Chapter Two – The Deal Gone Wrong
Karachi mornings were always loud. Rickshaws rattled down the street, hawkers shouted about fresh fruit, and someone somewhere was always arguing about cricket. Daniyal sat in his small flat above the dusty old bookstore, TV humming in the background while he chewed on stale bread.
The news anchor’s serious face filled the screen:
“Business tycoon Rashid Ahmed was found dead in his Clifton mansion last night. Sources say his body showed… unusual signs. His daughter, only eighteen, has appealed for answers.”
The screen shifted to a shaky video clip: a girl with red eyes from crying, holding a framed photo of her father.
“Please,” she begged, voice breaking. “Someone tell me what happened. He was fine last night. He was laughing with me… and then” Her words dissolved into sobs.
Daniyal froze. The piece of bread fell from his hand.
“That’s… impossible,” he muttered. “The contract was for ten years. Ten years, not one night.”
He rubbed the red marks on his hands; they were glowing faintly. His chest tightened. He turned off the TV, but the girl’s voice echoed in his head.
That evening, Daniyal sat at a chai dhaba in Saddar. The usual noise, students laughing, drivers cursing, the hiss of frying parathas, couldn’t drown out his thoughts.
“Boss, another cup?” the waiter asked.
Daniyal waved him off. “Keep the chai coming until I say stop.”
A man at the next table chuckled. “Big night last night, haan? Rashid sahib’s death? Clifton people are saying it was the jinn.”
“Jinn?” Daniyal raised an eyebrow. “Bro, jinn don’t care about businessmen. They’re too busy throwing bricks at construction sites.”
The table laughed. Daniyal forced a smile, but inside, his gut twisted.
He knew the truth. It wasn’t a jinn. It was a demon. His demon.
That night, Daniyal dreamt.
He was standing in the middle of Karachi, but it wasn’t the city he knew. The roads cracked open like wounds, flames licking the sky. Shadows crawled over buildings, and thousands of glowing eyes stared at him from the darkness.
A voice hissed around him:
“You created this mess, Daniyal. You feed us. You are ours.”
He looked at his hands; they were burning, glowing red with demonic script. He tried to shake it off, but the fire crawled up his arms.
“Get off me!” he shouted, struggling. “I’m not-”
The laughter of demons thundered, shaking the ground.
“You are the broker. Our bridge. Our servant.”
Daniyal woke up gasping, drenched in sweat. The marks on his hands still glowed faintly in the dark.
He sat up, clutching his chest. For the first time in years, his crooked smile was gone.
“God help me,” he whispered into the night.
But deep down, he knew, God wasn’t the one he had been dealing with.
End of Chapter 2
