"There is nothing left for me to teach you," Kratos stated with finality in his tone of voice. He watched Murugan's expression flicker from confusion to disbelief as he stood a respectful distance away.
"But… Guruji, it has been nearly three weeks," Murugan sputtered.
"Yes. Three weeks in which you have not required my guidance," Kratos said. "You are able to carry forward on your own. At this point, all that remains is for you to apply your learning in practice."
A flush of guilt crept up Murugan's neck. He had been absent, it was true. Part of it was the chaotic adjustment to his new duties as a husband, which was a battlefield of a different sort altogether. Living with another person and getting to know them intimately brought a lot of challenges, even if the person was someone you held great affection for. With his family, he had his whole life to get to know them and grow into them. With his wife, the adaptation period was much shorter and highly condensed.
But another part, the part he was less willing to admit, was that his Guru was right. He had been formulating and handling his own daily training regimen, pushing his limits in ways he hadn't thought possible. Still, for it to be over felt… abrupt.
After a moment of thought, an idea took root. "Guruji," he began as his voice firmed with resolve. "I request a second round. A redo of the first fight we had when you arrived."
Kratos' stony expression didn't change, but he recalled the boy, broken and bleeding out on the ground. "I nearly killed you," he stated flatly.
"Exactly," Murugan agreed with a sharp nod. "That would be a perfect gauge of progress. I should strive not be reduced to that state again."
Kratos grunted. The boy's logic was sound, if a little reckless. "I cannot die. How do you decide when the bout is complete?"
"Since you cannot die, Guruji, my victory will be your death," Murugan declared with a faint hint of a challenge in his tone. "Though I admit, I doubt that will be possible."
"I still died in our previous fight," Kratos countered. "It would be no different now."
"You were leveraging your immortality to defeat me," Murugan responded. "It is the same as using a weapon. It was intentional."
After a bit more back and forth, Kratos relented with a curt nod. Murugan's face lit up. He hurriedly called for a Gana to fetch his brother Ganesh, then immediately began to stretch and prepare. Kratos watched him for a moment before turning, placing the head on a nearby rock and recalling the axe to his hand.
"Most disciples wouldn't talk so freely about killing their Gurus," Brahma commented from his perch. "You and the boy sure have an interesting relationship."
"Today, that relationship will be complete," Kratos replied with his eyes fixed on Murugan.
"Do you think the little lord can win?" Brahma asked.
"He will," Kratos responded without hesitation. "There is nothing left for me to teach him. He is just averse to change and refuses to realise this on his own."
"You know," the head said thoughtfully, "if you go easy on him, he won't accept the victory. And you know how stubborn he is; he'll never leave you alone. But given that he doesn't want you to leave in the first place, don't you think he might go easy on you?"
"That will not happen," Kratos said in a low voice.
Murugan finished his stretches. He twisted to loosen his back, and by the time he straightened up, Kratos was in front of him. There was no sound, or even a warning. Before Murugan could even register the shock, his Guru's hands were around his neck. The pressure bearing down was a vice grip intent on crushing his windpipe.
Murugan's eyeballs started to bulge as his world narrowed to the crushing pressure and the fading light. Yet, there was no panic in his eyes. No confusion or betrayal. He had, in fact, anticipated this. As his Guru always said, only fools declare their intent to attack before doing so.
Summoning the last bit of air in his constricted lungs, he spat a mouthful of saliva directly into Kratos' face. The man flinched as he stopped the liquid projectile from affecting his eyes. It was all the opening Murugan needed. He swung his leg up in a vicious arc, aiming squarely for his Guru's genitals. Kratos, momentarily blinded, still felt the attack coming and hopped back just in time, the kick missing its catastrophic mark by a hair's breadth. The space, however, was enough for Murugan to tear himself free.
He collapsed to his knees in a hacking, coughing fit, desperately dragging air into his abused throat. His gaze never left his Guru. Kratos calmly produced a piece of cloth from his belt and wiped his face clean.
"Do not think of slackening your attacks, boy," Kratos said, devoid of all emotion. "That will be the last mistake you ever make. I will squeeze the life out of you with my bare hands. I do not mean that figuratively, or even metaphorically. I will watch as your neck collapses within my grip and your eyes redden with broken blood vessels as they pop out of your skull. I neither fear your father nor your mother. In fact, if they could grant me the sweet release of death, they would be doing me a favour. I care not for any punishment they can inflict upon me. I have faced things far worse than anything you can ever fathom. And this time, not even your brother can stop me from finishing you."
