Chapter 106 – Breaking the Cocoon
The drums of Mahishmati roared like thunder, echoing across Bharatvarsh. The Tournament of Power had officially begun, and warriors from every corner of the land had gathered to prove themselves before Rudra, the Hidden King of Mahishmati.
The great arena, expanded by Rudra's own Maya, shimmered like a realm outside time. Millions of commoners filled the distant stands, royals occupied high pavilions, and even sages and demigods sat among the honored guests. The tension was palpable—today, history would be written.
Rudra stepped forward, his presence enough to silence the ocean of voices.
"Those who wish to participate," his deep voice rolled through the grounds, "step forward."
The Gathering
They came in waves.
The familiar faces appeared first—the Kuru princes, each radiating newfound strength.
Yudhishthir, calm and resolute, spear intent sharp.
Duryodhan, broad-shouldered, his mace resting like a mountain in his grip.
Vikarna, bow humming faintly with hidden fire.
Sahadeva, axe strapped to his back, sharp eyes betraying calculation.
And among them, Subhadra with her Maya Mani, Dushala with her twin swords, and Anupriya silent but confident.
But soon came others.
From the east: Shrutayudha of Kalinga, son of Varun Dev, water Prana flowing like a tide around him. The crowd whispered in awe, "A demigod…!"
From the north Kapotaksha, Rakshasa prince, skin crimson, tusks gleaming, trident on his shoulder. To the surprise of many, he bowed to Rudra. "I stand here under the promise of my father and Guru Shukracharya, Please guide me"
From the west Nikumbha the Asura, gaunt, his hollow eyes piercing into the souls of those who dared meet his gaze.
And then came a youth who silenced even the whispers.
He wore only a white dhoti, bare chest scarred and rugged. He was impossibly tall—nearly five meters—and though his eyes remained closed, his very stance demanded respect. He carried no weapon, no visible Prana. Yet his body radiated suffering, endurance, and strength beyond comprehension. His name was whispered uncertainly: Ram.
In the royal stands, Bhishma's brows furrowed. "This boy… no Prana, no Siddhi, and yet…"
Even Parashurama leaned forward slightly.
Rudra's Declaration
When the warriors had gathered, Rudra raised his hand.
"The first test," he said, "is called… Breaking the Cocoon."
Murmurs broke out among the crowd.
Rudra's tone remained steady. "Each of you carries untapped power. But before strength can emerge, you must break free of your cocoon, your prison of fear, doubt, and weakness. For this test, you shall each be placed in a confined space, absolute and dark. Escape it, and you shall move forward."
Before the warriors could react, Rudra's hand swept through the air.
In an instant—thousands vanished.
Gasps filled the arena. Panic rippled, but Rudra's calm voice reassured them. "They are safe. You will see everything."
Above the arena, shimmering screens of light bloomed, each showing a warrior inside their cocoon. Smaller enchanted mirrors were handed to royals and sages, allowing them to watch closely.
Inside the Cocoon
The screens revealed a sight that sent shivers through the crowd.
Every participant now floated in an utterly confined black void. There was no sound, no light, nothing. The walls pressed from all sides, suffocating. The moment a warrior tried to strike—whether with mace, bow, or spell—the darkness rippled as though it would shatter, but then snapped back, stronger than before.
Duryodhan roared, swinging his mace with all his might. Sparks flew as though the void cracked—but the next moment, it was as though nothing had happened.
Vikarna's arrows of fire blazed through the dark, illuminating the void briefly. Yet as soon as the flame touched the walls, it fizzled into nothingness.
Subhadra tested her Maya Mani, weaving illusions to unravel the prison. But here in the cocoon, even illusion bent and collapsed. She frowned.
Dushala's swords danced with fluid grace, cutting the air itself. The void trembled, but refused to give way.
Even the mighty Shrutayudha, son of Varun, summoned torrents of water within the prison. The confined space shook, but remained unbroken.
Gasps spread among the audience. "Impossible… not even they can break it?"
And then the screens showed Ram.
The tall, scarred youth stood quietly, hands pressed against the walls. He did not rage. He did not scream. He only pressed harder, muscles flexing until veins bulged. His face remained calm, serene—like he had endured worse than this darkness a thousand times before. The void quivered under his raw strength, but still it did not break.
Rudra's eyes lingered on him longer than anyone else "This boy....."
The Murmurs of the Stands
In the royal pavilion, Vidura whispered, "This is no ordinary test… he wants to measure their hearts, not their weapons."
Bhishma's jaw tightened "Yes Only those who can endure despair without losing themselves can hope to move forward."
Dhrishtadyumna muttered, "But… none of them can break it, Then what is Rudra planning?"
Even sages like Vishwamitra and Parashurama exchanged glances. This was no mere show of power—it was philosophy turned into trial.
----
The cocoon test continued, every warrior struggling in their own way. Hours passed, yet not a single cocoon shattered. Sweat, rage, silence, despair—all were visible on the glowing screens.
Ram in Darkness
He closed his eyes again, unshaken.
"This is nothing," he murmured. "I have endured worse."
The scars on his body burned faintly, as though recalling memories of pain. The endless nights of striking stone until his knuckles bled. The days spent standing beneath waterfalls until his bones screamed. The years of isolation, starving, fighting beasts with his bare hands just to survive.
All that suffering had forged him into what he was now.
Ram pressed his palm against the unseen barrier of the cocoon. It resisted. His muscles bulged, veins rising like rivers beneath his skin. With a deep breath, he struck.
BOOM.
The sound echoed across his prison, but the cocoon held. No crack appeared.
Ram's expression did not change. He struck again. And again. Each blow shook the void, though it did not break. His body moved rhythmically, like a man hammering away at fate itself.
The spectators watching his screen were stunned.
"This man… he has no Prana at all!" one prince exclaimed.
"Impossible! How can he move with such force without Prana?" another gasped.
But the sages understood. Parshuram's eyes glowed faintly.
"He has taken his body… to the very peak of mortal cultivation. His flesh, his bones, his blood—they are his Prana now. Such a path is nearly extinct."
Rudra, watching silently from the center of the arena, felt a flicker of admiration.
"This one… he has not broken his cocoon yet," he thought, "but he already broke the cocoon of his life long ago."
---
And as Ram continued to strike, his fists glowing faintly with nothing more than the heat of friction, the crowd held its breath. For this was only the beginning.
The Tournament of Power had commenced.