Chapter 231: Chapter 229: Dominating Execution... Getting On The Radar Of Nishithanetra...
(A/N):
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Mahodanta stood perfectly still.
His vision remained shrouded by the unnatural fog.
His ears caught only fragments of the battle.
The scent of blood drifted from every direction.
His superior Rakshasa senses, which had served him faithfully for centuries, had become unreliable.
Yet...
His instincts had never failed him.
They screamed at him now.
Something was coming.
Not from behind. Not from the flanks.
Straight ahead.
Mahodanta slowly tightened his grip around the twin serrated greatswords resting upon his shoulders.
A savage grin spread across his face.
"So..."
"You finally came."
Far beyond the wall of mist...
The wheels of the Vajravyaghra Rath thundered across the battlefield.
The four celestial saber-toothed tigers charged forward in perfect unison, their massive paws striking the earth with enough force to leave shallow craters behind.
Standing upon the chariot, Devaratha remained utterly composed.
His emerald eyes never left Mahodanta.
The distance between them rapidly disappeared.
Fifty meters.... Forty.... Thirty....
Mahodanta suddenly roared.
"There!"
Without waiting to confirm what stood before him, he trusted the countless battles engraved into his very soul.
He urged his own chariot forward.
At the last possible instant...
He leapt.
His enormous body shot through the fog like a cannonball, both serrated greatswords raised high above his head.
He intended to strike first.
To cleave apart whatever enemy dared approach him.
But the moment he burst through the curtain of mist...
A flash of golden-yellow light greeted him.
His instincts widened his eyes.
"...."
Too late.
A blazing Astra Arrow streaked through the air with terrifying precision.
THOOM!
The arrow slammed into Mahodanta’s right shoulder.
The impact was overwhelming.
His charge came to an abrupt halt as the force of the Astra drove him backward through the air.
He crashed to one knee.
The divine arrow did not stop.
Still embedded deep within his shoulder, it continued dragging him across the soaked battlefield.
Mud and shattered stone exploded behind him as his armored body carved a long trench through the earth.
Mahodanta gritted his teeth.
His muscles strained.
Yet even his monstrous strength struggled against the force of the Astra.
Then...
The fog parted.
His instincts screamed once again.
He looked up.
A gigantic celestial saber-toothed tiger was already upon him.
Its jaws were opened impossibly wide, fangs gleaming like polished ivory as it lunged for his throat.
Mahodanta twisted with every ounce of strength he possessed.
The tiger’s jaws snapped shut where his neck had been only a heartbeat earlier.
CRUNCH!
He escaped death...
But not unscathed.
The tiger’s massive foreclaw raked across his chest as it passed.
Its razor-sharp claws tore through his armor and ripped deep furrows across his body.
Dark blood sprayed across the battlefield.
Mahodanta staggered.
Before he could regain his footing...
A second roar echoed beside him.
Another celestial tiger crashed into him from the left.
Its powerful jaws clamped around his right arm.
The force nearly shattered the bones beneath his armor.
"RAAAAGH!"
Mahodanta roared in pain, instinctively trying to wrench the limb free.
Before he could...
The third tiger struck.
Its jaws locked around his left arm.
The two divine beasts pulled in opposite directions, pinning him where he stood.
Mahodanta strained with all his might.
His muscles bulged.
Veins swelled across his neck.
Even his immense strength could not immediately break the grip of the celestial predators.
Then...
A familiar sensation crawled across the back of his neck.
Danger.
Far greater than before.
His instincts screamed louder than they ever had.
He forced his head upward.
Standing upon the advancing Vajravyaghra Rath, Devaratha had already drawn the Pinakodanda.
The divine bow hummed softly.
A second golden Astra rested upon its string.
Unlike the first...
This one was aimed at only a single point.
Mahodanta’s neck.
For the first time since the battle had begun...
Fear flickered across the Rakshasa General’s face.
"...."
The bowstring was released.
The Astra vanished.
There was no time to dodge.
No time to struggle free.
Only a brilliant streak of golden light.
SHHHK!
The battlefield fell strangely silent.
"...."
Mahodanta’s eyes widened.
His grip loosened around both greatswords.
For a heartbeat...
