Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...

-------------------------------------------------

Across the battlefield...

Pushpasura looked at the swaying figure of Devaratha.

For the first time in nearly fifty days...

He was not being pursued.

He was not being thrown to the ground.

His bones were not being shattered.

Instead...

His enemy stood motionless.

The Rakshasa King slowly exhaled.

"...."

His lips curved into a smile that carried not merely triumph... But relief.

At long last... The nightmare had ended.

His crimson eyes slowly closed.

Deep within his body... An overwhelming surge of power erupted.

For seventy-one days...

His boon had never ceased working.

Every sunrise...

His strength had doubled.

Every sunrise...

His Yogic powers had expanded.

Every sunrise...

The seal that had suppressed him for centuries had weakened him during that time.

When he had first stepped onto Malikavana...

He had possessed only a fraction of the terrifying power he wielded before his imprisonment.

He had been forced to fight while incomplete.

Forced to grow stronger day after day.

Now...

That journey had finally reached its end.

Pushpasura slowly opened his eyes.

The very atmosphere around him changed.

Dark Yogic energy no longer leaked uncontrollably from his body.

Instead...

It flowed with absolute precision.

It obeyed his every thought.

He slowly clenched his fist.

The air around it distorted.

A faint smile spread across his face.

"So..."

he whispered to himself,

"I have finally returned."

Not merely stronger.

Complete.

The full extent of the powers he had once possessed before being sealed away he had finally reached it.

The Rakshasa generals watching from afar instinctively lowered their heads.

Even they could feel it.

Their king’s aura had become vastly different.

It was heavier. Older. Far more terrifying.

The overwhelming pressure alone caused the earth beneath his feet to crack.

Pushpasura slowly looked towards the heavens.

"I had almost forgotten... what it feels like."

He stretched his fingers leisurely before lowering one hand towards the battlefield.

"This..."

he said softly,

"...is how the world once trembled before me."

His palm touched the earth.

Immediately...

Dark veins spread across the battlefield like countless black rivers racing beneath the soil.

They travelled in every direction.

Across shattered rocks.

Through broken trenches.

Between the corpses scattered across Malikavana.

The earth itself seemed to pulse like a living heart.

Then... One by one...

Small buds emerged wherever those veins reached.

Hundreds of them.

Thousands.

Within moments...

The barren battlefield had become covered with unnatural flowers.

Each blossom carried the same shifting colours.

The same golden veins.

The same beautiful yet sinister appearance.

The Anandamohana Kusuma.

Every flower slowly unfolded its petals.

A soft breeze swept across the battlefield.

Then...

The fragrance was released.

Not from one blossom.

But from thousands.

The sweet scent spread like an invisible ocean, carried effortlessly by the wind.

Pushpasura laughed quietly.

"This time..."

"Let every one of you witness paradise."

His intention was obvious.

If the fragrance reached the allied army...

The consequences would be catastrophic.

Thousands of soldiers would lose themselves in blissful hallucinations.

Warriors would stop fighting.

Archers would lower their bows.

Formation commanders would forget their orders.

Some would wander aimlessly.

Others would laugh uncontrollably.

Many would become addicted to the fragrance after experiencing its overwhelming euphoria.

An army consumed by ecstasy could no longer wage war.

It would collapse without a single sword needing to be drawn.

Devaratha’s vision remained clouded.

The countless images of Pushpasura continued dancing before his eyes.

The battlefield itself had almost vanished from his perception.

He could scarcely distinguish illusion from reality.

Yet...

Some instincts existed beyond conscious thought.

The faint scent growing stronger...

The subtle change in the wind...

The distant cries of alarm from the allied lines...

Somewhere beneath the layers of illusion...

His warrior’s instincts awakened.

’No...’

A single thought pierced through the haze.

’The army...’

His breathing became heavier.

’If that fragrance reaches them...’

He did not know exactly where Pushpasura stood.

He could no longer trust his own eyes.

But he did not need to.

His fingers instinctively reached towards empty space.

His lips moved almost unconsciously.

"...Pinakodanda..."

The moment the name left his mouth...

The divine bow answered its master.

A brilliant flash of sacred light erupted beside him.

The celestial bow materialised directly into his outstretched hand as though it had been waiting for his call.