Murugan shivered. It wasn't a threat. It didn't feel like a threat. It was a statement of eventuality, delivered with the same tone one might use to describe the day's agenda. He had no doubt that if he hadn't escaped, he would already be dead. He got to his feet, gave a single, sharp nod of affirmation, and pressed the attack.
His style had completely evolved. As Murugan advanced, Kratos remembered the rigid, predictable warrior he'd first fought. That boy was no more. Now, his movements were fluid and deceptive. The most evident example of this transition was in the boy's use of the spear. While previously, he favoured the rigid and short pole with a preference of direct attacks, he now favoured the flexible and longer pole that afforded him the ability to redirect his attacks through the opponent's guard.
A jab aimed at Kratos' chest suddenly swerved, and the spearhead sliced toward his right bicep before transitioning seamlessly into a rotating low sweep.
Kratos stomped his foot down and pinned the weapon's shaft to the ground. But before his foot made contact, Murugan detonated the spearhead. Kratos leapt back just as a blast of force and debris erupted where he'd stood.
"Devious!" the head guffawed from the rock.
Before the dust cloud could even begin to settle, Murugan burst through it, spear already in a reverse grip and aimed for Kratos' throat. Kratos' hand shot out, grabbed the shaft, and stopped it just centimetres from his skin. He realised his mistake too late. It was another feint.
Murugan released the spear entirely and spun low. His leg swept Kratos' knee in a targeted, joint-breaking strike while his other hand drove a hardened palm-heel directly toward Kratos's liver. It was a perfect dilemma. Block the leg and expose the torso. Block the palm and the spear, no longer held, would surely explode in his face. It was a no-win scenario.
Kratos chose the path of least resistance. He let the spear go and took the hits. He twisted his torso just enough that the palm strike glanced off his ribs instead of rupturing his liver. He couldn't save his knee, though. The joint buckled, and Kratos fell.
But he didn't let the fall go to waste. Using the downward momentum, he wrapped his arms around Murugan's attacking leg and twisted his entire body. Murugan was flipped like a ragdoll, landing hard on his back with Kratos instantly cinching in a painful leglock. He then put the full force of his weight on the boy's ankle joint.
Kratos increased the pressure. Murugan bellowed as his ankle creaked and screamed in agony. Through the waves of shooting pain, he managed to pucker his lips and let out a shrill whistle that echoed even across the plains.
In a flash, a vibrant shadow descended from the sky. Sharp talons raked across Kratos' face and shoulders in a frenzy, forcing him to release the hold. A massive peacock screeched, flapped, and pecked at him with unrepentant fury.
Caught off-guard, Kratos curled his body inward to protect his face and throat as sharp talons tore at his back and shoulders. Crimson lines tainted his ashen skin. It hurt, but it was merely a nuisance in the grand scheme of things. Kratos weathered the frantic assault and kept his breathing even, while patiently waiting for a single beat in the bird's attack pattern - an opening. It came when the creature transitioned from a raking slash to a decisive peck.
The bird's head lunged forward with the full momentum of its body. But Kratos met it with his own attack, driving his forehead up to connect solidly with the peacock's skull. The resulting crack was sickening. The bird's attack was instantly cancelled by Kratos' own, and it was thrown back, completely discombobulated.
It shook its plumed head, let out a confused squawk, and swiftly spread its wings to take off. As it was still recovering from the disorientation, its flight path dipped and deviated oddly, forming a wobbling trajectory of escape. Kratos was on one knee. He recalled his axe and, in the same fluid motion, threw it.
The axe hurtled through the air with uncanny accuracy like a spinning arc of steel aimed squarely at the bird's skull. Just as it was about to find its mark, Murugan's spear shot through the air and collided with it, knocking it off course. The axe flew harmlessly past the peacock, which squawked in terror and flew faster.
Murugan let out a shaky breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He was thankful for his impeccable aim. He was certain his mount would have breathed its last otherwise. It was clear now: his Guru hadn't been lying. He wasn't going to let anything stop him from killing Murugan. Not even his beloved mount. A strange clarity washed over him. The detached ruthlessness should have angered him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel that way. His Guru had been truthful from the start. These were the stakes.
As he lowered his gaze to find his opponent, he saw Kratos already moving. He was running with the unstoppable momentum of a landslide. The pale juggernaut closed the distance in a terrifying blur. Murugan had barely enough time to brace himself before his Guru snatched him up in a bear hug and locked both his arms tight against his sides.