Nothing happened.
Then...
His head slowly separated from his body.
The Astra carried it high into the air before the massive severed head tumbled across the battlefield, crashing heavily into the blood-soaked earth.
His enormous body remained standing for a brief moment, still held upright by the celestial tigers.
Then it collapsed with a thunderous crash.
One of Pushpasura’s Twelve Battle Generals...
Mahodanta...
Had fallen.
And as the fog swallowed the scene once more, the Rakshasas nearest the battlefield could not even comprehend how one of their mightiest commanders had died so quickly within Devaratha’s hunting ground.
Elsewhere on the battlefield...
Pushpasura stood like an unstoppable force amidst a sea of corpses.
Around him lay shattered shields, broken chariots, and fallen warriors from both kingdoms.
Every swing of his colossal weapon sent soldiers flying, while those unfortunate enough to come within his reach rarely survived long enough to scream.
One terrified Pushkarnya soldier made a desperate attempt to attack from behind.
Pushpasura didn’t even bother turning around.
His massive hand shot backward and wrapped around the soldier’s throat.
The unfortunate warrior struggled desperately, clawing at the Rakshasa King’s wrist as he was effortlessly lifted into the air.
To Pushpasura...
The man weighed no more than a child.
He slowly tightened his grip.
Bones began creaking.
The soldier’s face turned blue as he desperately gasped for air.
Pushpasura watched him without emotion.
"You fought bravely..."
"But bravery does not save the weak."
He prepared to crush the man’s neck.
Then...
Thud.
Something heavy landed before him.
It bounced once upon the blood-soaked earth.
Rolled slowly across the mud.
And gently struck his foot.
Pushpasura’s grip stopped tightening.
The battlefield around him seemed to fall strangely quiet.
"...."
"...."
"...."
He lowered his gaze.
The severed head rolled onto its side.
Its lifeless eyes remained wide open.
Its mouth was slightly parted.
Its expression forever frozen between disbelief...
And fear.
It was a face Pushpasura knew well.
Mahodanta.
One of his Twelve Battle Generals.
For a long moment...
Pushpasura simply stared.
Then, without another word, he casually crushed the throat of the soldier still trapped in his hand.
Crack.
The lifeless body fell to the ground.
-THUD.
His attention never left Mahodanta’s severed head.
His crimson eyes slowly narrowed.
The confidence that had accompanied him since the beginning of the battle disappeared, replaced by something far colder.
A dangerous silence settled over him.
"So..."
he muttered.
"You’ve begun hunting my generals."
He slowly lifted his head toward the endless white fog blanketing the battlefield.
The mist concealed everything.
His soldiers.
His commanders.
Even the sounds of battle reached him only as distant echoes.
For the first time since the war had begun...
Pushpasura found himself fighting an enemy he could not properly perceive.
His expression darkened.
"If the fog is your greatest weapon... then I’ll simply remove it."
He drew in a deep breath.
Then opened his mouth.
An immense suction force erupted from his body.
WHOOOOOOOM!!
The surrounding air violently rushed toward him.
Dust.
Leaves.
Loose weapons.
Even shattered pieces of broken chariots slid across the battlefield.
The dense fog nearest him twisted into enormous spirals before disappearing into his mouth as though being swallowed by a bottomless abyss.
For several hundred meters around him...
The battlefield briefly became visible.
Pushpasura continued inhaling.
Again.
And again.
The suction grew stronger with every breath.
Yet...
The fog did not disappear.
No matter how much of it he consumed...
Fresh waves silently rolled across the battlefield, replacing everything he had swallowed.
It was as though the mist possessed no beginning...
And no end.
Pushpasura finally stopped.
He exhaled slowly.
"...Interesting."
His eyes narrowed.
"So this isn’t ordinary fog."
He had already reached the correct conclusion.
Trying to disperse it by force was pointless.
The battlefield itself had become Devaratha’s domain.
If he could not remove the fog...
Then he would adapt.
Without another word, Pushpasura knelt.
His enormous palm pressed firmly against the blood-soaked earth.
He closed his eyes.
For a heartbeat...
Nothing happened.
Then the ground beneath him trembled.
Dark green roots erupted from beneath his arm before burrowing back into the soil.
