mr. Shekhawat sits still no tears, just stone. Rajput Mansion greets us with heaviness. The walls feel empty yet full of him.
I am taken to my room. Our room. His coat still hangs on the chair. His phone lies on the table. A photo frame rests beside the bed Samar smiling. My hands tremble as I pick it up and press it against my chest. And then I break.
Mrs. Shobha holds me as we cry together. Ruhi and Neeti sob helplessly. Karan stands silently, shattered. From a distance, Mr. Shekhawat watches still tearless.
Suddenly, Shorya rushes in, his face tense. Two hospital ward boys follow him, carrying not a stretcher but a small sealed box. They place it quietly in the center of the hall.
Shock fills the room. Shorya speaks heavily, “The body was completely burned only a few remains were found. They’ve been sent for postmortem.”
A wave of grief sweeps through the hall. The pain of not even being able to see Samar one last time hits everyone hard.
Upstairs, I hear the words from my room. Tears stream down my face, and my sobs echo in the silence. I can’t express the pain tearing through me; I can only cry quietly, clutching my memories close, as if they are all I have left.
Downstairs, preparations for the ritual of peace begin. Everyone in the family wears white. Mrs. Shobha sits with Neeti and Ruhi, their eyes swollen from endless crying, faces pale and hollow. Grief touches every heart, and the mansion feels draped in sorrow.
Guests continue to arrive. Influential businessmen, political figures, and old family friends come to offer their condolences. They meet Mr. Shekhawat, Mr. Ajay, and Shorya with heavy hearts, sharing their sympathies. Some approach Mrs. Shobha, trying to comfort her through tear-filled eyes.
The entire house stands united in white, as if grief has stripped all color from our lives. In the grand hall, silence reigns, broken only by whispered prayers and quiet sighs of pain.
Vihaan stands silently in a corner, wearing a white kurta like everyone else. But unlike the others, there is an unusual calm on his face. A strange peace lingers in his eyes like he knows something no one else does, or like his thoughts exist beyond this sorrow. His composure stands out, unsettling amid all this heartbreak.
People come and go. The shanti path is performed. Everyone remembers Samar in their own way yet his absence looms larger than anything else. His smile, his voice, his presence all reduced to memories.