Chapter 228: Chapter 226: War Starts!!!... Devara Releases Vasuki Astra...
(A/N):
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For a long moment...
The battlefield remained utterly silent.
Every soldier, every commander, every general waited for Devaratha’s answer.
Pushpasura had just declared before two armies that he alone would decide the young king’s death.
Many expected anger.
Others expected a stern warning.
Instead...
A quiet chuckle escaped Devaratha.
-Chuckle!
"..."
The sound was soft at first.
Then it grew.
"Hah..."
"Hahaha..."
Before long, genuine laughter echoed across the battlefield.
It was neither forced nor mocking in appearance.
It sounded as though he had truly heard something amusing.
The unexpected reaction caused even King Padmanabha Varma to glance sideways.
Ashwatthama simply sighed inwardly.
’There he goes...’
Shakuni, on the other hand, was already trying not to smile.
Pushpasura’s expression slowly darkened.
Devaratha finally looked directly into his crimson eyes.
He shook his head lightly before speaking.
"I’ve been wondering..."
"...why I felt no pressure despite standing before the Rakshasa King who once challenged the heavens."
He paused, looking Pushpasura up and down.
"But now I understand."
A faint smile appeared upon his face.
"I wasn’t standing before a king."
"I was standing before a jester."
The words landed like a thunderbolt.
Devaratha continued without the slightest hesitation.
"You’ve accomplished something remarkable today."
Pushpasura narrowed his eyes.
"What?"
Devaratha smiled with a smirk on his face.
"You tried very hard... to make me laugh."
He spread his hands slightly.
"And I must admit... you succeeded."
For the briefest instant...
Time itself seemed to stop.
The faces of the twelve Rakshasa Battle Generals twisted with fury.
"INSOLENT HUMAN!"
Mahodanta was the first to roar.
In a single motion he unsheathed both of his massive swords.
Almost simultaneously...
Vajrakeshin slammed his war hammer against the ground.
Raktajihva lowered his blood-red spear.
Krodhavakra lifted his enormous mace.
The remaining generals drew their own weapons, murderous intent exploding outward like a tidal wave.
The Rakshasa army behind them immediately stirred.
Seeing their commanders move...
Thousands of soldiers instinctively tightened their grips upon their weapons.
On the allied side...
No one hesitated.
Steel sang across the battlefield.
Ashwatthama’s bow was already in his hands.
The Crown Prince drew the concealed sword hidden beneath his wrist.
King Padmanabha’s generals unsheathed their blades.
The Trivenivrata commanders stepped forward without fear.
Even the four astral saber-toothed tigers pulling the Vajravyaghra Rath lowered themselves into attack positions, arcs of blue lightning dancing between their fangs.
The atmosphere instantly became suffocating.
One more step.
One careless movement.
One impatient warrior.
That was all it would take.
The formal parley would end...
And a full-scale war would erupt before either army had returned to its lines.
The air itself seemed ready to explode.
Then...
"Enough."
Pushpasura’s voice cut through the tension.
He slowly raised one hand.
The twelve generals froze instantly.
Although every one of them burned with the desire to charge forward, none dared disobey their king.
After several moments...
They reluctantly lowered their weapons.
Pushpasura never took his eyes off Devaratha.
Then...
To everyone’s surprise... He smiled.
Not warmly. Not mockingly.
But with the cold confidence of someone already convinced of the ending.
He slowly turned around.
"I’ve heard enough."
He began walking back toward his army.
His twelve generals immediately fell into formation behind him.
Without looking back, Pushpasura spoke one final time.
"You mock me today..."
"I only hope..."
"...that when we meet on the battlefield... your strength proves worthy of your tongue."
His footsteps never slowed.
"I despise those whose arrogance exceeds their ability."
The words drifted across the battlefield.
"So entertain me, Mortal."
"Do not disappoint me."
The twelve Battle Generals followed closely behind their king.
As they passed the allied commanders, several of them cast murderous glances toward Devaratha.
Mahodanta dragged one of his enormous swords across the ground, sending sparks flying.
"I’ll enjoy watching our lord break you."
Vajrakeshin snorted.
-Snort!
"Pray that you survive long enough to regret those words."
Raktajihva smiled wickedly while twirling his crimson spear.
"When your screams echo across this battlefield..."
"...remember today."
One after another, each general left behind a final threat before returning to the Rakshasa ranks.
Soon...
The thirteen figures disappeared into the sea of black banners.
Only then did the allied commanders slowly lower their weapons.
The ancient custom of parley had come to an end.
No more words remained to be spoken.
From this moment onward...
Only steel, blood, and Dharma would decide whose resolve was stronger.
The parley had ended.
No agreement had been reached.
No peace had been forged.
Only promises of bloodshed had been exchanged.
Silently, both delegations turned away from one another and began returning to their respective armies.