Like living serpents, they spread rapidly beneath the battlefield, splitting apart stones and weaving silently through the earth in every direction.
Hundreds became thousands.
Thousands became tens of thousands.
The underground network expanded farther and farther until it stretched beneath vast portions of Malikavana.
Pushpasura no longer relied upon sight.
He listened.
Every footstep striking the earth.
Every charging elephant.
Every chariot wheel.
Every vibration carried through the soil.
The countless roots faithfully transmitted those disturbances back to their master.
Within moments...
An entirely different battlefield began taking shape inside Pushpasura’s mind.
He could not see with his eyes.
But he could feel.
The rhythm of marching armies.
The locations of heavy cavalry.
The movements of powerful warriors whose footsteps shook the ground more than ordinary soldiers.
A slow smile returned to his face.
"So..."
he murmured.
"You hid the battlefield from my eyes..."
"...but no warrior can hide his footsteps from the earth."
Deep beneath the blood-soaked plains of Malikavana, the roots continued spreading farther and farther, silently transforming the land itself into Pushpasura’s newest pair of senses.
Mahodanta’s death was only the beginning.
Devaratha did not remain upon the battlefield to celebrate his victory.
He had neither the luxury...
Nor the intention.
The Vajravyaghra Rath surged forward once again, its massive wheels crushing abandoned weapons beneath them as the four celestial saber-toothed tigers continued their relentless charge.
Wherever the divine chariot passed...
Entire Rakshasa formations collapsed.
Devaratha never lingered to duel ordinary soldiers.
To him, they were obstacles delaying the true objective.
His emerald eyes constantly searched for command units, elite formations, siege detachments, and officers directing the flow of battle.
Each time one appeared...
The Pinakodanda was drawn.
A divine Astra was born.
And another section of Pushpasura’s army vanished.
A company of armored Rakshasas attempted to block his advance.
A crimson Astra exploded among them.
When the light faded...
Nothing remained except scorched earth.
Farther ahead, a group of commanders desperately tried to rally scattered soldiers.
An emerald Astra descended from the heavens.
The commanders disappeared beneath its brilliance.
Without slowing the chariot...
Without even looking back...
Devaratha continued advancing.
His purpose was never to become entangled in prolonged combat.
Every heartbeat spent against ordinary warriors was another heartbeat allowing the enemy to reorganize.
So he pressed forward relentlessly, carving a path through the battlefield toward the heart of the Rakshasa army.
Several hundred meters away...
Another of Pushpasura’s Twelve Battle Generals arrived.
Unlike Mahodanta, whose reputation had been forged through overwhelming physical might...
This warrior inspired fear through precision.
Standing upon an obsidian chariot pulled by four monstrous black wolves was Nishithanetra.
The greatest archer within Pushpasura’s legion.
Among the Rakshasas, it was often said that once Nishithanetra drew his bow...
The battle had already chosen its next corpse.
His chariot rolled silently across the blood-soaked ground until the battlefield around him began to change.
Broken armor.
Deep craters.
Bodies scattered in every direction.
Not merely defeated...
Destroyed.
Nishithanetra calmly studied the destruction without speaking.
His sharp eyes examined every mark left behind.
A shattered shield.
A trench carved through the mud.
The lingering traces of Yogic energy still hanging in the air.
Each clue painted the same picture.
"Clean..."
he murmured.
"No wasted movement."
His gaze continued forward.
Then...
The wolves abruptly slowed.
Lying amidst the churned earth was a gigantic headless corpse.
Twin serrated greatswords rested beside it.
The armor, though torn open by celestial claws, was unmistakable.
Mahodanta.
For the first time...
Nishithanetra stepped down from his chariot.
He knelt beside the fallen general.
There was no grief upon his face.
Only careful observation.
His fingers traced the clean severed edge of the neck.
One strike.
Perfectly executed.
He examined the deep claw wounds crossing the armor.
Then the trench stretching backward across the battlefield.
His eyes slowly narrowed.
"He was overwhelmed... then executed."
There had been no prolonged duel.
No exchange lasting hundreds of blows.
Mahodanta had been systematically neutralized before the final killing strike.
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(Author note:)
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