Murugan's world became a chaotic mess. The pressure from his Guru's vice-like grip caused the air to escape his lungs while simultaneously throttling it such that he couldn't fill it back up completely. As he tried to relieve himself of the pressure by wriggling, his senses were rocked as Kratos rammed him straight through a tree, turning the thick trunk into a mist of fibrous pulp and showering him in a round of pain and splinters.
Once the disorientation from the first impact began to fade, he was slammed through a second. His head snapped back, and his vision swam as the air was once again forced out of his lungs. This repeated three more times. The lack of oxygen and the repeated head trauma sent him spiralling toward unconsciousness.
Through the ringing in his ears, he could feel his Guru's grip tightening with an unrelenting pressure that promised to crack his ribs and crush his organs. He was going limp, and his struggles had diminished from those of a fish fresh out of water to those of a fish right before it was filleted.
As his vision faded to a narrow tunnel, Murugan looked down and met his Guru's gaze. The man was expressionless and stared back with a cold and analytical detachment. The type of detachment that unnerved him. Because for a terrifying moment, Murugan was overwhelmed with the feeling of his own impending demise.
But his inherent stubbornness halted the flood of negative thoughts. He thought back to their first fight. If he had been placed in this exact situation back then, he would have known nothing but despair. He would have perished with a heart full of unwillingness, with his pride and honour intact, but his body broken.
He was different now. Now, honour and propriety didn't matter as much as survival.
Murugan opened his mouth wide and, with the last of his strength, bit down hard on his Guru's jugular.
A loud, pained bellow escaped Kratos. Human teeth are not meant for tearing flesh. The incisors and molars are designed for cutting and grinding, not ripping like a predator's. So it went without saying that as Murugan's jaws clamped down, Kratos was overwhelmed with the unique agony caused by the inefficient cutting and grinding of his flesh.
Interestingly enough, he had been expecting this. He had cornered Murugan and left him with precious few options. The entire purpose of this brutal exercise was to gauge the extent to which his student would bend his inherent righteousness in the pursuit of victory. If Murugan hadn't resorted to using the magical explosive ability of his weapon, if he hadn't resorted to using his mount as an interference to create space for himself, if he hadn't dropped all modicum of fair-play and bit down on his Guru's throat, Kratos would have been thoroughly disappointed. All his lessons would have been for nothing.
Still, even when expected, the pain was very real. Kratos released Murugan from the vice-like hug. However, contrary to his expectation, the boy did not let go.
The boy wrapped his arms and legs around Kratos like a stubborn sloth and clung to his torso, pulling his head back sharply. A wet, squelching tear resounded through the clearing as a large chunk of flesh was liberated from Kratos' neck. A fountain of crimson blood gushed from the wound, drenching them both.
Before Kratos could react to the new, searing pain, Murugan lunged forward again. His face, now painted red, met the wound he had just created, and he bit down once more into the exposed muscle and severed blood vessels.
Kratos tried to pry the boy off, but his immense strength was met with a savage, unyielding frenzy. Murugan latched on and began to thrash his head from side to side like a wolf that was trying to tear manageable chunks of meat from a carcass. The grinding of his teeth against Kratos' flesh and bone sent jolts of agony through his nervous system.
With a roar filled with pain and frustration, Kratos gripped the boy by the shoulders and, with a mighty heave, tossed him away. Murugan flew through the air, and Kratos immediately brought a hand to his mauled neck and applied pressure to staunch the bleeding.
His student landed on all fours like a cat, but without any of its grace. His figure, drenched thoroughly in crimson, remained there, crouched. Through the matted, bloody hair, two wide eyes shone like plain-white orbs with their pupils shrunken to black pinpricks. His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths. Kratos had never seen the boy like this; this was not the Murugan who always carried himself with such propriety and grace. And though his appearance was unfamiliar, the aura he was inhabiting was not. Kratos knew it intimately. He could feel the rage billowing off the boy's crouched form. It was intoxicating and utterly shocking.
"Boy-" Kratos began calmly, but with a tone laced with a new apprehension.
He was not allowed to finish. A primal scream ripped from Murugan's throat as he launched himself forward. He scurried towards Kratos on all fours, then transitioned seamlessly to his feet as his spear materialised in his grasp.
When he was within arm's length, Murugan leapt and stabbed at Kratos from a high, awkward angle. Kratos parried the blow, but the boy had already abandoned the spear in mid-air, proceeding with a second, closer strike. Kratos moved to block this new attack, but the spear, now falling behind him, exploded. The blast was deafening and immediately disoriented him. As Kratos successfully deflected the boy's hand, a dagger weaved through his guard and stabbed deep into the mangled flesh of his jugular.
