The arrow struck square in the bull's thick shoulder.
*Graaaa*
A roar tore from its throat, pained and inhuman. The massive body skidded, before its legs buckled and then crashed to the ground in a spray of dust and gravel, rolling once before coming to rest on its side.
Karna landed lightly on the road, boots silent on the earth. He conjured another arrow, nocked it, and pointed it calmly at the fallen beast as he walked forward.
"Who are you, demon?" His voice carried clearly and steadily. "Show your true form. Now."
The bull heaved itself up. Blood streamed from the wound in its shoulder, dark and thick. It turned its head slowly, red eyes locking on Karna with pure hatred. Then it charged again—faster this time in desperation.
Karna didn't hesitate to release the second arrow.
It flew straight, silent, and struck the bull between the eyes this time. *Graaaaa* The beast let out one final, guttural bellow, legs giving way mid-stride. It collapsed forward, sliding to a stop in the middle of the road.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then the body shimmered. And in moments, the bull was gone. In its place lay a large dead asura with the skin the color of old charcoal, tusks jutting from a snarling mouth, and clawed hands still curled as though ready to strike.
People poured in from every side—shopkeepers, farmers, mothers clutching children—murmuring in fear and shock. "An asura… here?" "In the city?" "How did it get past the gates?"
Karna raised his voice, calm but commanding.
"Soldiers."
From the shadows of nearby buildings and trees, his personal guards made their presence known. These always stalk him from the palace whenever he was out on the morning walk, just in case.
At his call, they appeared before him and dropped to one knee in a loose circle around him.
"Maharaj."
Karna pointed at the asura's body. "Make a detailed sketch. Note every mark and every feature. Describe its bull transformation. Send it at once to the Ruler of Dandaka Forest. I want to know who this was. Name, clan, master if any."
"Yes, Maharaj."
He paused, then added quietly, "Later… cremate him the same way we cremate an orphan soldier. Full rites. No less."
The soldiers blinked, startled. So did the crowd. A ripple of confusion passed through them.
One older citizen—a potter Karna had spoken to that very morning—stepped forward hesitantly.
"Maharaj… it is an asura. It tried to kill you."
Karna turned to him, eyes steady. "While it lived, yes—it was an enemy. But now?" He gestured toward the still form. "Now it is only a corpse. No human, no asura. No brahmin, no kshatriya, no shudra. When breath leaves the body, all those castes and races disappear. And it will be nothing but a dead body. And every corpse deserves the dignity of cremation by rituals, even if it is an enemy who wanted to kill you. That is dharma."
The words settled over the crowd like a quiet blanket. No one argued. A few heads nodded slowly. The potter lowered his eyes, shame and understanding mixing on his face.
Karna looked back at his soldiers. "See it done."
They bowed again. Two of them moved forward to lift the body with careful hands.
Karna stood a moment longer, gaze sweeping the faces around him—fearful, awed, trusting. He gave them a small nod.
"Go back to your day," he said gently. "The city is safe now."
Then he turned and walked toward the palace, Vijayadhanush vanishing from his hand as though it had never been. The crowd parted for him without a word. Behind him, the murmurs started again—soft, thoughtful now.
"That is our king," someone whispered.
*
Later that morning, as Karna crossed the shaded courtyard toward the private quarters, he saw Roshini.
She appeared at the far end of the colonnade, moving faster than she should have. Her saree fluttered around her ankles; one hand rested protectively on her rounded belly, the other lifted as though to steady herself. Her face was pale with worry.
Karna's heart lurched. He broke into a quick stride, then a run, closing the distance before she could take another step.
"Roshini—no." He reached her in three long strides, hands gentle but firm as he caught her shoulders and pulled her to a stop. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be moving like that, dear."
She looked up at him, eyes wide and shining. "I heard—an asura attacked you. In the city. They said it charged you like a bull, that you fought it alone—"
Karna exhaled slowly and nodded once. "It's true. But it's over. The demon is dead. I'm not hurt."
Roshini searched his face, fingers curling into the front of his dhoti. "Was it Shukracharya again?"
Karna blinked, caught off guard. "Eh?"
Her voice dropped, urgent. "It's not him, is it? Because if it is—if he's sending his asuras again—then this won't stop. One after another, they'll keep coming until...
