The next week passed in a fragile calm over Dakshina Kalinga.
The borders stayed quiet.
Patrols reported nothing unusual—no strange tracks, no shadowed figures slipping through the mountain passes, no whispers of dark magic on the wind.
The barrier around Kanipura hummed steadily and strongly, its golden threads undisturbed.
After a couple of days of tension, Karna resumed his walk on the streets each morning as before, played with the children by the lake, spoke with the potters and herders, and returned home each evening to Roshini, whose smile grew easier with every sunrise that brought no new terror.
In Uttara Kalinga, King Chitrangada allowed himself the same cautious relief.
After a week of no response from Mathura or any movements or so whatever, he reduced the night watches by a third, let his soldiers sleep more than two hours at a stretch, and even permitted the evening markets in Rajapura to stay open late again. Messengers carried brief, reassuring notes between the two capitals: "All quiet here." "Borders secure." "No sign of further movement."
They had begun to loosen their grips on the sword hilts.
Little did they know that Kamsa was actually biding his time for the new moon day, when the blessings of devas on mortals are at their weakest. And also the fact that there won't be any moonlight to aid the soldiers, and they have to depend on torches if an attack happens on such a night.
And when the new moon night came, and the sky over Rajapura City turned ink-black,two asuras descended on the capital like twin storms.
Aghasura came first, massive and serpentine, his body coiling through the main streets like a living river of scales and venom.
Buildings cracked as he slithered against them; his jaws opened wide enough to swallow carts whole.
Wherever he passed, poison dripped from his fangs and hissed on the cobblestones, turning stone black and crumbling.
People fled in every direction—mothers clutching infants, men dragging wounded children—only to run straight into the path of Bakasura.
The crane demon towered above the rooftops, wings spread wide as storm clouds.
Each beat sent gusts of razor-sharp wind that sliced through wooden beams and flesh alike.
His long beak stabbed downward again and again, impaling soldiers where they stood, lifting screaming bodies into the air only to drop them from impossible heights.
Flames followed in his wake… whether from his own dark power or from overturned oil lamps, no one could tell. Entire neighborhoods burned.
By the time the first pigeon reached Kanipura, the message was frantic, ink smeared from haste:
"Rajapura under attack. Two asuras. Aghasura and Bakasura. City burning. Soldiers dying. Help."
The bird arrived at two in the morning. Karna read the note by lamplight, face hardening with every word. Roshini stirred beside him, eyes opening in alarm.
"Husband…?"
He leaned down and kissed her forehead quickly.
"Rajapura is attacked by asuras. I have to go."
She gripped his wrist. "Don't go. My heart feels anxious for some reason."
"Don't worry, nothing will happen," He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I'll come back before even sunrise."
"Husband..." Roshini bit her lip, but she knew that it was wrong to stop her husband when he was going to rescue King Chitrangada. "Be careful." She could only speak those words.
Karna nodded and left.
He moved like a shadow through the palace—swift, silent.
In the royal stables, the seven white horses woke up.
They lifted their heads as he approached. Their nostrils flared, sensing his urgency. Karna began to swiftly tie them to the chariot. Then, with one soft word—"Fly" came out of his mouth as he boarded the chariot, the horses surged upward, wings of light unfolding from their shoulders. The chariot rose into the night sky, racing toward north west.
He reached Rajapura in less than twenty minutes.
From above, the city looked like a wound.
He saw flames licking the skyline in jagged orange lines.
Smoke rose in thick pillars, blotting out what little starlight remained.
Hundreds of bodies lay scattered across streets and squares—soldiers in broken armor, civilians caught mid-flight. Shouts and screams rose in waves, punctuated by the thunder of collapsing roofs.
In the central square, the last knot of defenders fought desperately.
An unfamiliar man stood at their center, with his mace raised, face streaked with soot and blood. His remaining soldiers formed a ragged shield wall around fleeing civilians, spears leveled against the Serpent Demon, Aghasura.
Meanwhile, Bakasura hovered above the other side, wings beating slow and deliberate, beak dripping red. The giant crane demon had just spotted a young soldier who had broken from the line, trying to drag a wounded comrade to safety. Bakasura's head tilted. His beak opened wide as he dove.
The soldier looked up, eyes wide with terror, sword half-raised in futile defense.
At that instant, a blazing line of fire cut the night.
An arrow—crimson, trailing sparks like a comet's tail—swooshed from the sky.
It struck Bakasura's long neck from behind with perfect, merciless accuracy.
The Agneyastra buried itself deep, flames exploding outward in a violent bloom. *Scraaaaa* The crane demon's scream shattered the air as fire raced along his feathers, fed by the wind of his own wings.
He thrashed wildly, wings beating in frantic spasms, but the divine fire only grew hotter, consuming him from the inside out. His body twisted once, twice—then plummeted.
He crashed into the square, cratering the stone. The impact shook the ground.
Silence fell for one heartbeat, watching this giant demon turning into ash.
Then every head turned skyward.
The golden chariot hovered above the square, seven white horses gleaming with their own inner light, wings half-spread, manes rippling like silk in the wind.
Karna stood tall at the front—bow still in hand, string still humming faintly from the shot. His face was calm, but his eyes burned with a quiet, unyielding fury.
The soldiers recognized him first.
"Maharaj Karna!"
"Suryaputra Karna"
A ragged cheer rose—exhausted, hoarse, but fierce.
While the cheers of the surviving soldiers and civilians still echoed faintly, his attention had shifted to the other side. Across the far side of the burning marketplace, where flames licked at the wooden stalls, and smoke hung thick as fog, another battle raged.
A giant serpent—Aghasura in his true form—coiled and struck with terrifying speed. The soldiers were down as they were swept by its tail, leaving behind a lone warrior.
Carrying a massive mace in his hand, he continued to attack the demon agressively. Every swing cracked the air. When the mace connected with Vyomasura's scales, sparks flew, and the serpent recoiled with a hiss of real pain.
The warrior's armor was dented and scorched, blood streaked one cheek, but he never gave ground.
Karna watched from afar, narrowing his eyes. There was something about that mace. A single glance told him it carried divinity—not the borrowed glow of a minor blessing, but the deep, steady resonance of a true celestial weapon.
Without a word, Karna stepped back into the chariot. The seven white horses sensed his intent; their wings flared brighter. He took the reins lightly and steered them toward the battle.
As the chariot drew nearer, the serpent noticed the new presence first.
Aghasura's head snapped up, slit-pupil eyes locking onto the glowing chariot.
In that instant of distraction, the warrior landed a crushing blow to the side of the demon's neck.
His Scales cracked, and black blood sprayed.
The serpent roared in fury, tail whipping sideways like a thunderclap. The tail then caught the warrior across the chest and hurled him backward.
The warrior crashed against a half-collapsed wall, mace clattering from his grip for only a second before he rolled and reclaimed it, staggering back to his feet.
Aghasura didn't press the attack on the fallen man. Instead, he stretched his enormous length toward the sky, opened his mouth to reveal his giant fangs, venom gleaming on the tips, aiming straight for the chariot and the figure standing within it.
However, Karna stood unmoved and plainly gazed at the Asura.
He raised Vijayadhanush once more and began to chant the mantra. In the matter of seconds, between his fingers, an arrow took shape—golden at first, then shimmering with iridescent feathers of light.
"Garudastra," he said quietly as the arrow formed.
He loosed.