The tree of dharma shook as if it might tear itself from the roots. The lotus lakes churned, the rivers of milk boiled black, and the hymns of mortals twisted into screams. The Hindu realm was no longer a sanctuary of prayer—it was a battlefield of gods and something greater.
Hades stood at the center, wings spread like night itself, his crimson eyes burning holes into the sky. Across from him, Shiva, Kala, and Prakriti gathered their strength, their bodies battered but their fury sharper than before. Around them the Hindu gods steadied themselves, their weapons raised, though fear flickered across even the calmest of faces.
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Kala moved first. Time itself cracked as he lifted his hand, the air around Hades splintering into fragments of centuries. Grass grew and withered in heartbeats, rivers dried and returned in flashes. He sought to bury the abyss under the weight of ages.
