Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

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

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The rain continued pouring relentlessly over Malikavana.

Water flowed through the countless scars left behind by one hundred days of war, washing away blood that had long since soaked into the earth.

Neither army dared interfere.

Hundreds of thousands of eyes remained fixed upon the two figures standing at the center of the battlefield.

Pushpasura slowly circled Devaratha.

His crimson eyes carefully observed every change.

The towering physique.

The heavy iron chains.

The Aruval resting casually upon his shoulder.

The divine spear firmly planted beside him.

Then...

His gaze settled upon Devaratha’s skin.

For the first time since this transformation...

A look of genuine confusion appeared upon the Rakshasa King’s face.

He frowned.

"...What happened to you?"

His deep voice echoed through the rain.

"You don’t even resemble the man I buried yesterday."

He slowly pointed his axe towards Devaratha.

"Your skin... Why has it become so dark?"

"It is blacker than the night itself."

His eyes narrowed further.

"It isn’t the darkness of corruption. It isn’t the darkness of a curse."

"It feels..."

He hesitated.

Almost unwilling to admit what he sensed.

"...ancient."

"...Like something that has existed far longer than either of us."

The chains around Devaratha’s body gently shifted.

KLANG...

He did not immediately answer.

Instead...

He simply looked at Pushpasura with those calm emerald eyes.

After a long silence...

A faint smile appeared beneath his thick moustache.

"My skin?"

His deep voice carried a strange serenity despite the storm surrounding them.

"It bears no curse. It carries no shame."

"It is the colour of the fertile earth that protects its children."

"It is the colour of the rain-soaked soil from which life rises."

"It is the colour of the night that keeps watch while others sleep."

His fingers slowly tightened around the shaft of the spear.

"And today... It is the colour that shall witness your end."

Pushpasura clicked his tongue.

"Tch."

"Still speaking like a god."

With a mocking laugh, he stretched his shoulders before extending his right hand.

Black Yogic Energy immediately gathered around his palm.

The surrounding air twisted violently.

The darkness condensed until it finally took shape.

His colossal battle axe materialized once more.

The blade was chipped from countless battles.

Dark veins pulsed across its surface like living flesh.

The moment Pushpasura grasped it...

The earth beneath his feet cracked.

He slowly spun the massive weapon once before resting it upon his shoulder.

"Good."

He grinned.

"I was beginning to think you’d forgotten this form of battle."

Across from him...

Devaratha remained completely still.

Unlike before...

There was no need to summon Rudhirabhra.

No need to call Pinakodanda.

No need to invoke another weapon.

The Aruval already rested comfortably within his right hand.

The divine spear remained firmly held in his left.

It was as though those weapons had always belonged there.

Pushpasura’s grin slowly widened.

"Let’s see... whether this new appearance changes anything."

Without another word...

He slammed the butt of his axe against the ground.

The earth exploded.

BOOOOM!!

Dark veins immediately burst from beneath the battlefield.

Just as they had on the seventy-first day.

They rapidly spread beneath the soaked earth like countless serpents racing toward their prey.

The allied soldiers immediately recognized the sight.

Ashwatthama’s expression hardened.

"Karna..."

Karna quietly nodded.

"The flowers..."

Hanuman clenched his fists.

He remembered exactly what those cursed blossoms had done.

The veins continued spreading.

Within moments...

Black stems erupted from the ground.

One after another... Hundreds... Then thousands...

Of strange flowers began blooming across the battlefield.

Each petal glistened with unnatural beauty.

Each flower released the same intoxicating fragrance that had imprisoned Devaratha’s mind for nearly thirty days.

Pushpasura laughed loudly.

"Let’s see if you’ve learned anything!"

"The heavens couldn’t save you before!"

"My Madanamohana Pushpa shall bury your mind once again!"

The flowers began opening.

The poisonous fragrance prepared to spread across the battlefield.

Many allied soldiers instinctively stepped backwards.

Several commanders immediately looked toward Devaratha.

Previously...

He had summoned a massive protective dome to shield the army.

Some expected him to do the same again.

Others thought he would counter with another Divine Astra.

Yet...

