✦ THE DUEL ✦
As the last of the refugees rushed past verman, scrambled toward the sanctuary of the hill, a presence descended upon the village—heavy, ancient, and suffocating.
Verman felt the gaze before he saw the source. Slowly, with the deliberate calm, he lifted his eyes.
A pressure that coiled around the spine, crawling up the nape of the neck like the touch of a long-forgotten nightmare.
High above the charnel house of the village, wings unfurled against the hemorrhaging sky. There stood the Asura Commander: Mihir Kul.
For a singular heartbeat, the universe ceased to exist. Their eyes locked across the distance, and hatred surged instantly—raw, visceral, and unrelenting. It was not the shallow enmity of strangers, but the profound malice of enemies bound by centuries of unfinished bloodshed.
From the sky, Mihir Kul threw his head back and laughed. The sound was a jagged curse that rolled across the valley.
"Ah," the demon's voice boomed with mockery. "See how destiny toys with us. After so many years of hiding in the shadow of a mortal life... we stand before each other once more."
Verman did not flinch. His grip tightened around the Sword of Mercy, his knuckles whitening and veins cording along his forearms like iron wires.
"Yes," Verman replied, his voice a cold, steady blade that cut through the wind. "Unfortunately, I am forced to witness your wretched face again." He stepped forward, angling his blade low. "But today, you will leave this earth with nothing. I swear it upon the light."
"A promise?" Mihir Kul scoffed, his massive form descending until his clawed feet pulverized the earth beneath him. "I believe I broke one of your promises once before."
His eyes burned with a malevolent crimson glow. "And this time, along with that boy... I shall present your head to my Lord."
A dreadful stillness spread across the land.
From the temple hill, every soul watched—priests frozen mid-prayer, villagers clutching one another, children sobbing into trembling arms. Arjun stood rigid, breath shallow, his heart pounding violently as he stared at the two figures below.
A child whispered, voice breaking, "Papa… what's happening down there?"
Arjun surged forward instinctively,
desperation overtaking reason—but firm hands restrained him. Smita pulled him back, Gopi clutched his arm, and the temple priest stepped between him and the gate.
"Control yourself, Arjun," the priest said, his tone firm yet heavy with sorrow. "I know your pain. But stepping outside now would be suicidal. These beings are not of this world."
Gopi leaned closer, whispering urgently, his lips trembling. "They came here to abduct you. Don't you remember what the demon said in the forest?"
The realization struck Arjun like a hammer.
Smita placed her hands on his shoulders, her touch grounding yet fragile. "Believe in your father," she whispered. "He is one of the bravest warriors to walk this land. He can handle this."
Below them, thunder cracked violently. Verman inhaled once, a deep, grounding breath, and then he roared. It was not just cry, but a lion's defiance hurled at a god-slayer.
He charged.
Mihirkul stepped back, his massive blade rising just in time.
Steel collided with a sound that shattered the air. The impact released a kinetic shockwave that rattled the temple bells and sent debris flying from the ruined huts.
Sparks erupted as blades ground against one another. Verman pressed relentlessly, his sword moving as a lethal extension of his will—furious, precise, and fueled by decades of buried rage.
Several strikes found their mark. Dark, viscous blood spilled from the demon's hide, sizzling like acid where it touched the soil.
The Asura snarled, and with a violent roar, swung his own blade in a wide, punishing arc. A wave of crackling, dark lightning burst forth, slamming into Verman and hurling him backward across the scorched earth.
Gasps erupted from the hill. Dust swallowed Verman whole.
Then—through the haze—he rose. Bruised. Bleeding. Unbroken.
With a primal shout, both warriors collided again at the center of the clearing. Their swords locked, metal screaming against metal.
Mihir Kul leaned close, his breath hot and foul, his voice dripping with ancient malice.
"Did you not hear the prophecy spoken before the dawn of Kalyug by the creator himself?"
The demon hissed.
"The superior shall eliminate the inferior."
Verman bared his teeth as he pushed back, muscles screaming. "And who decides who is superior?"
Mihir Kul's lips curled slowly into a knowing lethal smile.
"The one who survives."
Suddenly—
The world around Verman shifted.
The battlefield dissolved into silence.
Before him stood Arjun—bound in shadowed chains, eyes wide with terror.
Gopi lay beside him, bloodied and unmoving. Behind them, Smita knelt, wrists shackled, face pale and broken.
"Verman… please…"
"Papa… help us…
Verman's breath hitched. His sword hand trembled. "No... this cannot be—"
The illusion shattered like glass. And in that fractional second of lapsed focus, a jagged dagger erupted from Mihir Kul's serpentine tail—a blade blazing with a sickly, dark-purple aura.
It drove straight into Verman's exposed chest.
Blood exploded outward as the impact ripped the air from his lungs. His body jerked violently, eyes widening in disbelief.
"Oh," Mihir Kul whispered mockingly as he leaned close, his voice slick with triumph.
"Your mistake was believing I would fight fair with you, as like always you get easily tricked. That's why Asuras stay one step ahead of you."
Mihirkul twisted the dagger with a sickening, metallic grind before kicking Verman backward into the dirt.
