The golden light radiating from Karna's body flared, then instantly vanished, leaving him standing in the wreckage of the armory, the silence now broken only by his ragged breathing. His mind was a maelstrom, a turbulent sea where two separate storms raged. The grief of losing his father, King Raynar, was a fresh, searing wound—a pain of unconditional love he had only just discovered. But it was interwoven with the ancient pain of his first life: the lifelong humiliation of being a "Sutaputra," the bitter betrayal by his mother, and the profound sadness of his final moments on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. Two separate agonies had fused into a single, unbearable burden, a double-edged sword of loss and helplessness.
He looked down at his father's body, the man who had given him the peace he had always wanted. This was real. The love was real. The pain was real. But the helplessness was a cruel echo of a past he had fought so hard to escape. He looked up, his eyes burning with a righteous fury that transcended the simple grief of a son. "Narada," he snarled, his voice a low growl that held the weight of a thousand unspoken angers, "Narada, I know you are here. Show yourself. I demand to know why you allowed this. Why you told me a beautiful lie of peace, only to lead me to this carnage."
As if summoned by the sheer force of his rage, the ethereal light returned, coalescing into the serene form of the Devrishi. Narada appeared, his expression calm and unwavering, as if he stood in a peaceful garden and not a blood-soaked armory. His very presence seemed to mock the chaos around them.
"Narayan... Narayan..." Narada began, his voice a soft, gentle hum that grated against Karna's raw nerves, each syllable an unbearable reminder of the divine mockery he was enduring.
"Don't speak to me of Narayan!" Karna roared, the sound filled with the fury of two lifetimes. The sound of his rage was so immense that the very walls of the armory shook. "I begged you for peace! I surrendered everything! And yet you allowed this to happen! My family... my people... they are dead! Why did you curse me with this life? What sin did I commit in my past life to deserve this torment in another?"
Narada's expression remained impassive, his eyes betraying no emotion. "My dear Suryaputra, this was no curse. This was a consequence. A direct consequence of your own wish."
Karna stared in disbelief, a cold dread washing over him. "My wish? I wished for peace! To have my memories and powers erased! I chose the path of a simple man, a path free of power and the burdens it brings!"
"Exactly," Narada replied, his voice still infuriatingly calm, as if discussing the most trivial of matters. "But I told you it was not possible to erase them. I told you they could only be sealed. I warned you that this path would lead to suffering, for a warrior who abandons his weapons will always be a victim. You chose to ignore me. Your death just now... it was a consequence of that choice. It was not a vision, Son of Surya. It was all real. Every drop of blood, every tear, every moment of loss—it was all real. You have lost two fathers, two mothers, two families."
A gasp tore from Karna's throat. He fell to his knees, his body wracked with a new wave of agony. The two lives. The pain. The loss. It was all real. This wasn't a punishment from the gods; it was a consequence of his own actions, his own desperate longing for an impossible peace.
Just then, a light so brilliant it was almost unbearable filled the chamber, pushing back the shadows and making the very air sing with cosmic energy. Three figures, radiating power and wisdom, appeared before him. It was Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahadev. The supreme gods themselves.
Karna's rage vanished, replaced by a profound, humbling awe. "Lords," he whispered, his voice trembling, a child's plea in a warrior's body. "Why have you come?"
"We have seen your pain, Suryaputra," Brahma's voice rumbled, echoing the very act of creation. "Your suffering was a necessary part of the path you chose."
"And we have seen your choices," Vishnu added, his voice as serene as a calm ocean. "Every action has a consequence. We did not deceive you. You were sent to this world, Yugantara, to live out your karma. It is a world we created to give souls a second chance, but with our non-interference, a great darkness has risen. A darkness that can only be defeated by one who has experienced the balance of good and evil."
"By one who has known both heaven and hell," Mahadev's voice concluded, his eyes holding the wisdom of a thousand eternities. "And you, Karna, have known both. Your past life was a hell of insults and betrayals, and your second life was a hell of peace that led to helplessness. You are the only one who can understand and defeat the darkness."
The truth, a terrifying and brutal plan, slammed into Karna. He was a weapon, forged from a lifetime of pain. He was not a prince, not a son, not a friend. He was the chosen one. He was the one who was meant to suffer so that others might be saved.
Karna rose to his feet, his mind made up. He looked at the gods, a cold, burning resolve in his golden eyes. "I accept," he said, his voice now calm, devoid of all emotion. "Send me back. Send me back to the moment I was reborn. And this time, do not seal my powers. I will not make that mistake again. I will fight. I will win. I will not seek peace. I will seek vengeance. I will make them all pay."
The gods simply nodded. With a final flash of blinding light, Karna's consciousness was whisked away, ready to begin his journey anew, not as a pawn in a divine game, but as the master of his own karma. He was the Fated Avenger, and his hunt had just begun.