The Vanara curled himself into a ball as the attacker overwhelmed him. The man was essentially everywhere and nowhere at once as he flitted across the field at impossible speeds. Every fraction of a second, a delayed explosion rattled the Vanara as the man fired off his explosive arrows.
The monkey, in turn, tried to crawl away. He hoped to create distance, but the man would appear out of nowhere and expend suppressive fire to reroute him. The damage the arrows inflicted was merely concussive. Essentially, they were insufficient to seriously hurt the Vanara. It was clear to him that the man's objective was just to destroy the herb, not to actually kill him. It was all a cruel and calculated game.
After a rapid yet short-lived volley of attacks, the Vanara noticed a pattern. The attacks were being honed in on the exact same location each time. The man had not been firing haphazardly. He was trying to scope out the weakest points in the Vanara's defences.
After noticing the Vanara flinch when an arrow struck near his right shoulder, the man started to direct his attacks solely at that target.
The Vanara tried to dodge or shield himself with other parts of his body, but it did little to help. The man was faster than sound itself. He would appear in the perfect position to attack the Vanara's weakness with another explosive arrow.
Gritting his teeth, the Vanara made a run for it. Right as he took off with an impulse that cracked the earth beneath him, two arrows whizzed past. They exploded in unison right in front of his face. His momentum was immediately curbed, causing him to tumble and fall. And as he fell, more and more arrows started to pelt him. The impacts were jarring and, as a result, the precious pouch was knocked from his grasp.
Two more controlled explosions pushed the pouch away from the Vanara. It tumbled across the barren ground and rolled to a stop, hitting the attacker's right foot.
The man smirked. With a decisive move, he lifted his foot and brought it down on the pouch.
But right as his foot was about to make contact, he immediately disappeared from the spot. A split-second later, an axe hurtled through the space where he was originally standing and embedded itself deep into the barren ground a few metres away.
A tremor echoed all around as the Vanara collapsed into the ground like a hurtling meteorite. He let out half a relieved sigh and hacked out a cough to clear the dirt from his airways before scrambling towards the pouch. After taking a quick look inside and verifying that the herb wasn't damaged. He let go of the other half of the sigh.
His eyes skimmed to the side and locked onto the axe in the ground. A moment of contemplation followed before a spark of recognition flashed across his face.
"This isn't your fight," the Vanara's opponent said as he appeared by his chariot. "I'm giving you a chance to leave… again."
Kratos walked over with measured and casual steps while raising his palm to call back the axe.
"What're you doin'?" The Vanara exclaimed. "Go!"
"Listen to the monkey," the man suggested with a smirk. "Or I promise you that you won't be leaving this battle alive."
Kratos snorted with faint amusement, "I accept that offer."
"Okay…" the man said with a chuckle. "Then it will be your honour to die by the hands of Meghanad, Crown Prince of-"
The man halted mid-boast and disappeared as an axe hurtled through where he stood.
"It is customary to exchange introductions in a duel," the voice came from behind Kratos. Kratos swivelled and brought his elbow in a downward arc to strike at the sound's source, but the swing only met air.
"If you don't give me a name, I will be forced to assign you one," the voice mocked once again from Kratos' blind spot. Kratos swung back, but halted midway and immediately punched where his blindspot would have shifted to.
His fist barely clipped the man's right shoulder as he appeared there instantaneously.
"Aren't you a smart one," Meghanad mocked. "Smarter than the monkey, at least."
"What are you waiting for?" Brahma yelled at the gawking Vanara. "Fly, you fool!"
The monkey snapped out of his shock and turned to leap away, but a barrage of concussive shots intercepted him again.
"I didn't say you could leave," Meghanad drawled with a derisive sing-song voice as he appeared before them atop his chariot.
He clicked his tongue and complained, "One against two and two-fifteenth, doesn't seem fair."
"Two-fifteenth?" The Vanara repeated while scratching his head in confusion.
"He is referring to me," Brahma explained in a low voice. It did not convince the monkey, as he still returned a blank look. "Proportionally, a human body is around seven-and-a-half heads tall. Since I am just a head, I am two-fifteenth of a human."
The monkey let out an audible hum of understanding. "Is he just trying to act smart by bringing in mathematics in the middle of a fight..." he murmured.
"I think it's only fair to even the playing field," Meghanad expressed before bringing the pinky finger of his palms to his lips and letting out a shrill whistle.
