Chapter 107 – The Endless Darkness
The arena of Mahishmati was vibrating with tension. The cocoon test that Rudra had created had already left the entire Bharatvarsh stunned. For hours, the warriors had been trapped in the suffocating black void, striking endlessly, yet not a single cocoon had cracked.
The crowd whispered, nobles debated, sages frowned, and the princes parents clenched their fists in anticipation.
Then Rudra appeared at the center of the grand arena. His calm, commanding presence hushed millions instantly.
With a faint smile, he raised his hand. A device appeared.
It was unlike anything the audience had seen—black metal, intricate carvings, and a single glowing red button at its core.
"What is this?" Bhishma muttered, narrowing his eyes.
Rudra's voice boomed across the grounds.
"This… is a tool that will make the competition even more interesting."
The crowd leaned forward, expectant.
"This button," Rudra continued, holding the strange device aloft, "will alter the flow of time within the cocoon. One day in our world will equal one hundred days inside. Hunger and exhaustion will not kill them, but the pressure… the despair… the loneliness—it will be magnified a hundredfold."
The audience gasped. Some nobles leapt to their feet.
"One day here… a hundred days there!?"
"This is cruel!"
"No… this is genius!"
Even Parashurama sat straighter, lips pressed together. He knew what this meant. This was no mere test of strength. It was an ordeal of the soul.
Rudra's eyes swept across the sea of horrified and excited faces. "So," he asked, his tone calm yet sharp, "shall I press it?"
For a moment, silence. Then—like a floodgate breaking—roars of anticipation erupted.
"Yes!"
"Do it!"
"Let us see who survives!"
Rudra pressed the red button.
At once, the shimmering cocoons flickered with strange runes, and the atmosphere of the arena shifted. A cold shiver ran down every spectator's spine.
Inside, the participants felt it too. The suffocating darkness grew heavier, as though time itself had slowed.
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The Endless Trial
At first, the warriors redoubled their efforts.
Duryodhan bellowed, mace crashing against the void with earth-shaking force. Sweat poured, arms trembled, but still he fought.
Vikarna's arrows rained, fire crackling, illuminating the black for fleeting moments before vanishing into nothingness.
Yudhishthir gritted his teeth, spear intent focused like a single piercing truth. He stabbed, again and again, each strike burning his lungs with effort.
Subhadra's illusions flickered desperately, collapsing on themselves. Her breathing grew shallow.
Dushala's twin swords cut like a bloody dance, but in this prison, even elegance was swallowed.
Others too fought, from the Asura Nikumbha to the Rakshasa Kapotaksha, their roars echoing into the darkness.
At first, it seemed the void trembled with each blow. Hope sparked—maybe it was about to break. But again and again, the black walls repaired themselves, stronger than before.
Outside, nobles leaned forward. "It will shatter any moment!" they exclaimed.
But the sages knew better. They watched with grim expressions.
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Hours Turn Into Days
Four hours passed outside. Inside, the participants had endured four hundred hours—over sixteen days.
One by one, warriors broke.
The proud Asura Nikumbha let out a guttural scream and collapsed to his knees. His fists trembled. "This… void… is endless…" His will shattered.
Rakshasa Kapotaksha fought valiantly, tusks gleaming, body drenched in sweat. But after nine hours outside—nine hundred hours within—even his beastly endurance gave way. With a final roar, he slumped down, chest heaving. "Enough!"
The cocoons pulsed faintly, acknowledging surrender. The defeated remained trapped, sitting in silence, unable to fight further.
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The Princes Struggle
By the twelfth hour outside—twelve hundred hours inside, nearly fifty days—the once-proud Kuru princes began to falter.
Yudhishthir's spear drooped. His arms trembled, his breath ragged. For days, he had thrust, enduring in silence, but even his disciplined spirit could not overcome despair. At last, he dropped to his knees, chest heaving, whispering, "I… cannot…"
Duryodhan lasted only moments longer. His mace slipped from his grasp, his roar breaking into a strained sob. "No… not even I… can…" His pride crumbled in that eternal darkness.
The crowd outside wept and murmured. Parents looked away. Even Bhishma sighed deeply.
But two figures still fought.
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Arjun.
His eyes burned with divine determination. Astras flared from his bow, filling the void with blinding brilliance. Agneyastra, Varunastra, Vayuastra—he unleashed them one after another, filling the cocoon with storms of fire, water, and wind. But each time, the void swallowed them whole.
Arjun's voice cracked with frustration. "Why… won't it break!?" He clenched his bow, teeth gritting, refusing to yield. His guru's words echoed in his heart: Endure, fight, persist.
But slowly, even his spirit bent. After a full day outside—a hundred days inside—Arjun sank to the ground, drenched in sweat. His bow lowered. He closed his eyes, chest heaving. "So be it… I will wait."
The crowd murmured in shock. "Even Arjun gave up…?"
But one man remained.
Ram.
The scarred giant had been striking the cocoon since the very beginning. His fists, raw and bloodied, slammed into the same spot again and again. His eyes remained closed, his breath steady. He had not stopped. Not once.
Outside, spectators stared in horror.
"Is he mad?"
"He's been striking for days!"
"His body should have collapsed!"
But Ram's aura only grew. His presence was primal, ancient—like some beast of prehistory. He did not think of despair, or time, or failure. He only knew one truth: Either the cocoon breaks, or my body does.
Hours became days inside. Fifty, a hundred, a hundred and fifty. Still he struck. Still his stoic face never changed. His fists pounded like a drum of inevitability.
Even the sages leaned forward now. Parashurama's eyes narrowed. Vishwamitra whispered, "This one… he is no ordinary youth."
Rudra himself watched, silent, unreadable.
The crowd roared in awe, some weeping, some trembling.
In the suffocating void, Ram continued to strike—an unyielding titan against the darkness.
The first test had become more than a trial. It had become a legend.
And all of Bharatvarsh whispered the same question:
Who is Ram?
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