The sound was dull and wet, like iron punching through meat. Vritraketu's body jerked violently, and his eyes bulged in disbelief. Blood sprayed from his lips as he tried to speak, tried to curse, tried to summon darkness.
But his voice choked.
Mrinalini kept pushing.
She lifted him off the ground, with the trishula buried deep into his body, raising him higher and higher until his feet dangled uselessly above the dirt.
Her arms trembled with effort, but she did not drop him. Firelight danced across her blood-streaked face, and her eyes burned with a fury so pure it looked holy.
Vritraketu gasped again, a bubbling sound, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. His fingers clawed weakly at the trishula's shaft, leaving bloody smears as his strength drained away.
His eyes met hers.
There was rage in them, still, but it was fading. Underneath it, fear finally surfaced, raw and helpless.
Mrinalini leaned closer, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
"You wanted to take my voice," she whispered, her tone steady despite her shaking breath. "Now keep yours. Take it to Yamaraj. And pay for your sins in Naraka."
Vritraketu tried to laugh, but only blood came out.
His body went limp in the next second.
For a heartbeat, she held him there anyway, as if her mind refused to accept that he could die so easily after all he had done. Her chest rose and fell violently. Her grip tightened again and again, like she expected him to wake up and start laughing.
Then she lowered the trishula.
Vritraketu's corpse slid off the prongs and collapsed onto the ground with a heavy, lifeless thud.
Mrinalini stood still, staring down at Vritraketu's body.
Her shoulders rose and fell.
Blood dripped from her fingers.
But then she raised the trishula again.
Karna's gaze sharpened instantly, his body tensing, but she didn't strike at anything. Instead, she brought the trishula down into Vritraketu's chest again with a brutal slam. The prongs tore into dead flesh, and the impact made the corpse bounce slightly.
Mrinalini pulled it out and struck again.
And again.
Each blow was heavy, deliberate, savage.
Her breath came out in harsh bursts, and the sounds escaping her throat were not sobs, not screams, but something darker. The kind of rage that seemed to be burning her consciousness.
With a trace of pity on his face, Karna stepped forward and approached her.
When she lifted the trishula again, Karna reached out and caught the shaft mid-swing.
His grip was firm.
Not aggressive, but unmovable like a mountain.
Mrinalini's body stiffened. Her breath caught, and her eyes snapped upward, wild and blazing. For a second, she looked ready to attack him too, like she couldn't tell friend from enemy anymore.
Karna met her gaze without flinching.
His face was calm, but his eyes were heavy, filled with a quiet understanding that only someone who had lived through humiliation could carry.
"He is dead," Karna said softly, his voice steady against the crackling flames. "Princess Mrinalini…your enemy has died. Now, please calm down..."
The words hung in the air as a bell struck in a temple.
Mrinalini's grip loosened.
The trishula trembled in her hands, then shimmered faintly. In the next breath, it vanished, dissolving into light that scattered into the smoke like fireflies.
Mrinalini stood there empty-handed, as if the weapon had been the only thing holding her upright.
Her knees buckled.
She dropped to the ground beside the bodies of her parents, the dirt damp and dark beneath her palms. Her fingers clawed at the earth, not to dig, but as if she could somehow grab the past and drag it back into existence.
"Aaaahhhh...."
A broken cry escaped her lips.
Then the tears came.
Not gentle tears. Not quiet ones. She cried like her chest had been split open.
The wail that rose from her was so raw that it seemed to shake the flames themselves.
Her shoulders shook violently, and her hair fell over her face as she bent forward, trembling like a child who had lost everything.
Karna knelt beside her.
He did not speak immediately.
His eyes moved across the battlefield, taking in the ruined camp, the dead soldiers, the scattered rakshasa bodies, and the king and queen lying in blood.
Karna's jaw tightened, and his fists clenched slowly.
He looked back at Mrinalini and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Mrinalini didn't look up. She kept crying, her fingers digging into the dirt until her nails broke.
Karna waited until her breathing slowed slightly, until her sobs became quieter, though still heavy. Then he spoke, his voice low, almost reluctant.
"Do you blame me, Princess?" he asked.
Mrinalini froze for a moment. Her shoulders still shook, but her crying paused as if the question had struck her harder than Vritraketu's kick.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
She stared at Karna as if she were trying to decide whether to hate him.
Karna did not look away.
"If you blame me for the loss of your loved ones and the soldiers," he continued, his voice steady, "then you may punish me. I will not resist you. After all, it was my suggestion that you bring your family here. It was my words that led them into this night."
His gaze flicked toward the corpses of the king and queen. "And more than a hundred people died because of it."
Mrinalini's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her throat looked too tight for speech, as if every sound would turn into another scream.
Karna's eyes darkened.
"But not now, Princess," he said, and his voice turned colder, sharper. "Not before Kamsa pays for what he has done. He is due for the deaths of hundreds in Uttara Kalinga. Once I eliminate him, you may punish me however you fit."
Mrinalini's gaze flickered, and her hands clenched into fists.
She swallowed hard, her voice coming out hoarse and broken.
"I want Mathura destroyed," she whispered.
Her words were quiet, but they carried the weight of fire.
Then she lifted her head higher, and the whisper turned into something steadier, something that almost sounded like a vow.
"I want it to burn, Karna," she said. "I want every street to become ash. I want every wall to fall. I want every stone to remember my parents' blood."
Karna listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he exhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.
Then he shook his head once.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
Mrinalini's eyes widened, as if she couldn't believe he had refused her. Her anger flared again, quick and sharp. "What do you mean by you are sorry?" she demanded, her voice trembling. "After all this, you still speak of mercy? Or do you think you are not capable? What is it, Karna?"
Karna's expression did not change as he replied. "Because I will not kill innocents. What you are suggesting is revenge, not justice. Justice gives peace to both your heart as well as liberate your parents' souls. Revenge will only give you temporary relief, not peace. And neither will your parents' souls feel at peace if thousands of innocents were killed by their daughter, because of them."
Mrinalini's jaw clenched at those words. Her hands shook, but whether it was rage or grief, she could not tell anymore.
Karna leaned slightly closer, his voice still calm, but heavy with certainty. "However, I promise you this, Princess," he said. "Your loved ones will get justice. Kamsa will answer for what he has done. His head will not remain on his shoulders forever, and it will be done in front of everyone's eyes. And I also promise you that whoever comes between me and his head, they will have to die."
Mrinalini stared at him, breathing hard. Her eyes searched his face as if she were trying to find a lie hidden somewhere.
But Karna did not blink.
He did not look away.
Finally, she whispered, "Promise me that you give the justice you mentioned."
Karna nodded once.
"I promise, Princess," he said. "On my honor, in the name of my father Suryanarayana, my guru Parashurama, and my aradhya, Mahadeva."
Mrinalini's shoulders sagged slightly, like her body had finally accepted what her mind had been refusing all night. Her gaze dropped to her parents again, and her breath hitched.
Slowly, painfully, she rose to her feet.
Her body swayed slightly, but she steadied herself. Her face was still wet with tears, still smeared with blood, but something had shifted in her eyes. The wildness was fading, replaced by a colder kind of strength.
Karna stood as well.