The whistle echoed across the battlefield for a beat. Then, a sound akin to an approaching locust swarm started to buzz, growing louder and louder with each passing second.
As Kratos looked into the distance, he saw a sparse cloud approaching them rapidly. As it grew closer, he realised that the swarm was not made of locusts. It was a horde of small, goblin-like winged Rakshasas. They were varied in appearance, but they all looked like tiny, unarmed imps with leathery wings and malicious grins.
The swarm descended on Kratos and the monkey with extreme prejudice. Tiny claws and sharp teeth met Kratos's skin. He quickly found himself peppered with countless small slashes and bites. It was not substantial damage. Each individual attack was no more than a pinprick. But it was quickly starting to accumulate. Blood started to spurt out from every part of his exposed skin.
Then, for a split second, the horde parted like a curtain. Kratos caught a glimpse of Meghanad smirking from his chariot. An arrow flew through the narrow gap and exploded right in front of him, causing a staggering, concussive blast. This pattern repeated five more times. The imps would part, the arrow would fly, and the explosion would rock him. On the sixth, Kratos anticipated the parting. He hurled the axe through the clearing. But Meghanad was not there. The concussive shot came from above, this time, slamming him into the dirt.
"Too predictable!" Meghanad's mocking voice carried through the cacophony of shrieks. The imps swarmed him again, their laughter mixing with their master's, and amped up the attack. Some latched onto Kratos and started to gnaw at him with rabid madness.
With an annoyed growl, Kratos ripped the imp, tossed it to the ground and stomped its head in one decisive move. Its skull exploded like a ripe watermelon, painting his feet in a deep and viscous crimson liquid. The action unnerved his attackers as they subconsciously gave him a wider berth. The space was enough for Kratos to approach and shake the monkey. The Vanara was once again curled up in a tight ball, trying only to protect the herb. Kratos grabbed the monkey's long, white tail and tied it firmly around his own waist. "Take me to him!" Kratos yelled over the noise.
The monkey grunted in affirmation. His tail expanded instantaneously, and its length shot out like a rope. It pulled Kratos with incredible force, yanking him free from the swarm. He was carried through the storm of bodies and launched directly towards the flying chariot.
Meghanad did not expect this gambit. Unlike on land, where his speed was unmatched, the golden chariot had a hard time turning midair. Kratos collided against the side of the chariot with a heavy thud. He quickly stabilised himself and stood to face the incredulous stare of Meghanad. The man dodged Kratos' first jab and immediately responded with a headbutt that barely affected the Spartan.
A wry smile twisted Meghanad's lips. He unsheathed a katar from his waist. It was a wicked, serrated blade about his forearm in length and extended out from his knuckles. He curled his fist tight around the weapon's handle and punched Kratos with the blade.
Kratos did not flinch. He let the blade latch deep in between his ribs. Meghanad's hand was now inadvertently captured as his weapon was stuck fast in Kratos' body. Kratos seized the opportunity and started to pummel the man with a barrage of wild and brutal haymakers.
Kratos did not hold back on his punches. It was evident by the sounds of bone cracking as his fist dipped deep into Meghanad's skull. But to his surprise, the man was completely unscathed after every attack. His face remained unbroken, and his smile remained unfaltering.
"You fought well," Meghanad commended. Right as Kratos' next fist was about to connect, he jerked his head aside. In the same motion, he pulled himself deeper into Kratos' sphere of attack, ignoring the fist that grazed his temple.
"Unfortunately, your enemy was I," he added. He yanked the katar free from Kratos's ribs and swiftly pushed the blade into Kratos' jugular. In one continuous, brutal motion, he twisted the weapon and severed Kratos' spine.
Meghanad pushed the corpse off the side of the chariot. He did not deign to watch it fall, as he proceeded to rearm himself with his bow. Right as he nocked an arrow, a piercing pain spiked through his spine. He reached behind him, and his hand grasped cold steel. An axe was embedded deep in his back.
As he turned, his eyes wide with disbelief. He saw Kratos climbing back up the side of the chariot, completely undamaged.
Meghanad snarled. He gripped the handle of the axe, ripped it from his back, and tossed it aside contemptuously. He seized the chariot's controls and swerved hard to the left. The chariot banked at a ninety-degree angle, but Kratos' grip was like iron. He was not dislodged. Meghanad sent the chariot into a barrel roll, then a sharp dive, and tried to use the wind itself to tear the man free. No matter how crazy the manoeuvre, Kratos was not deterred. He just kept drawing closer, hand over hand, with unhurried movements.