The Asura commander stepped forward—slow, deliberate, and drunk on his own triumph. He planted his heavy, iron-shod boot directly onto Verman's chest, pressing down with cruel weight against the fatal wound. Blood spilled freely now, dark and endless, soaking into the very soil Verman had sworn his life to protect. Verman's body shuddered under the pressure; his fingers twitched instinctively toward his fallen sword, but the strength had already drained from his limbs, leaving him at the mercy of the monster above him.
From the high vantage of the temple sanctuary, Arjun saw everything.
At that distance, the world below looked like a miniature stage of horrors, yet every detail felt as sharp as a needle in his eye. As he watched the boot crush his father's chest, the boy's legs—once sturdy and full of youthful energy—simply turned to ash beneath him. He began to collapse, his body folding as if his very bones had been hollowed out by the sheer weight of what he was witnessing.
Gopi lunged forward, his own face a mask of terror, catching Arjun just before the boy's knees struck the cold, unforgiving stone of the temple floor.
Beside them, Smita's scream tore through the thin mountain air. It was a jagged, primal sound, a cry of pure, unrestrained agony that echoed off the temple walls. Arjun's own voice finally broke free, a desperate, sobbing rasp that clawed its way out of his throat.
"Papa!"
Behind them, the priests froze mid-prayer. The sacred incense swirled in the wind, suddenly cold, as the chanting died in the face of an earthly tragedy.
Villagers turned their head away in horror and sadness. Children buried their faces in their parents' arms witnessing the cruel fate.
Below, Mihir Kul leaned into the dying man's space, the weight of his iron boot grinding into Verman's shattered ribs.
"You protected them," the Asura hissed "You spent several years playing the mortal, rotting in this dirt just to hide the Avatar."
Verman coughed, blood spilling from his mouth—yet his eyes still burned with defiance.
Mihir Kul straightened, dismissing the dying warrior. He turned his gaze toward the temple hill, his eyes locking onto the small, trembling figure of Arjun silhouetted against the sacred stone. A cruel, jagged smile curved his lips.
"As I promised but a moment ago," he declared. "I will take the Avatar—"
He raised his black-iron blade, the metal glowed with a sick, violet hunger.
"—and I will take your head."
On the precipice,the world collapsed. Smita surged forward, pulling Arjun's face into her chest to shield him from the sight, her body racked by uncontrollable, silent sobs. Beside them, Gopi stood paralyzed, his fists clenched tightly. "This is our fault," he whispered, the words lost in the wind. "We brought the storm to his door..."
A violent crack of thunder detonated directly above Mihir Kul, the sound of the sky itself splintering in protest. The Asura stood over the fallen constable like a monument his crimson eyes bleeding light into the smoke.
He leaned down one last time, his voice a calm, venomous caress.
"You forgot the most fundamental rule of this war, little warrior," the Commander whispered. "You are not merely fighting a soldier. You are fighting the Master of Illusions."
For one breathless heartbeat, the world fell into a terrifying stillness. Time itself seemed to coagulate, freezing as every gaze—mortal and monster alike—locked onto the jagged edge of Mihirkul's raised sword.
A cold, predatory wind swept across the plains, tugging at the banners of the Asura army. Standing atop Verman's shattered chest, Mihirkul looked every bit the arrogant victor. His eyes, burning with a rhythmic, crimson malice, savored the moment. He was a wolf lingering over the final heartbeat of his old rival.
But as he tensed his muscles to deliver the killing blow, the silence was shattered.
A resonant, earth-shaking blast of conch shells erupted from the heavens. It was not a mere sound; it was a divine vibration that rattled the bones of the living and the dead. On the hill, the frightened villagers looked up; in the dirt, the bloodthirsty Asuras faltered.
The sky began to bleed light.
A massive, swirling vortex—a celestial whorl of white lightning clouds—tore open the fabric of the firmament. It was a portal of impossible scale, a spiral of churning ivory and gold that looked like the eye of a benevolent storm. From its center, a radiance emerged so pure it felt like a physical weight against the darkness of the valley.
Mihirkul's neck snapped upward. His jaw dropped as his arrogant smirk dissolved into a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. Before he could even utter a curse, the portal replied.
A singular bolt of celestial lightning—thick as a temple pillar—erupted from the spiral. It struck Mihirkul squarely in his chest with the force of a falling star.
The explosion was a blinding white burst that threw the Asura Commander backward, sending him hurtling through the air like a broken doll until he crashed into the ancient banyan tree at the edge of the fields.
"The Asuras froze, their arrogant unity fracturing in an instant. Confusion rippled through the demon army like a physical blow. The sneers of victory died on their gray lips as they exchanged frantic, glancing looks, Confusion turned to terror as they looked from their empty, leaderless center to the distant spot where Mihirkul had crashed forming a crator.
In that single moment of hesitation, the air grew heavy with the scent of their own impending doom."
Then came the bells.
The vigorous, rhythmic ringing of temple bells harmonized with the conch shells as an army of Devas descended from the golden spiral.
They were knights of living light, clad in full-fledged armors of celestial silver that shimmered with the dawn. They did not just move; they flowed down the hillside like a river of righteous steel, bypassing the fleeing villagers to crash into the Asura ranks with the same brutality the demons had shown the innocents.
...