Murugan had completely altered his strategy. He was taking full advantage of his weapon's explosive capacity and its ability to manifest in parts, using the larger spear as a distraction for the real threat: the detached, sharpened tip he wielded as a makeshift dagger.
With each attack, the boy grew more aggressive, faster, and more rageful. It reached a point where Kratos could physically see a baleful mist steaming off the boy's skin. And perhaps it was just the blood caked all over him, but the mist itself seemed drenched in crimson. A sense of dread started to bubble over from Kratos. The growing familiarity was disconcerting.
Seeing that his student wasn't calming down, Kratos deemed it necessary to end the fight before Murugan lost himself completely to that overwhelming emotion.
Kratos reached deep into the sealed chambers of his own being - a place he hadn't visited since coming to Kailasha. The rage. It was still there. Just where he had left it. Surprisingly, it hadn't grown in his time here. No matter. It was enough.
He expelled it. A booming shout emanated from his diaphragm, bursting outwards with a minor shockwave. A baleful aura of pure, unadulterated rage, ten times more potent than the one seething from the boy, pulsed across the clearing. The sheer pressure caused Murugan to flinch. For a fraction of a second, a spark of sanity flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone, doused by the inferno. Without a thought, he attacked again.
Kratos, now cloaked in his own fury, effortlessly swatted the attack aside. He jammed his forehead forward, catching the boy square in the chest with a sickening thud. As Murugan reeled back from the impact, Kratos grabbed him by the neck and spun him into a chokehold. Murugan thrashed, trying to writhe his way free, but Kratos collapsed backwards and took them both to the ground, and expertly locked the boy's lower limbs with his own.
Slowly, methodically, he began to restrict the air reaching the boy's lungs by constricting the hold.
To his shock, the boy did not tire. He struggled even harder. A sharp, piercing pain blossomed from Kratos' forearm as Murugan bit down and ground his teeth into the muscle. Kratos bore through it and continued the submission, but it only seemed to fuel his student's rage. Murugan freed one hand and stabbed the dagger-like spear tip into Kratos' lower abdomen before immediately inducing it to detonate.
The attack was devastating. The explosion mangled half of his stomach and internal organs. But Kratos did not let go.
It was in that moment of searing agony that Kratos realised a shocking, impossible fact. The boy's rage wasn't subsiding. But his was. For the first time in his life, Kratos found himself short of the one emotion that had defined his divinity. He was being out-raged by his own student.
The accumulating damage had finally taken its toll. As his own rage flickered and died, the pain crashed in. He felt his consciousness fading as his strength abandoned him. Right as the last of the power left his arms and his grip went slack, Kratos saw an ethereal, glowing mandala form in the air above them, spinning with intricate, silent light.
---
Kratos awoke almost immediately. His body was back to the way it was. His injuries had healed, and the only pain that remained was phantom as his mind tried to come to terms with the lack of its source.
He sat up and saw the boy lying still, drenched in blood, a few metres away, with his elder brother tending to him. Ganesh had formed an intricate weave of mandalas that danced around the unconscious Murugan's head.
"Do you think rage is inherited?" Ganesh asked as he worked his magic on Murugan.
Kratos jolted internally.
"For a moment, when I saw Murugan like… that, I saw a glimpse of my parents," Ganesh mumbled with a shudder.
Kratos' brow quirked with mild curiosity. Ganesh caught that reaction and expounded, "I hate to generalise, but in this world, people exhibit anger in two forms. There is anger through suppression, and anger through expression. The latter is when you expel the anger as soon as it arises in the heart. The kind of behaviour that makes you generally unpleasant to be around. The former is the kind you bottle up and expose in short, passive-aggressive bursts. It is slightly more bearable to be around, but once the pressure from suppression reaches a breaking point, those around will be forced to bear the brunt of years of unresolved anger expelled in a single burst."
"It may not seem evident, but my parents aren't really… pleasant people to be around. Things are better now, especially since Murugan was born. But before… You know there isn't a single restriction placed on Kailasha. Just about anyone can come here, unlike the other higher-realms," Ganesh waved his arms around and asked, "In all your time here, have you seen anyone visit here voluntarily?"
"So I thought that since the situation had improved here, and since Murugan wasn't exposed to all the unpleasant stuff, that he wouldn't have absorbed the rageful side of my family," Ganesh lamented with a wry smile. "But it seems that just like physical features, rage is also inherited."
Kratos stared blankly at Ganesh, deep in thought. The boy assumed the look carried a different meaning and said, "Don't look at me! Once you lose your head, it's hard to 'lose your head' again," and burst out into laughter.