Kratos hauled himself up with one smooth, powerful pull and stood face to face with Meghanad once more. The two did not waste time on words. The fight resumed instantly.
The discrepancy in their techniques was stark. Meghanad was a blur of motion. His style was all speed, precision, and elaborate technique. He flowed like water, striking with palm heels, knife-hand chops, and rapid-fire punches aimed at Kratos' joints, throat, and eyes. He never stayed in one place; his feet danced continuously and took full advantage of even the limited space on the chariot's floor. His every move was designed to disable, to find a weakness, and exploit it with flawless, economical grace.
Kratos was the opposite. He was like a stone wall. His movements were measured, economical, and unforgivably powerful. He did not dance; he planted himself. He took the flurry of strikes because he knew his body could bear it. His defence was simple: he blocked what he could and endured what he could not. He knew immediately that dodging or parrying would be a waste of energy.
Where Meghanad was fast, Kratos was patient. He waited. His eyes tracked his opponent's impossible speed and anticipated the rhythm.
Then he countered. His fist moved like a piston. He threw a single, devastating right hook. Meghanad was forced to abandon his attack. And with that, his momentum was cut short, and he was forced to alter his speed towards defence as he ducked under the blow. The wind from the punch alone made his hair whip across his face. The force of it shook the entire chariot. Kratos followed with a heavy left, then a brutal uppercut. Meghanad weaved and dodged flawlessly. The attacks were straightforward, and their trajectory was predictable.
The problem was that they didn't provide a single opening. In order to create one, Meghanad would have to block or even body an attack. But a single clean hit, he knew, would be catastrophic.
The two were evenly matched. Meghanad's blinding speed was frustrated by Kratos' immovable resilience. Kratos' raw power was, in turn, nullified by Meghanad's impossible agility.
When a fight reached a stalemate, the victor was not decided by skill. It was decided by endurance. The man who could last the longest would eventually win.
Meghanad quickly surmised that he had made a mistake. He had underestimated his opponent. He had figured that by overwhelming the ashen man with speed, he could secure a quick victory. Unfortunately, the man had seen right through the gambit. He had rationed his energy well.
It was also odd, Meghanad noted, that the man hadn't tired one bit. At this point, Meghanad had an excellent measure of his opponent. The man's attacks had not diminished in speed or intensity since their fight began.
And another thing Meghanad found out was that the man could not die. At least, the conditions had not been met to kill him. But that was of no consequence, though. As long as Meghanad stood in his chariot, he could not die either. However, this also meant that continuing this farce was meaningless.
One thing his father taught him was that in any confrontation, there must always be a victor and a loser. Fighting towards a stalemate was a waste of time and energy. In fact, fighting this man wasn't part of the plan. It was a coincidental detour, which was turning out to be a separate journey in and of itself. A journey Meghanad had no intention of taking to term. Thus, it was time to fast-track his original objective and disengage from this irksome man.
Meghanad leapt up. He used Kratos's shoulder as a springboard, pushed himself high into the air and away from the chariot. While midair, he nocked his bow and took aim. But his target was not Kratos. Meghanad jerked the bow and aimed it square at the monkey, who was still curled up in a bloodied mess on the ground.
By some unseen command, the swarm of Rakshasas parted and dispersed, and cleared the line of fire.
Meghanad opened his mouth and started to chant. Instead of his voice, the world just went silent. At the peak of his parabolic trajectory, his entire body halted. He was suspended in midair, as if held by some invisible rope hanging from the clouds.
The clouds, in turn, started to swirl and turn darker. Thunder and lightning started to rumble, drowning out the silence with a tense, electrical hum.
"Oh no…" Brahma evoked from Kratos' waist. His voice was tight with sudden realisation. "K-K-Kratos-"
The arrow nocked in Meghanad's bow started to crackle with light. It grew brighter and brighter, and shone with a terrible, contained power.
Kratos' gaze narrowed with recognition.
This build-up… he had seen it before. It was not the exact same, but the feeling gnawing at the back of his neck felt far too familiar.
He delved into his memories. It did not take long for him to find what sparked this recognition.
