Chapter 212: Chapter 210: Freed From The Shackles... I Remember You...
(A/N):
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Guys with this Chapter Volume 10 is completed... From Next Chapter Volume 11: 100 Days War begins...
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The other tribemen’s cried out in horror.
But... In that brief instant... The tiny drop of blood slipped from the dying tribesman’s fingers.
It never reached the fire.
Instead...
It fell onto the ritual circle itself.
-Plink...
The single crimson drop landed upon one of the ancient symbols etched into the ground.
For the briefest moment... Nothing happened.
Then the entire ritual array began to glow.
The crimson inscriptions lit up one after another.
The sacrificial flames erupted violently.
A deafening roar echoed from beneath the earth itself.
The air became unbearably heavy.
Dark clouds gathered overhead with unnatural speed.
An immense wave of sinister energy burst outward from the completed formation.
The surviving tribesmen stared at the ritual in stunned disbelief.
"It... It activated..."
One of them fell to his knees, laughing hysterically.
"It succeeded!"
Another shook his head frantically.
"No... No..."
His eyes remained fixed upon the blazing fire.
"...Something is wrong."
The joy on their faces slowly faded.
The ritual circle had indeed awakened.
The sacrifice had indeed reached completion.
But... The final resonance was incomplete.
The overwhelming surge of death they had expected never descended upon Princess Indhumati.
The connection existed... Yet it remained unfinished.
The blood had touched the ritual.
But it had never been offered to the sacred fire that served as Pushpasura’s gateway.
The difference was only a heartbeat.
Only a single movement.
Yet that single heartbeat had denied the demon what it truly desired.
The oldest surviving tribesman looked toward Devaratha with undisguised horror.
His voice trembled.
"...We succeeded ...and yet we failed."
"The ritual has awakened..."
"But Lord Pushpasura cannot fully claim the Princess’s life."
"It isn’t complete... It will never become complete while that man still stands."
His shaking finger slowly pointed toward the silent King of Trivenivrata.
For the first time since the ritual had begun...
Fear eclipsed fanaticism in the eyes of Pushpasura’s followers.
Before anyone could make sense of the incomplete ritual...
The entire ritual circle suddenly pulsed.
Once... Twice...
Then every crimson rune erupted with a blinding blood-red radiance.
The earth began to tremble.
The fire pit exploded upward, sending a pillar of scarlet flames soaring into the night sky.
A dreadful pressure descended upon the battlefield.
It was so overwhelming that every soldier, whether loyal to the throne or a traitor, instinctively stopped fighting and turned toward the ritual ground.
Devaratha’s expression immediately changed.
"...Something is wrong."
He extended his hand.
"Rudhirabhra."
The divine axe answered its master instantly.
After remaining lodged in the distant earth, the golden weapon tore through the air with a thunderous whistle before returning to Devaratha’s outstretched palm.
The moment his fingers closed around its silver handle, he drove the sharp end of the axe into the ground.
BOOM!
Golden light erupted from the point of impact.
Cracks spread across the earth like branching rivers, not of destruction, but of divine energy.
Those golden lines raced outward before curving upward into the air.
Within moments...
A translucent golden barrier enveloped Devaratha, King Padmanabha Varma, and the Crown Prince.
The shimmering dome stood like an unbreakable fortress amidst the sea of crimson light.
"What is happening?"
The Crown Prince asked, unable to hide the tension in his voice.
Devaratha never looked away from the ritual.
"It isn’t over."
"The ritual was interrupted... but something has still answered the summons."
At the center of the ritual circle... The flames abruptly extinguished.
Darkness swallowed the fire pit.
Then...
A mass of black smoke slowly emerged from the void.
It twisted and writhed like a living creature.
Crimson streaks pulsed within it, appearing and disappearing like veins carrying molten blood through an endless abyss.
The surrounding air grew icy cold.
Every torch within the camp dimmed.
Even the moonlight seemed to retreat.
Then...
A voice echoed from within the darkness.
It was ancient. Hoarse.
Filled with endless hunger.
"So... I am awake..."
The words reverberated across the battlefield.
Every living being felt them resonate inside their very souls.
"Finally... after all these years..."
The black mass expanded further.
Its presence became increasingly oppressive.
Then the voice spoke again.
"I... am starving."
The words were neither shouted nor whispered.
Yet every person present heard them as clearly as if they had been spoken directly into their ears.
The black smoke slowly rotated.
It searched. It sensed.
Then...
It settled upon the people standing closest to the ritual.
The surviving tribesmen.
And Vikrama Varma.
Only then did realization dawn upon them.
The triumphant expressions on their faces vanished.
"My Lord..."
One tribesman stammered.
"W-we completed your ritual..."
Another immediately fell to his knees.
"We are your faithful servants!"
"We awakened you!"
Vikrama Varma forced a smile despite the growing unease.
"Great Pushpasura... I fulfilled my promise."
"The throne... It is mine now."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then...
The black smoke quivered.
Without warning...
Dozens of shadowy tendrils erupted from its body.
They shot outward with terrifying speed.
"No!"
One tribesman barely managed to scream before a tendril pierced straight through his chest.
Another was impaled through the abdomen.
A third through the throat.
Vikrama Varma’s eyes widened.
"W-Wait!"
"I am your ally!"
Several tendrils burst forward simultaneously.
One pierced his chest.
Another his shoulder.
A third wrapped around his neck before lifting him effortlessly into the air.
The remaining shamans met the same fate.