Devaratha walked back toward the allied lines alongside King Padmanabha Varma, Ashwatthama, Hanuman, Shakuni, the Crown Prince, and the assembled generals of Pushkarnya and Trivenivrata.
Behind them, Pushpasura strode back toward the Rakshasa legion, followed by his twelve Battle Generals. None of them looked back. There was nothing left to say.
The next conversation...
Would be held through swords.
The two groups reached their armies almost simultaneously.
Immediately, signal bearers climbed the tall watch platforms that had been erected behind the front lines.
Each side carried an identical ceremonial standard.
Unlike ordinary military banners, these flags served only one purpose.
They marked the final moments before a war officially began.
According to the ancient laws of warfare established by the sages of old, once these banners were lowered after the conclusion of the final parley, there would be no turning back.
The moment they touched the ground...
And the sacred conches sounded...
The battlefield would belong to Dharma.
Victory and defeat would thereafter be decided only through strength, strategy, and righteousness.
No king. No sage.
No messenger.
Could halt the war once those two acts had been completed.
The signal bearers raised the white standards high into the sky.
For a brief moment...
Both banners fluttered proudly in the wind.
The entire battlefield became eerily silent.
Thousands upon thousands of soldiers tightened their grip upon their weapons.
Archers slowly reached for their arrows.
Shield walls locked together.
War elephants stamped their feet impatiently.
The four celestial saber-toothed tigers pulling Devaratha’s Vajravyaghra Rath let out deep growls, arcs of blue lightning crackling faintly around their paws.
Across the battlefield, the Rakshasa beasts snarled, their claws digging trenches into the earth as they awaited the command to charge.
Even nature itself seemed to understand what was about to happen.
High above the battlefield...
The sky had begun filling with circling birds.
Eagles.
Vultures.
Hawks.
They silently rode the rising currents of warm air, tracing endless circles over the plains of Malikavana.
"...."
"...."
"...."
As though they already knew...
Before the sun set...
This land would become a feast for scavengers.
A lone eagle suddenly let out a long, piercing screech.
Its cry echoed across the valley.
It was almost as if nature itself had announced the arrival of death.
At that exact moment...
The signal bearers moved.
Both ceremonial banners began descending.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Every eye followed them.
The white cloth continued falling until, at last...
Both standards reached the earth.
A heartbeat later...
Hanuman stepped forward.
His expression, which had been warm and carefree throughout the day, became solemn.
With both hands, he lifted the divine conch resting at his side.
For a brief instant...
He closed his eyes.
Then he drew a deep breath.
The conch touched his lips.
-BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!
The sacred sound burst across the battlefield.
It rolled over the plains like the voice of the heavens themselves.
The earth trembled.
The forests shook.
The mountains echoed with its ancient resonance.
Every soldier standing beneath that sound instinctively straightened.
Goosebumps spread across countless bodies.
The conch of Hanuman did not merely announce war.
It carried with it the resolve of Dharma itself.
Across the battlefield...
One of Pushpasura’s twelve Battle Generals stepped forward.
Mahodanta raised a massive black conch carved from the horn of an ancient sea beast.
With a fierce roar, he answered.
-BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!
The dark sound collided with Hanuman’s sacred call in midair.
One carried righteousness.
The other carried conquest.
The two echoes crashed against one another above the battlefield, causing the very atmosphere to vibrate.
For one suspended moment...
Time itself seemed to stop.
Then...
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
A silence so complete that even the wind refused to move.
Both armies stood facing one another.
Thousands of warriors. Countless weapons.
Two destinies. One battlefield.
The War of Malikavana... Had officially begun.
The silence that had settled over the plains lasted only for a single heartbeat.
Then...
Both armies erupted.
King Padmanabha Varma unsheathed his sword and raised it toward the heavens, the polished blade reflecting the afternoon sun.
"For Pushkarnya!"
His authoritative voice rolled across the battlefield.
"Advance!"
Beside him, the Crown Prince drew his own sword and pointed it toward the Rakshasa legion.
"Protect our homeland!"
The generals of Pushkarnya echoed the command, their weapons rising one after another as thousands of soldiers answered with a deafening roar.
On the other side, Devaratha slowly lifted the Pinakodanda resting in his hand.
His emerald eyes remained fixed upon the endless sea of Rakshasas before him.
There was no excitement upon his face.
Only resolve.
He raised the divine bow high.
"For Dharma!"
His voice carried astonishingly far, reaching every corner of the allied formation.
"For every innocent life standing behind us ...advance!"
The soldiers of Trivenivrata answered with a thunderous battle cry that merged with the voices of Pushkarnya’s warriors.
Across the battlefield, Pushpasura laughed as he raised his colossal weapon.
"Crush them!"
"Leave no human standing!"
Behind him, the twelve Battle Generals simultaneously lifted their own weapons.
The Rakshasa army answered with savage roars that shook the plains.