"We are finished," Kratos declared, cutting the boy's laughter short.
"Huh-?"
"I have finished teaching him everything," Kratos repeated with a curt nod. "Tell the boy that when he wakes up."
Kratos immediately turned and vaulted away with large and quick strides. He picked up the head and hung it by his waist before beelining towards his temporary domicile.
---
"What's the rush?" Brahma probed as Kratos hurriedly packed his clothes into a messy pile and tied them into a cloth bag.
"You look like you've just seen a ghost!" Brahma continued. "What are you running away from?"
Kratos paused as the question made its way, like an invasive worm, from his ears into his brain.
"Do you think…" Kratos gulped. "… anger is inherited?"
"To an extent, yes," the head answered. "People can be more predisposed towards aggression. Anger is, after all, a result of the mind executing a series of signals. Some people can have a mind that is more susceptible to executing those signals under certain conditions compared to others. And this feature can be inherited from one's parents."
Brahma paused as he noticed the impassive look on Kratos' face as he stared blankly at the wall.
"But it seems your question was probing at something else altogether," Brahma concluded.
"Are you blaming yourself for Murugan's behaviour?" Brahma hypothesised loudly.
Kratos returned a look that implied affirmation.
"You've never expressed rage like that, Kratos," Brahma reminded. "At least not in front of him. It isn't your fault. The circumstance was unique. You had forced the boy into a scenario where his mind entered fight-or-flight. Without the ability to flee, he had to resort to fighting. And being so overwhelmed, his rational mind shut down, and he devolved into his primal state. Was it your fault that he was pushed to that state? Yes. But was it your fault that his expression of anger escalated like that? I don't think so."
'And yet, his expression of anger was so much like my own,' Kratos thought to himself. He hadn't revealed this side of himself actively to Murugan. Sure, the boy had seen Kratos' past. He had seen his explosive rage in those visions. But never once in their interactions had Kratos revealed that side of himself.
And yet… that ugly side reared its head through his disciple.
Could anger be inherited? Today, Kratos realised that it could. Because anger was a disease. It could be passed down through the generation and it could be contracted by those who remain in close proximity to those who have already succumbed to the illness.
With a decisive nod, Kratos heaved the bag over his shoulder and attached the head to his waist. As he was about to push open the door, it swung open from the outside.
Murugan was standing there with his face and hair still caked with blood.
"Guruji-"
"Our training is finished," Kratos quickly interjected. "You performed well. You defeated me. I shall go now."
"WAIT!" Murugan exploded. "What have I done to upset you, Guruji?"
"You-"
"What have I done to upset you, that you won't even deign to wish me farewell in person?" Murugan choked out with a wavering voice laced with sorrow. "Please, do not lie to me. If I hadn't come here now, I wouldn't have gotten the opportunity to say goodbye to you at all."
"I… am not upset with you," Kratos responded. "I wished to skip the emotionally-charged nature of this separation."
"You cannot do that!" Murugan snapped. "YOU CANNOT JUST DO THAT!"
"There is a process-" Murugan said while quickly wiping away the tears dripping out of his eyes.
He paused, let out a long exhale, and said, "I do not remember how our fight ended."
"You won," Kratos declared. "I died."
"But you held back," Murugan argued. "A lot."
"You cannot expect to defeat me within the short time we have been together," Kratos responded with a scoff. "And I am not planning to stay here with you until you are able to do that. There was no duplicity in our fight. Your victory was not staged."
Murugan pursed his lips in defiance. After a beat, he asked, "Why can I not remember how it ended?"
"That is for you to figure out," Kratos deflected. "Now, whatever this 'process' is, let us get it over with quickly."
"At the culmination of a Shishya's education, once the Guru deems them fit to carry on the Guru-Shishya Parampara (lineage), it is the Shishya's duty to respond with a gesture of gratitude and respect via a Dakshina - a fee," Murugan narrated. "Usually, the Guru expresses what they wish to receive from their Shishya as a Dakshina."
Kratos shrugged.
"As I expected," Murugan mumbled with a sly smirk. "Then it falls on the Shishya to make the decision. Guruji, I will strive to bring to you a gift that is suitable for the invaluable teaching and guidance you have bestowed upon me. Of course, this will require me to set out into the world to find said gift. In the meantime, I hope that you remain in our humble abode in anticipation of my return."
Without waiting for Kratos to respond, Murugan turned and sprinted away.
Kratos watched the boy's receding figure and, after a shaky sigh, tossed his cloth bag into a corner and sat down on his bed while cradling his forehead in his palms.
'This anger must die with me.'