Devaratha did neither.

He simply stood there.

Motionless.

His expression never changed.

He calmly watched the flowers bloom.

Pushpasura frowned seeing his reaction.

"...What?"

"No barrier? No Astra?"

"Have you surrendered already?"

Still...

Devaratha remained silent.

"...."

"...."

"...."

The flowers bloomed completely.

The first waves of their intoxicating fragrance began drifting through the rain.

Then...

Devaratha slowly lifted the spear.

Not above his head. Not towards Pushpasura.

Instead...

He turned the weapon downward.

Its sharp butt rested lightly upon the soaked earth.

He took one slow breath.

Then...

Without the slightest trace of haste...

He struck the spear against the ground.

THOOM!!

The sound wasn’t loud.

Yet...

The entire battlefield felt it.

An orange-red wave of Yogic Energy burst outward from the point of impact.

It did not explode violently.

Instead...

It spread across the battlefield like a circular tide.

Smooth. Steady. Unstoppable.

The wave raced across the earth.

Wherever it passed...

The black veins immediately ignited.

Not from the outside...

But from within.

The flames erupted beneath their bark.

The roots twisted violently.

The flowers that had only just begun releasing their fragrance suddenly caught fire.

One after another... They burned.

Bright orange-red flames devoured every blossom.

Every vine. Every root.

The fire spread faster than the poisonous scent ever could.

Within seconds...

The entire network of veins across the battlefield had become a sea of burning fire.

The flowers shriveled before they could release even a fraction of their full power.

The intoxicating fragrance disappeared together with them.

Only drifting ash remained.

The orange-red flames continued burning until not even a single root survived.

Silence. Absolute silence.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Pushpasura simply stared.

His crimson eyes widened ever so slightly.

For the first time...

One of his abilities had been erased so completely that it failed before it had even begun.

"...Impossible..."

he whispered.

"My flowers... They..."

He looked around the battlefield.

Not one remained.

Every cursed blossom... Every poisonous vine... Every trace of his technique...

Had been reduced to ash.

Across the battlefield...

Lord Parashurama slowly smiled.

Hanuman let out a relieved breath.

Karna folded his arms.

Ashwatthama’s lips curved upward.

Bhishma quietly nodded to himself.

Meanwhile...

Devaratha slowly lifted the spear from the ground.

Small orange flames still danced harmlessly along its shaft before quietly disappearing.

The chains wrapped around his body gave another gentle metallic echo.

KLANG...

He looked directly into Pushpasura’s eyes.

His deep voice carried calmly through the rain.

"You relied upon that trick for thirty days."

"You believed it had become your greatest advantage."

He slowly rested the spear upon his shoulder.

"But..."

"The same wound... never defeats a prepared guardian twice."

The rain continued falling.

But now...

For the first time since the battle had begun...

The confidence in Pushpasura’s eyes had begun to crack.

The last of the burning flowers crumbled into ash.

The orange-red flames slowly disappeared, leaving behind only scorched earth where Pushpasura’s poisonous blossoms had once covered the battlefield.

The rain continued falling.

Droplets slid from the edge of Devaratha’s Aruval before falling silently onto the ground.

Neither of them moved.

The distance between them remained unchanged.

Pushpasura stared at Devaratha without blinking.

Something...

Something was different.

It wasn’t merely the transformation.

Nor was it the destruction of his technique.

It was...

The feeling.

An instinct that had never failed him throughout countless battles.

For the very first time in centuries...

His instincts screamed.

’Do not fight him.’

The thought appeared so suddenly that even Pushpasura himself was startled.

His fingers unconsciously tightened around the handle of his axe.

"...What..."

he muttered to himself.

"This... this feeling..."

It was unfamiliar.

He had stood before gods.

He had fought celestial warriors.

He had challenged beings far older than himself.

Never... Not once... Had he experienced this.

His heart, which had remained fearless through every battle, had begun beating just a little faster.

He looked at Devaratha once again.

The guardian stood perfectly still.

The rain washed over his dark skin.

The heavy iron chains gently swayed against one another.

KLANG...

The sound echoed softly through the battlefield.

Devaratha hadn’t spoken.