He remembered the vision he had experienced from Rama's past. That time on the battlefield where the man had summoned an attack of catastrophic proportions. He recollected the primal feeling that attack had evoked. It was the same emotion he was experiencing right now. His fight or flight mechanism was blaring haphazardly. This spoke volumes. Even though his mind knew that he could not die, his body still felt apprehension when facing this power.
"The Vanara's life is forfeit," Brahma lamented. "I did not know that man knew how to wield my Astra."
"What?" Kratos probed, his voice a low growl.
"The weapon he is calling forth," Brahma explained, "is one I developed in the primordial eras."
Kratos hefted his axe. He hurled it with all his strength towards the hovering man. But the axe simply bounced off, as though it had hit an invisible force field.
"You cannot interrupt its invocation," Brahma explained. "I… I had originally created it to protect the learned ascetics who worshipped me. It was for self-defence. But the warrior caste recognised its destructive potential and co-opted it."
"How do you stop it?" Kratos asked, while his eyes remained affixed on the growing light.
"You can't," Brahma responded with a morose tone. "Once invoked, it cannot be stopped. It will not cease until it has annihilated the target it was meant to strike. Anything that stands in its way is destroyed along with it."
Kratos averted his gaze from the man and looked down at the monkey. It seemed the Vanara, too, had recognised the attack. But to Kratos's shock, he did not see the same primal fear he felt internally.
Instead, the monkey straightened up. He knelt on the ground with a tranquil expression, as though he were inviting the attack.
"We did all that we could," Brahma expressed with a sigh. "I guess it is time to go."
"You give up, just like that?" Kratos probed, his voice laced with incredulity.
"There is no way around this," Brahma explained. "Unless you can pull out an Astra of equal or greater power, which I am sure you will be hard-pressed to find, there is no way to counter the Brahmastra."
"You made this weapon. Teach me how to summon it," Kratos demanded.
"It does not work that way," Brahma answered. "It is not a spell that I can just bestow upon you. Learning the invocation comes in multiple stages. It takes time and dedication."
Kratos observed as the nocked arrow gained a luminescence bordering that of the sun. The weapon was just moments away from being released.
In a moment of quick thinking, Kratos leapt off the chariot. He landed hard on the cracked earth and used the tail tied around his waist to yank himself towards the monkey.
"Traveller! Knowledgeable Head! What are you doing? Go, quickly now!" The Vanara urged hastily. His expression was warped with concern for them.
Kratos ignored the monkey. He planted himself firmly in front of the kneeling Vanara and raised his palm, calling his axe back to him.
At that exact moment, with a deafening crack that sounded like a hundred lightning storms converging at once, the world flashed white.
Kratos felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. He felt the wave of pure danger draw close.
The moment the wood of the axe's handle slapped into his palm, he rotated swiftly. He brought the flat of the axe head up just in time to meet the blinding flash of energy.
There was only pain after that. Kratos felt his skin melting from his frame and his bones turning into ash. He went in and out of consciousness multiple times. He was likely dying and being brought back to life by the axe, over and over. But he did not relent. He gritted his teeth and held on strong against the impossible, annihilating power of the attack.
In the minuscule instances between his fading consciousness, Kratos managed to feel out the intriguing nature of the attack. While it had arrived like a charging bull, it lacked the kind of momentum one would expect from a projectile. It had the piercing behaviour of a jabbing spear, as it was attempting to burrow through him and hit its target. To that end, Kratos didn't feel himself being pushed back while the axe blocked the weapon's charge. The axe, in turn, vibrated like an excited child as it absorbed the attack's power in the process.
Kratos could feel that as time progressed, the rate of his rejuvenation was amplifying. It got to the point that he was no longer losing consciousness - the axe was able to regenerate the damage as it was being inflicted.
But that was not all.
As time progressed, Kratos felt it bubbling up again.
The rage. The bloodlust.
He had no reason to feel it. He wasn't emotionally involved in this conflict in any way. He shouldn't be feeling… anything. Why was he getting angry?
That was the last strand of his thoughts while he still remained in control. Because the moment the attack dissipated, all Kratos saw was red.
___
"WHAT?!" Meganad bellowed in shock with a hint of fear. "What did you do?!"
"Y-You saved me!" The Vanara muttered when he saw the ash-skinned man regain his ashen skin as the man's scalded and molten dermal layer regenerated before his very eyes. He scanned his eyes all around him and absorbed the utter devastation the Brahmastra had wrought to his surroundings.
