Below the hill, the battle became a slaughter in reverse. Asuras were extinguished before they could even scream, their dark forms dissolving under the white-hot blades of the Deva host.
Amidst the chaos, Arjun broke free. He sprinted down the hill road, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his mother and Gopi trailing behind him in a desperate, tear-streaked pursuit.
Far across the field, Mihirkul struggled to rise. He was a ruin of his former self—half-burnt, smoke curling from his scorched armor. The lightning strike had left a fatal, glowing wound on his chest that pulsed with a volatile crimson-blue energy, refusing to heal. He sat in the dirt, his hand clawing at the earth for support, watching his army being systematically dismantled from far .
He looked toward the horizon. The first sliver of the sun was beginning to cut through the dark glow of the skyline.
"No..." he growled, a guttural sound of pure frustration. He threw a clawed hand into the air, yelling at the sky. "I was so close! I could have claimed that Avatar right in front of me!"
The light of the approaching dawn touched his face as he watched his army getting slayed, he flinched with a freaking look of terror in his eyes, as he witness the glowing horizon.
" Retreat!" he screamed loudly, echoes of his voice carrying over the din of clashing steel catching the remaining Asuras' attention. "Before the sun rises and we are extinguished!"
With a violent flap of his tattered wings, Mihirkul rose into the air. His body began to fray at the edges, dissolving into a thick, oily black smoke. He surged toward a narrow, jagged rift portal that had opened in the sky above the battlefield.
Following his lead, the remaining Asuras abandoned their forms, turning into streaks of dark shadow and gaseous soot, racing for the safety of the void.
The Deva warriors threw lances of lightning and thunderbolts at the escaping smoke, but the attacks passed through the transparent shadows, hitting nothing but the air. With a final, lingering hiss of malice, the dark portal collapsed, vanishing as if it had never been.
The immortals were gone, but the silence that followed was heavier than the war.
From the temple hill, the villagers finally descended. Their cautious footsteps echoed through the wreckage as fear gave way to grief, and disbelief settled into hollow silence. They gathered in clusters, eyes wide, mouths wordless, struggling to comprehend the scale of what had unfolded before them. At the heart of the devastation, however, sorrow took a more intimate form.
The villagers descended into the wreckage of their lives. Arjun, Gopi, and their mother reached Verman's side, their mourning cries rising as they huddled around his still form.
All around them, others wandered through the ruined site of the villages, searching for the remains of their loved ones amidst the cooling ash.
And then, the sun rose. It climbed slowly over the far distant horizon, casting long, golden shadows over a mourning valley that would never be the same. The light of the new day had arrived, but for Arjun, the world was now a place of shadows and promises.
"Papa… Papa…" Arjun's voice was a jagged rasp. He knelt in the suffocating dust, the earth beneath him turning into a dark, muddy crimson. His hands trembled violently as he clutched Verman's fingers—fingers that were slick and cooling, losing the heat of life.
Beside him, Gopi collapsed, his composure shattering into raw. Smita fell to her knees at Verman's head, cradling his face in her lap. Her prayers were fractured, whispered through a veil of tears, her hands hovering over his skin as if she could stitch his soul back to his body with her touch.
"Arjun… my boy," a ghost of a whisper escaped Verman's lips.
The wound in his chest was a jagged ruin, the blood still pulse-glowing with a strange, fading light against the dark stains on his armor. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered. The fire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a soft, misty glaze, but as they focused on the faces of his family, a faint, defiant smile touched his lips.
Drawing upon the very last embers of his strength, he spoke, "I am glad… all of you are safe." His grip on Arjun's hand tightened, a final, weak spark of his power.
From the shadows of the nearby ruins, a figure emerged. His silhouette was draped in the celestial grace of the heavens—a Deva. He approached with a heavy, rhythmic stride that stopped abruptly as he recognized the fallen man.
"Verman," the name slipped from the Deva's lips like a bated breath.
The family turned, eyes wide with shock to see a god like being standing in their midst, but Verman did not flinch. His fading gaze drifted upward, recognizing the golden shimmer of the god like warrior.
"Ares," Verman replied, his voice cracking like dry parchment but remaining calm.
"How are you… my old friend?"
Ares dropped to one knee, his divine face contorting with a very human anguish. His teeth were clenched, his eyes shimmering with a disdain for the cruelty of the Fates. "I never imagined," Ares rasped, his voice thick with grief, "that I would see you again in such a devastating state." He broke down as he spoke to his friend.
"Don't be sad, my friend," Verman said, his serenity cutting through the Deva's despair.
"Yes… I am dying."
The words hit Arjun like a physical blow, but Verman's eyes were already locking onto his son's, pinning him with a sudden, intense clarity.
"But this is not the end, Arjun. A long life awaits you—a life that changes from this very heartbeat. An adventurous journey is beginning, one paved with struggles, obstacles, and hardships designed to test the metal of your soul. You must endure them all. I will not be there to see you triumph… but my blessings will always be with you."
Verman's breath hitched, his chest heaving as the light around his wound flickered.
"When men pass away, they leave their offspring with land and inheritance. But I… I leave you with a promise to fulfill."
Arjun leaned in composing himself, his tears falling onto his father's cheeks, his heart hammering against his ribs. He listened as if the words were being branded onto his spirit.
"The universe has chosen you as their savior, Arjun. It has chosen you to protect it from falling into the hands of the Great Darkness. Promise me… promise me you will fight against the powers that seek to rule through fear."
Arjun's response was a jagged sob that seemed to tear its way out of his chest. He collapsed over his father's cooling form, his forehead pressing against the rough fabric of Verman's uniform.
"Yes, Papa," he choked out, his voice thick with the salt of his tears and the weight of a sudden, terrifying destiny. "I have followed your footsteps since I was a boy. I have walked in your shadow to learn how to be a man."
He lifted his head, and though his eyes were brimming with tears, the flicker of the boy who had played in the dust was gone. In its place was something serious and deep.He tightened his grip on his father's hand one last time, a silent vow passing between the living and the dead.
"I promise you," he continued, his voice hardened. "I will not let your sacrifice be a footnote in their history. I will carry this flame until the shadows that took you are burned to ash. I will fight until my revenge is the final word written in their book of blood."
Verman looked at his son with pride in his dimmed eyes, his voice grew thinner, drifting away like smoke, with his final words which were clear, ringing with the authority.
"And remember my last advice: Never grieve when you think of me. Carry only my words of wisdom and light".
"Because" he gasps.
"The brave must always stay positive, to serve as the beacon of hope that guides others through the darkness."
He reached out, his trembling hand touching Arjun's chin, tilting it upward.
"Hold your head high for the future, my son. Always."
As the final word left his lips, the desperate tension in his fingers vanished. The glow in the wound went dark, and Verman's head fell back into the silence of his wife's lap. For a moment, the world held its breath; the only sound was the mournful howl of the wind as it whipped the dust into restless ghosts. But beneath the grief, a quiet, molten resolve began to kindle in Arjun's chest.
Around them, the ranks of the Devas moved as one. There were no commands, only the rhythmic ring of steel as they raised their blades toward the churning sky—a silent salute to the fallen. They bowed their heads, their silvered armor reflecting the dull light of a dying day.
The villagers, who had watched from the periphery with hearts heavy with fear, now stood tall. One by one, they rose in a wordless standing ovation, a wall of human dignity honoring a man who had given everything. No eulogy was spoken, yet the silence was deafening, heavy with a reverence that the wind could not carry away.