He hadn’t threatened him. He hadn’t raised his weapon.

Yet...

Those emerald eyes...

Pushpasura found himself unable to look away from them.

There was no anger within them.

No hatred.

Only absolute certainty.

It was as though those eyes themselves were silently declaring something.

"There is no road behind you."

"Only forward. Come. Finish what you began."

Pushpasura’s breathing unconsciously grew heavier.

For one impossible moment... He actually considered retreating.

Not forever.

Just... For today.

He could fight tomorrow.

Or devise another strategy.

There was no shame in caution.

Yet...

The moment that thought appeared... It vanished just as quickly.

Because he knew.

If he turned around now... If he took even a single step away from this battlefield...

He would never again possess the courage to stand before Devaratha.

The opportunity to retreat...

Had already disappeared.

He slowly clenched his teeth.

"Tch... What ridiculous thoughts..."

He growled inwardly.

"Since when... did I begin thinking like prey?"

His grip around the axe tightened until the veins upon his arm bulged.

"No. I am Pushpasura. I am the king of the Rakshasas."

"I have never fled. I will not begin today."

Slowly...

He turned his head.

Behind him...

His entire army stood watching.

Thousands upon thousands of Rakshasas.

Every one of them looked towards him.

Their king. Their hope. Their invincible leader.

Many still carried the confidence born from seeing him bury Devaratha beneath the earth only yesterday.

Others smiled cruelly.

Some were already imagining another victory.

They waited.

Waiting for him to charge.

Waiting for him to crush the guardian standing before them.

Pushpasura quietly looked at every face.

For the first time...

He understood something.

Retreat wasn’t simply impossible because of his own pride.

It was impossible because every eye behind him expected him to lead.

"...."

He slowly inhaled.

The cold rain filled his lungs.

Then... He exhaled. The hesitation disappeared.

His crimson eyes once again burned with fierce determination.

He slowly raised his colossal axe high into the air.

The movement immediately drew the attention of every Rakshasa upon the battlefield.

His voice thundered across Malikavana.

"Rakshasas!"

Every soldier straightened immediately.

"For one hundred days... We have fought."

"For one hundred days... We have bled."

"For one hundred days... We have watched countless brothers fall."

He pointed his axe toward the allied army.

"But today... all this ends."

His roar shook the battlefield.

"I don’t care how many stand before us!"

"I don’t care who protects them!"

"Crush everything!"

"Leave nothing standing!"

"Spare no one!"

His crimson eyes blazed with terrifying resolve.

"Before this duel reaches its conclusion... I want every human on this battlefield..."

"...to understand despair!"

The Rakshasas raised their weapons.

For one brief heartbeat...

Silence lingered.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Then...

An earth-shaking roar erupted from their ranks.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!"

The cry rolled across Malikavana like a tidal wave.

Weapons struck against shields.

Axes pounded against armour.

Spears rose toward the stormy heavens.

The entire Rakshasa army answered their king with deafening fury.

The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath their united roar.

Across the battlefield...

The allied soldiers silently watched.

Bhishma slowly raised his bow.

Hanuman tightened his grip upon his mace.

Ashwatthama unsheathed his sword.

Karna calmly nocked an arrow upon his bowstring.

Not one among them showed the slightest trace of fear.

Meanwhile...

Standing alone at the center of the battlefield...

Devaratha quietly watched Pushpasura lower his axe.

A faint smile appeared beneath his thick moustache.

He finally spoke.

His deep voice carried no mockery.

No arrogance.

Only quiet acknowledgment.

"Good."

The single word echoed clearly despite the roaring army.

"I would have been disappointed... had the king of the Rakshasas chosen to flee."

The chains wrapped around his body gave another heavy metallic echo.

KLANG...

Devaratha slowly raised the Aruval until its blade pointed directly toward Pushpasura.

"Now... There are no more interruptions."

"No more waiting. No more one hundred days."

"Only you. And me."

The rain continued falling between the two kings.

The armies behind them roared louder and louder.

Yet somehow... To both warriors...

Everything else had faded away.

Only the man standing before them remained.

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(Author note:)

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