Chapter 8: The Shattered Gate

The Day of the Massacre

The corridors were no longer places of learning. They were veins, and the college was bleeding out.

Rekha crouched in a dark alcove, her breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. Beside her, Swathi, a first-year student who had spent the last week following Rekha around like a devoted puppy, was trembling so hard her teeth rattled.

Cling. Cling. Cling.

The sound of metal dragging on stone was getting closer. The killer wasn't rushing. He was savoring the hunt.

"The main door," Rekha whispered, her eyes wide. "It’s open. I saw it from the balcony. If we can reach the gate, we're free."

"But the others..." Swathi whimpered. "Priya... Vaani..."

"We can't help them if we're dead!" Rekha hissed, grabbing Swathi’s hand. "We get out, we find the police, we bring help. Now, run!"

They bolted. The hallway felt miles long. They passed bodies they didn't want to recognize—girls they had shared notes with, professors who had scolded them. The air was thick with the copper tang of fresh blood.

Then, they saw it. The Main Gate.

It stood wide open, a rectangle of moonlight and freedom. There were no guards. No movement. Just the quiet street beyond.

"Freedom," Swathi breathed, a sob of relief breaking from her throat.

They were fifty feet away. Forty. Thirty.

Rekha’s heart leaped. She could almost taste the fresh air. She looked at Swathi and smiled, a fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated hope.

THWACK.

The sound was heavy, like a cleaver hitting a butcher’s block.

Rekha’s legs suddenly stopped working. She didn't feel pain at first—only a strange, cold numbness at the base of her skull. She stumbled, her hands grasping at the air, before collapsing onto the gravel.

"Akka?" Swathi turned, her voice a tiny, broken thing.

A small, rusted hand-axe was embedded deep in the back of Rekha’s head. Blood began to bloom across the white collar of her uniform like an ink spill. Her eyes were still open, fixed on the gate she would never reach.

"AKKA!" Swathi screamed, the sound tearing through the silent night.

She didn't run. She couldn't. She dropped to her knees beside Rekha, trying to pull the axe out, her hands slick with her idol's blood.

A shadow fell over them.

The killer didn't whistle this time. He was silent. He reached down and gripped the handle of the axe, wrenching it free from Rekha’s skull with a sickening squelch.

Swathi looked up, her face a mask of primal horror. She saw the mask. She saw the dark, empty pits where eyes should be.

Before she could even beg, the axe swung again.

The Silent Corridor

The killer stood over the two girls. He reached down and grabbed Swathi by her hair, and Rekha by her ankles. He began to walk back toward the building, dragging them across the dirt.

Schlllp. Schlllp. Schlllp.

The sound of their bodies trailing through the dust was the only eulogy they would get. He hauled them through the main doors, the very entrance they thought was their salvation.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he slammed the massive wooden doors shut. He slid the heavy iron bolt into place and turned the key.

The click of the lock echoed through the empty foyer.

Outside, the college looked peaceful under the moon. A beautiful, silent tomb. Inside, the predator was home, and the doors were barred.

The massacre was no longer a frantic hunt. It was now a closed-door execution.