Even before the battlefield was subject to the aftereffects of the Astra, it was by no means a paradise to stay in. But it was at least palatable if not drab. But now…
The ground where the man stood was the epicenter of a new, massive crater with an expanding cone behind him that was unaffected. The earth wasn't just scorched, it was gone. In its place was a gleaming, glassy sheet of black obsidian where the sheer heat of the Astra had melted the rock and sand instantly. Wisps of acrid smoke rose from the vitrified ground, carrying a sharp, ozone smell that burned the nostrils.
Further out, the barren plains were riddled with deep gouges, as if someone had taken a giant rake to the land. What little vegetation had clung to life was now nothing but white ash that danced in the superheated wind. The air itself felt thin and sterile, and a suffocating heat radiated from the impact zone, making every breath a chore.
This wasn't the first time Meghanad had summoned the Brahmastra. The Vanara had witnessed it being summoned in the previous confrontations. But at least at that time, his Lord was present to counteract the Brahmastra with his own invocation of the weapon. So luckily, he didn't have to experience the after-effects of the attack.
But what confused the monkey was that, according to his knowledge, nothing should have stopped the weapon from striking its target. Unless-
His eyes darted to the axe in the Traveller's hand, and a realisation struck him.
That weapon had to be in the same league, if not more powerful, than the Brahmastra itself!
"Monkey!" The Knowledgeable Head yelled. "Go! NOW!"
The Vanara stuttered and stumbled, but the Head's admonishing glare sent him stumbling. After a running start, he leapt with force in the direction of his Lord's retinue and encampment.
___
Meghanad found himself entertaining the unfamiliar notion of regret. It turned out that kicking a metaphorical hornet's nest had all the delightful consequences of kicking a real one.
As he saw the monkey flying away, he realised that not only had he failed to achieve his original objective, he had tangled himself with a very, very dangerous man. A man more dangerous than Indra himself - because the King of Devas, too, was forced to kneel before the might of Meghanad's arsenal of Divine Astras. Only one other had come close to matching Meghanad in his prowess, and it was that dastardly exiled prince.
But this man evoked a sense of danger that trumped the exiled prince.
The man stood like an eerie statue amidst the carnage as his body regenerated at an observable pace. His exposed skull started to regrow its clothing to finally reveal an impossibly enraged mien.
The bloodlust oozing out of the man's red eyes was enough to send a shiver down Meghanad's spine.
Without a second thought, Meghanad let out a shrill whistle and called the chariot towards himself. After launching the Astra, he had descended to the ground preemptively to celebrate the demise of his opponents. But his haste had left him vulnerable.
His chariot was just a few metres away from him before a piercing strike to his spine incapacitated him completely. He fell to the ground and rolled to his side, just in time to see the ashen man charging towards him like an enraged bull. He scuttled hurriedly towards the rapidly approaching chariot, but the man caught his leg and, with a swift twist, shattered his ankle.
But at this point, the chariot was right next to Meghanad. He suppressed a painful moan and let out another variation of a shrill whistle. The horse closest to him responded in kind. It rotated its body and sent a swift kick targeting the ashen man.
Meghanad did not wait to see the aftermath of the attack. He quickly ascended the chariot, and as its magic amended the damage, he urged his horses to fly away.
Once he was stable, he risked a glance back at the ground to search for the ashen man. He wasn't there. The question had barely formed in Meghanad's mind when the horse to his far right suddenly whinnied in agony and thrashed wildly in its harness.
The chariot jerked violently, almost throwing him from his feet. It was then that Meghanad saw him. The ashen man was hanging underneath the horse, gripping its exposed entrails like a rope, with his face coated in fresh, crimson blood, amplifying the emanating aura of pure, murderous rage.
Meghanad scrambled for his bow and nocked an arrow, but the man immediately swung under the horse's belly and disappeared from his line of sight. A second later, Meghanad's second horse let out the same pained, gurgling shriek.
The chariot was now hurtling towards the ground dangerously.
In a moment of quick thinking, Meghanad took one of his arrows and exploded it at an angle behind his chariot, causing it to veer off-course.
It was time to take emergency measures. If he couldn't defeat the man in a neutral battleground, he had to leverage home-court advantage.
And his home-court was his father's kingdom - Lanka.