The earth itself began trembling.
Thousands of warriors surged forward.
War elephants charged.
Rakshasa beasts bounded across the battlefield.
Shield walls advanced.
Archers prepared their first volleys.
The War of Malikavana had truly begun.
At the very front of the allied army...
The four celestial saber-toothed tigers pulling the Vajravyaghra Rath suddenly threw back their heads.
Their golden eyes flashed brilliantly.
Then all four released a mighty roar.
The sound exploded across the battlefield like thunder.
Blue lightning burst from their bodies, racing across the ground beneath the chariot as though the very storm acknowledged its master’s arrival.
Standing upon the chariot, Devaratha slowly closed his eyes.
His Yogic energy quietly flowed through his body.
Not toward a weapon.
Not toward an Astra.
But toward the battlefield itself.
Within his mind, the newly acquired ability responded to his will.
Mask Senses.
The skill activated.
A pulse of invisible energy spread outward from Devaratha like ripples upon still water.
At first...
Nothing appeared to happen.
Then...
The temperature across the battlefield noticeably dropped.
A faint white mist began rising from the ground.
Within seconds, the mist thickened.
It spread with unnatural speed, flowing between soldiers, across shattered rocks, beneath charging beasts, and over the open plains.
The fog continued expanding until it blanketed nearly the entire battlefield.
It was unlike ordinary mist.
It was dense. Silent. Almost alive.
"...."
"...."
"...."
To the soldiers of Pushkarnya and Trivenivrata...
Nothing changed.
Their vision remained perfectly clear.
They could still recognize allies, commanders, formations, and signals without the slightest difficulty.
It was as though the mist simply did not exist for them.
The Rakshasas...
Were not so fortunate.
"What is this?"
"I can’t smell the humans!"
"My hearing...!"
"Where did the cavalry go?"
The confusion spread almost instantly.
The Rakshasas, who had always relied upon their superior eyesight, hearing, smell, and instinct far more than ordinary humans, suddenly found those gifts betraying them.
The scent of blood vanished.
The footsteps of charging soldiers echoed from the wrong direction.
Shapes appeared and disappeared within the fog.
The battlefield they had confidently charged into only moments earlier had become unfamiliar.
Several Rakshasas instinctively slowed.
Others accidentally collided with one another.
Commanders began shouting orders, only to realize their own soldiers could no longer determine where those commands had originated.
The longer they remained inside the mist...
The more disoriented they became.
High above the battlefield, however...
The winged Rakshasas still believed themselves beyond its influence.
Hundreds circled through the sky, searching for weaknesses in the allied formations below.
Standing upon the Vajravyaghra Rath, Devaratha slowly opened his eyes.
His gaze settled upon one particular Rakshasa soaring above the battlefield.
A feather-winged commander.
Confident.
Completely unaware.
Devaratha calmly summoned the Pinakodanda.
The divine bow shimmered into existence within his grasp.
Its ancient carvings glowed with emerald radiance as he drew back the bowstring.
Green Yogic energy spiraled around his fingers.
It gathered rapidly.
Faster and faster.
The energy compressed until it transformed into the form of a divine Astra.
Vasuki Astra.
The emerald light coiled around the arrow like a living serpent.
Its aura became heavier with every passing second.
The surrounding air trembled.
Even Ashwatthama, fighting nearby, briefly glanced toward Devaratha.
Without hesitation...
Devaratha released the string.
THWOOOM!
The Astra shot skyward.
It streaked through the heavens as nothing more than a brilliant green beam.
The winged Rakshasa barely noticed it.
By the time he finally sensed danger...
It was already too late.
The beam suddenly exploded.
The green Yogic energy rapidly expanded and began weaving itself into an enormous serpentine construct.
Scales formed.
Golden eyes opened.
A gigantic projection of Vasuki, the King of Serpents, roared across the heavens.
The celestial serpent lunged forward with terrifying speed.
The Rakshasa’s horrified scream lasted only an instant before the immense jaws swallowed him whole.
The gigantic serpent did not stop.
Still carrying its prey imprisoned within its mouth, Vasuki crashed downward like a falling mountain.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!
The impact shook the battlefield.
The earth fractured.
Countless soldiers from both sides felt the ground tremble beneath their feet.
Dust and shattered stone erupted into the air.
When the cloud finally settled...
The enormous emerald serpent slowly raised its head.
Its brilliant eyes burned with divine fury.
Unlike an ordinary Astra...
It did not disappear.
Instead...
The furious projection of Vasuki turned its gaze toward the countless winged Rakshasas still circling above the battlefield.
Then it roared.
The sound echoed across the sky.
Before the terrified Rakshasas could react...
The colossal serpent launched itself back into the heavens.
Like a divine predator unleashed upon frightened prey.
One after another...
The winged Rakshasas suddenly realized they were no longer the hunters.
They had become the hunted.
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(Author note:)
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