Chapter One – Karachi Nights
Karachi was awake, as always. Rickshaws buzzed like angry insects, buses painted with birds and flowers screamed their horns, and the smell of chai, kebabs, and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. But in the cracks between the noise, shadows moved. And Daniyal Khan walked among them.
He wasn’t a saint. Not even close.
At twenty-eight, he had the sharp eyes of a hustler, a crooked grin that made strangers distrust him, and a habit of lighting cigarettes he never finished.
Tonight, he leaned on the broken railing of a rooftop in Saddar, staring down at the city like a lazy king. His leather jacket was too old, his boots were dusty, but his phone buzzed with money.
A man in a black Corolla parked below. Expensive car. Tinted windows. Rich men never came to Saddar unless they were desperate.
Daniyal smiled to himself.
“Bismillah. Business time.”
The man climbed the narrow staircase, sweating in his crisp suit. When he reached the rooftop, he wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief.
“You’re Daniyal Khan?” he asked in a low, nervous voice.
“That depends,” Daniyal said, exhaling smoke. “If you’re here for insurance, I’m not him. If you’re here to sell your soul, then yes—welcome, boss.”
The man frowned. “You joke too much. This is serious.”
“Everything in Karachi is serious, bhai. Even biryani.” Daniyal flicked ash off his cigarette. “Now tell me. What do you want?”
The man hesitated, looking around. “I… I want success. My company is failing. I need power. Connections. Fast.”
Daniyal whistled softly. “Straight to the point. I like that. No boring sob story. But you do realize what I deal in, right? You don’t pay me with cash. You pay with… other things.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care. Whatever it takes. I can’t lose everything.”
For a moment, Daniyal studied him. He’d seen this look before—greed wrapped in desperation. He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Alright then. Let’s meet your new business partner.”
He took out a small silver coin from his pocket and tossed it in the air. The coin didn’t fall. It hovered, spinning, glowing faintly red. The air around them grew heavy, the noise of the city fading into silence.
The businessman stepped back. “What… what is this?”
“Relax,” Daniyal said with a grin. “It’s just a conference call.”
From the spinning coin, a crack opened in the air—like tearing cloth. A shadow crawled out, tall and thin, with burning orange eyes. Its voice was jagged glass, echoing in the rooftop night.
“Who summons Azmar?”
The businessman fell to his knees. “OMG…”
Daniyal chuckled. “Don’t bring God into this, boss. This one’s from the other side.” He turned to the demon. “Azmar, meet Mr…?”
“Rashid,” the man whispered.
“Right. Azmar, meet Rashid sahib. He wants success. Fame. Power. The usual.”
The demon’s eyes glowed brighter. “Price: his soul, after ten years.”
Rashid froze, trembling. “Ten… ten years?”
“Think of it as a loan,” Daniyal said casually. “You live like a king, then… well, you don’t. Worth it, no?”
Rashid’s lips trembled. He looked at Daniyal, then at the demon. His greed was stronger than his fear. He nodded. “I accept.”
The demon’s shadow stretched across the rooftop, wrapping around Rashid’s hand like fire. He screamed as the contract burned into his skin. Daniyal just smiled, watching.
When it was done, Rashid lay on the ground, panting. The demon vanished back into the coin, which dropped into Daniyal’s palm.
“Congratulations, boss,” Daniyal said, crouching beside him. “In ten years, you’ll be more powerful than half the ministers in Islamabad. Just remember to enjoy the ride.”
He patted Rashid’s shoulder and walked away, whistling.
Later that night, Daniyal sat in a chai dhaba, sipping from a chipped cup. Around him, students laughed, drivers argued, and an old man sang on a radio. No one knew that just a few streets away, a man had sold his soul.
Daniyal lit another cigarette, smiling to himself.
“Business is good.”
He laughed softly, but in the smoke of his laughter, shadows flickered. Watching. Waiting.
End of Chapter One