Karna placed both hands on her cheeks, thumbs brushing away the worry lines that had formed there. He couldn't lie to her. He didn't know who had sent the demon. No name, no mark, no whisper of intent had come with the attack. All he had was the certainty that it had been deliberate.
He said quietly, "Nothing is going to happen to me. Did you forget that your husband has the knowledge of many divyastras? It could have been a lone asura who slipped through the barrier in disguise—curious, vengeful, who knows. The important thing is it's gone now. And moreover, even if Shukracharya himself comes to attack me, he still couldn't hurt your husband, who had the power of Brahmananda Astra given by Brahmadev."
He drew her closer, careful, wrapping one arm around her shoulders so she could lean against him.
"You just focus on your health," he murmured against her hair. "In this stage, you can't carry worry like this. It's not good for you, or for them. Alright?"
Roshini let out a shaky breath and nodded against his chest. "Alright."
He held her there a moment longer, feeling the steady beat of her heart against his, until the tension in her body eased. Then he guided her gently back toward their chambers, one arm still around her waist, matching her slower steps.
That afternoon, after Roshini had rested for an afternoon nap, Karna sat alone on the wide stone balcony overlooking the city.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring out at the quiet streets. Roshini's words from the morning echoed in his mind.
Shukracharya.
Fifteen years ago, the guru of the asuras had abducted him to make some ritual and created a monster, which was, though, defeated by Nandi. Now, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was the work of Shukracharya or not.
Right then, something clicked in his head, and he straightened suddenly.
Lord Shiva's boon, granted long ago but never used. It could not only be used to see the consequences of adharmic acts, but can also trace the source of an adharmic act. And trying to kill someone when it is not a question of survival is definitely an adharmic act.
Karna clapped two times. "Who is there..."
A soldier walked inside and greeted. "Maharaj."
"Find out if the asura's body has been sent to the cremation grounds yet," he said quietly. "Report back at once."
The soldier bowed and hurried off.
Half an hour later, he returned, breathing a little hard from the run.
"Maharaj… the sketch was already complete. The corpse was just carried to the grounds a short while ago. The pyre is being prepared now."
Karna nodded. "Thank you. You may go."
The soldier left. Karna stood alone again, gazing toward the distant glow where the cremation grounds lay beyond the city walls. Once the fire touched the body, the trail would burn away. No vision could follow ashes.
He murmured to the empty night, "Well… if someone sent this one, another will follow. When it does, I'll be ready. Then I can trace the source. No need to be too anxious."
He let the words settle, calm and certain, before turning back inside to the warmth of the room where Roshini slept.
*
The next night, far to the northwest, in the palace at Mathura;
Kamsa sat on his high seat, a heavy goblet of dark wine in one massive hand. He had been drinking steadily since the scout returned with news of failure. Now the goblet trembled in his grip.
He crushed it.
As the metal crumpled like a dry leaf, wine sprayed across the floor in a wide arc, staining the stone red. Kamsa's knuckles whitened, veins standing out thick on his forearms.
"Failed?" His voice came out low, dangerous. "My Aristasura failed to do the job?"
He stood abruptly, chair scraping back. The few attendants in the shadows flinched but didn't dare move.
Kamsa paced once, twice, then stopped. His eyes narrowed, cold calculation replacing raw anger.
"Alright," he said to the empty air. "This time I'll send someone stronger."
He raised his voice, sharp.
"Trinavarta!"
The name echoed off the walls. Moments later, the air in the chamber thickened. A swirl of dust rose from the floor, twisting upward until it coalesced into a tall, lean figure—skin pale as ash, eyes black pits, hair whipping as though caught in an unseen wind. Trinavarta bowed low, silent, waiting.
Kamsa stepped closer, voice dropping to a hiss.
"Go to Dakshina Kalinga's Kanipura. Kill Karna and destroy the city, too. And do it at night on the safe side. No mistakes this time."
Trinavarta lifted his head. A slow, cruel smile curved his thin lips.
"As you command, my lord."
The air stirred again. Dust spiraled. The figure dissolved into a sudden, howling gust that swept through the open window and vanished into the night.
Kamsa stood alone in the chamber once more. He looked down at the crushed goblet at his feet, then at the dark stain spreading across the floor.
"This time, Karna, you will not escape," he muttered.