The familiar weight settled into his palm.

The instant his fingers wrapped around the grip...

His body remembered what his mind struggled to recall.

Without looking... Without aiming...

He drew the bowstring.

His Yogic energy answered immediately.

Streams of radiant power surged from every corner of his body into the divine bow.

The string groaned beneath the unimaginable pressure.

The surrounding air began vibrating violently.

Even in his dazed state...

Years of discipline under Bhagavan Parashurama guided his movements.

His breathing steadied.

His posture straightened.

His instincts became the eyes his vision could no longer be.

Pushpasura noticed what was happening.

His smile faltered.

"What is he doing?"

Devaratha slowly tilted the bow upwards.

Not towards Pushpasura. Not towards the battlefield.

Towards the heavens themselves.

His fingers released the string.

TWAAAAANG!!

The sound echoed like a divine proclamation.

The arrow shot into the sky faster than lightning, leaving behind a trail of dazzling golden light.

Higher... Higher...

Until it disappeared beyond the clouds.

For a single heartbeat... Nothing happened.

Then...

The heavens exploded.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!

A blinding sphere of divine energy blossomed high above Malikavana.

Its brilliance rivalled the midday sun.

From that explosion, an enormous translucent dome descended over the allied side of the battlefield like a curtain of shimmering light.

The barrier expanded until it completely covered the entire allied army.

The advancing fragrance struck its surface.

Ripples spread across the dome like rain falling upon a calm lake.

The scent could go no further.

It remained trapped outside.

Inside the barrier...

The air remained pure.

The allied soldiers looked up in astonishment.

Some had already begun smelling the faint sweetness carried by the wind.

Now... It vanished.

The fragrance simply could not penetrate the divine barrier.

Far below...

Devaratha remained standing, his breathing uneven, his emerald eyes still unfocused as he fought the intoxicating illusion clouding his mind.

He could barely distinguish the world around him.

He could barely remain conscious.

Yet even while his own senses betrayed him...

One thought had remained perfectly clear.

’I can endure this. But my soldiers cannot. If they fall into that illusion... The war ends today.’

No matter how clouded his vision became...

No matter how heavily the fragrance weighed upon his mind...

As their king...

He would never allow his people to bear the burden that he alone could still resist.

Within Devaratha’s mind...

The battlefield had completely disappeared.

There was no blood.

No screams. No shattered earth.

Instead...

An endless valley stretched before him, carpeted with flowers that swayed gently beneath a warm golden sky.

A cool breeze drifted across the landscape, carrying the intoxicating fragrance of the Anandamohana Kusuma.

Every breath filled him with an overwhelming sense of peace, as though every burden he had ever carried had simply ceased to exist.

It was beautiful.

Beautiful enough to make one forget that beauty itself could sometimes become the deadliest prison.

Devaratha walked slowly through the endless meadow.

The grass brushed softly against his feet.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear laughter.

Children laughed.

Birds sang.

A crystal-clear river flowed lazily between fields of blossoms.

For a fleeting moment...

He almost forgot why he had been fighting.

Then...

Thud.

Something struck the side of his face.

His head turned slightly. He blinked.

"...What?"

There was no one there.

Only flowers dancing in the wind.

He frowned.

Perhaps he had imagined it.

He took another step.

Thud!

A heavier impact landed against his jaw.

His entire head snapped sideways.

The peaceful landscape rippled like the surface of disturbed water before becoming calm once more.

Devaratha instinctively raised his guard.

"Who’s there?"

No answer came.

Only the gentle rustling of flowers.

The breeze continued carrying that irresistible fragrance.

Then another blow landed.

Thump!

This time against his ribs.

He grunted as a dull ache spread through his side.

Another followed almost immediately.

Then another. Then another.

Invisible fists seemed to strike him from every direction.

His shoulders. His stomach. His chest. His back.

Each blow arrived without warning before disappearing into the silence of the illusion.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Devaratha swung his fist towards the place where he believed the last attack had come from.

His punch sliced through empty air.

Nothing.

He spun around.

Again...

Nothing.

Only flowers. Only endless fields stretching towards the horizon.

His breathing grew heavier.

’No... This isn’t real. I’m still on the battlefield.’

