The jungle around Trinetra trembled with tension. At Ranthak's signal, all Pashupati warriors raised their arms, summoning lifelong companions. Panthers, wolves, mighty stags, and serpents of living light
emerged between ancient roots, their eyes aflame with loyalty and rage. Kartik watched, heart pounding, as divine bonds sparked to life—a dance of trust and power he yearned to understand.
Before the charge began, two figures stepped from the enemy ranks: Maayak, wrapped in illusions of shifting shadows, and Nishaara, whose fingers dripped with black venom. Their voices merged into an ancient, venomous chant. Above, clouds twisted into a roiling, black vortex, and from it fell a rain as dark as sorrow itself.
Animals shrieked in panic. Loyal beasts clawed at air and earth, eyes rolling, until, with guttural cries, they turned on their masters. The Pashupati warriors shouted in shock and pain, forced to fight their own companions.
Ranthak's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Nataraj warriors! Raise the barrier!"
The Nataraj exorcists knelt, pressing mud-caked palms to earth. Kartik felt divine energy hum through the ground as their chant rose—a steady, unwavering melody against the discord of battle. A radiant dome
shimmered into being. The black rain sizzled on contact, stopped mid-air by sacred power.
Beasts shuddered, their madness lifting. Eyes once clouded cleared, and a new, righteous fury burned within. The jungle itself seemed to sigh in relief, branches leaning protectively toward the warriors.
"Protect the jungle! Drive them back!"
Ranthak roared, spirit snakes ready to attack.
From across the clearing, Kraan raised a bony hand, voice as dry as withered leaves: "Undead beasts, rise! Skeleton soldiers, march! Let them taste death!"
Rotten tigers padded forward, empty sockets staring. Birds with torn wings circled overhead, and skeletal soldiers clattered across the mud, swords raised high.
Kartik clenched his fists. I may not have my divine eye… but I won't stand idle. He charged, punching through brittle ribs and ducking rusted blades. The air stank of decay and dark magic.
Suddenly, Kraan's hollow gaze locked onto him. "Still blind, little warrior? Come with us—Asuravana can make use of your weakness."
Kartik's heart skipped. The burning mark on his chest throbbed, but no vision came. Only fear—and determination.
Kraan lunged. Kartik barely blocked, feet sliding back. "Without your eye, you're nothing!" Kraan taunted.
They traded blows—Kartik's strikes fueled by desperation, Kraan's by ruthless precision. Kartik ducked under a sweeping claw, aimed a punch at Kraan's ribs, but felt bone-hard scales instead. The undead tiger circled, fangs bared.
As Kraan raised his hammer to crush him, a thunderous impact sent Kraan sprawling. Ranthak stepped between them, axe gleaming with divine energy. His spirit snakes hissed, protecting kartik.
"Why are you here, Kraan?" Ranthak demanded.
Kraan wiped mud from his face, laughter echoing. "To claim the artifact. To awaken our god."
"You fool!" Ranthak's voice thundered. "You'd destroy everything! You don't even see the darkness that guides your hand!"
Kraan's eyes flared with bitter resolve. "Better to burn the world than kneel to gods who never hear us! Freedom only comes through the asura's power!"
"Darkness isn't freedom—it's a prison! Light is freedom, and Shiva is that light!"
Ranthak raised his axe, muscles coiling. But suddenly, black flames erupted between them, the heat suffocating. Out of the smoke stepped Arunaas, cloak rippling like living shadow. His gaze cold, voice calm: "That's far enough, Ranthak. This artifact will belong to us."
Kartik felt his chest tighten, the burning mark under his tunic searing hotter. Fear clawed at him—but also something else: an echo of strength not yet awakened.
Far from Trinetra, the rescue team picked through twisted ruins, shadows pooling around their feet. Veer's jaw was clenched, Meghna's twin blades dripped with black ichor. Bhairav's inked bands glowed faintly in
the gloom.
Revati's whisper broke the silence. "We need to go back. Something's wrong at Trinetra." I am feeling the barrier at village is broken.
Before Veer could answer, rot-scented mist coiled around them. Out stepped Ashwat, dragging twin scythes wreathed in stolen divine energy, and beside him, Shaya, her eyes twin voids framed by drifting shadows.
Shaya's whisper, soft and lethal: "No one leaves Asuravana alive."
She raised a jagged artifact. Shadows rippled outward, awakening half-buried skeletons. Cracked bones knit together; empty eye sockets glowed faintly. Faceless shadows slid across ruined stones, swords raised.
Veer's voice cut through the dread: "Circle! Meghna, Bhairav—engage!"
Bhairav's aura flared, purple fire dancing along inked skin. "Ashwat—let's see if your blades can cut through a Rudra's fury!"
Ashwat's grin showed cracked teeth. "Bleed for me, master."
Scythes clashed against divine blade. Sparks hissed in the dark, each of Ashwat's swings draining warmth, trying to sap Bhairav's strength. Bhairav roared, pressing forward with storm-like strikes, each step shaking cracked stone.
Nearby, Meghna danced amid Shaya's shadows, her twin blades flickering silver. But shadows wrapped around her ankles and wrists, chilling as a winter grave. Meghna gasped, twisting free, only to find another shadow ready to strike.
Revati and Devansh fighting skeletons and shadow soldiers, glowing runes rising to block skeletal swords. Aranya and his beast companion, a massive black hawk, ripped through undead soldiers, only to face two more for every one they felled.
Yet through fear and exhaustion, resolve hardened in every heartbeat. They had to win—not for themselves, but for Trinetra.
Bhairav's roar split the night, Ashwat's scythes flashing deadly arcs. Meghna's blades whirled through shadows, refusing to give in.
Above both battlefields, the crescent moon glowed cold and silent—as if waiting to see which side would shatter first.
The war for the artifact—and for the soul of Trinetra—had truly begun.