Within seconds...
Every follower of Pushpasura was suspended above the ritual ground.
The tendrils pulsed rhythmically.
Their bodies convulsed violently.
"No...!"
"My Lord...!"
"Please...!"
"You promised...!"
Their desperate cries gradually weakened.
Before the horrified eyes of everyone present, streams of crimson light and blood flowed through the tendrils, disappearing into the enormous mass of darkness.
Their life force...
Their vitality...
Everything was being consumed.
Their skin rapidly shriveled.
Their flesh collapsed against their bones.
Hair turned brittle.
Eyes sank deep into their sockets.
Within moments...
Each of them resembled a corpse that had died decades ago, their withered bodies preserved only by the tendrils suspending them above the ground.
Even Vikrama Varma, who moments earlier had dreamed of ascending the throne, could do nothing but struggle helplessly.
His face, once filled with ambition, was now twisted with absolute terror.
"You..."
"You deceived me..."
The voice within the darkness answered with cold indifference.
"I promised... to awaken."
"I never promised... to spare the food that awakened me."
The words sent a chill through every soldier on the battlefield.
Inside the golden barrier, King Padmanabha Varma watched his younger brother hanging helplessly in the air.
There was anger.
There was betrayal.
Yet above all...
There was disbelief.
A man who had sacrificed his kingdom, his family, and his own niece for power had become nothing more than the first offering to the very being he had sought to serve.
Devara tightened his grip around Rudhirabhra.
His emerald eyes never left the growing mass of darkness.
"It has only awakened partially... and it already possesses this much strength."
For the first time since arriving at Malikavana Village...
Even he recognized that the true battle... was only just beginning.
The battlefield fell into a deathly silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
The withered corpses of the tribesmen hung motionless for a brief moment before the shadowy tendrils released them one by one.
-Thud. -Thud.
-Thud.
Their dried husks struck the ground without the slightest sign of life.
Among them...
Vikrama Varma’s body crashed heavily onto the bloodstained earth.
His once proud appearance had vanished.
His skin had shriveled tightly against his bones.
His hair had turned completely white.
The man who had coveted a kingdom now resembled a corpse that had lain buried for centuries.
At the center of the ritual circle, the enormous mass of black mist continued to pulse.
Crimson light flickered within it like countless eyes opening and closing in the darkness.
Then...
The mist slowly turned.
Not toward King Padmanabha Varma.
Not toward the Crown Prince.
Not toward the terrified soldiers surrounding the ritual ground.
It fixed itself upon a single figure standing calmly inside the golden barrier.
Devaratha.
For several long seconds... Nothing happened.
Then...
The entire mass trembled violently.
A deep, guttural laugh echoed across the battlefield.
"Hahahaha..."
The laughter grew louder.
"Hahahahahaha!"
It reverberated across Malikavana Village like rolling thunder, causing every soldier present to instinctively cover his ears.
The ground itself seemed to quiver beneath its weight.
King Padmanabha Varma frowned.
"...It knows you."
The Crown Prince slowly turned toward Devaratha.
"This..."
"...isn’t your first encounter with this creature."
Devaratha remained silent.
His emerald eyes never wavered.
Pushpasura’s laughter finally subsided.
When it spoke again, every word dripped with hatred.
"So..."
"...it is you."
The crimson glow within the mist intensified.
"The insolent mortal..."
"...who slaughtered my legion."
The battlefield became eerily quiet.
The surviving soldiers looked at Devaratha with astonishment.
’He had fought this rakshasa before?’
Pushpasura continued, its voice carrying boundless fury.
"The man... who dared to laugh at me. who mocked my stature before my own followers."
Its laughter returned, colder this time.
"You remember your words ...don’t you, Fool?"
The demon’s voice thundered across the battlefield.
"You declared that if I wished to stand above this world... I should first grow tall enough to cast a proper shadow."
Another burst of laughter erupted from the darkness.
"I have remembered every single word."
The crimson mist churned violently.
"You humiliated me."
"You destroyed my legion."
"You ruined my plans."
"And now..."
Its voice dropped to a chilling whisper that somehow reached every ear on the battlefield.
"I remembered that face... until the day I tear the life from your body."
The black mist swelled once more before letting out a final, earth-shaking roar.
"Hear me well, Devaratha!"
"I will not grant you a swift death."
"I will not grant you an honorable death."
"When next we meet..."
"I shall kill you..."
"...in the most painful way imaginable."
The threat lingered in the air long after the final word had been spoken.
Then...
The enormous mass of darkness began to unravel.
Its form dissolved into countless strands of black mist that drifted upward into the night sky before gradually fading from existence.
The crimson glow disappeared.
The oppressive pressure weighing upon the battlefield vanished with it.
Within moments...
Nothing remained.
Only the shattered ritual circle...
The extinguished sacrificial fire...
And the dried, lifeless shells of those who had foolishly believed they could bargain with a being that knew nothing of loyalty.
An uneasy silence settled over the battlefield.
King Padmanabha Varma slowly lowered his sword.
His gaze shifted from the withered remains surrounding the ritual circle to Devaratha, who still stood within the golden barrier with Rudhirabhra resting calmly in his hand.
The King’s expression was filled with questions.
"...."
Not only had Devaratha known what Pushpasura was...
The Rakshasa itself had recognized him immediately.
Whatever had transpired between the two before tonight...
It was clear that this encounter was far from the beginning of their conflict.
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(Author note:)
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