He knew it.

Somewhere deep inside, his disciplined mind understood that this paradise was an illusion.

But understanding the truth and escaping it were two entirely different things.

The fragrance continued clouding his senses.

Every attempt to focus dissolved beneath another wave of blissful warmth.

Then...

WHAM!

A powerful kick landed squarely against his lower back.

Pain exploded through his body.

He stumbled forward several steps before barely catching himself.

He immediately turned, throwing a powerful punch towards where he believed the attacker stood.

His fist cut through nothing but empty space.

Again.

He had missed.

In reality...

The scene unfolding upon Malikavana was vastly different.

Pushpasura stood before Devaratha with a grin that had grown wider with every passing moment.

The once terrifying king who had dominated him through weeks of wrestling now stood unsteadily, his emerald eyes unfocused, staring at things that did not exist.

His body reacted far too slowly.

His movements had become hesitant.

Whenever Pushpasura stepped to one side...

Devaratha’s gaze continued following an illusion somewhere else entirely.

"So this..."

Pushpasura said with a cruel smile,

"...is what the great King Devaratha has become."

He casually stepped forward.

His fist shot out.

BOOM!

It struck Devaratha cleanly across the cheek.

The impact echoed across the battlefield.

Devaratha’s head whipped violently to one side.

Yet instead of looking towards Pushpasura...

His eyes searched an empty patch of air several metres away.

Pushpasura laughed.

"You don’t even know where I am."

He circled slowly around his opponent like a predator playing with wounded prey.

Every movement was deliberate.

There was no urgency.

For the first time in this war...

The roles had reversed.

Another punch.

This one buried itself deep into Devaratha’s stomach.

His body bent slightly from the force.

Before he could recover...

Pushpasura appeared beside him once again.

An elbow crashed into his shoulder.

A knee struck his ribs.

A spinning kick slammed into his back, sending him stumbling several steps forward.

Each attack landed cleanly.

Each attack was answered by a delayed attempt from Devaratha to retaliate.

But every counter came too late.

His fist swept through empty air.

Pushpasura had already moved.

The Rakshasa King shook his head, almost disappointed.

"You were reading every movement I made."

"You knew where every strike would come from."

"You turned my own body against me."

He chuckled darkly.

"And now..."

He disappeared from Devaratha’s blurred vision once more before reappearing behind him.

"You can’t even see me."

His heel drove into Devaratha’s back with explosive force.

BOOM!

The king was thrown several metres across the battlefield before digging his feet into the ground to stop himself from falling.

His breathing had become uneven.

His vision remained fragmented.

One Pushpasura became five.

Five became ten.

Every copy laughed.

Every copy appeared equally real.

He tried to steady himself.

He listened instead of looking.

But even his hearing had begun betraying him.

The laughter echoed from every direction at once.

His reactions, once impossibly fast, had slowed to a fraction of what they had been.

Every decision arrived a heartbeat too late.

Every movement felt as though his body were submerged beneath deep water.

Watching from afar, Parashurama’s expression remained grave.

Hanuman folded his arms, his gaze fixed upon Devaratha.

"The fragrance has dulled more than his sight."

Parashurama nodded.

"It attacks the mind itself."

"When the mind becomes clouded..."

"The body obeys more slowly."

"No matter how strong the warrior..."

"If thought cannot reach the limbs in time..."

"Even simple attacks become impossible to avoid."

Hanuman clenched his fists.

"So Devaratha is experiencing every blow..."

"...yet cannot respond."

Parashurama’s eyes never left his disciple.

"Yes."

"He knows he is being struck."

"He knows he must defend himself."

"But by the time his body acts... The opportunity has already passed."

His voice became quieter.

"This is no longer a contest of strength."

"It is a contest between an unbreakable will... and an illusion that seeks to drown it."

At the centre of the battlefield...

Pushpasura smiled as he leisurely approached his swaying opponent once again.

For nearly fifty days...

He had been the one trapped within Devaratha’s relentless grasp, powerless to prevent the pain.

Now fate had turned the wheel.

And the Rakshasa King intended to make every single moment of that reversal count.

*******************************

(Author note:)

I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea’s.

-->

Don’t forget to review guys...

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!