Chapter 2
From the endless shadows of the Void, a voice thundered—cold, regal, and absolute:
"I ordered you to annihilate humanity's strongest warriors… and look at the state you're in. Pathetic. Worthless."
Asurendra dragged himself through the darkness, his ruined body leaving a trail of blood and ichor across the black stone floor. His only remaining arm trembled, barely able to pull his weight, yet he pressed forward—because stopping meant death.
With no legs to kneel, he collapsed into a trembling heap, his forehead scraping against the freezing obsidian. His voice came out shattered, like a dying wind.
"Forgive me… please… Your Majesty… I-I beg of you…" he coughed, black blood spilling from his mouth. "I've failed, I know—I'm worthless—I deserve to be erased, but… but this shame… let me wash it with their blood. Let me try one last time… just once more… and I'll offer you their hearts myself."
His body convulsed as the crushing pressure of the Void grew heavier.
"Don't cast me away… not yet… please…" The voice replied—no longer thunderous, but colder. Dismissive.
"I will deal with you later. But first... let me take care of these insects."
The ground began to tremble.
Far above, the sky darkened unnaturally. Clouds surged together like a wounded beast curling into itself. Lightning raged across the heavens, dancing like spears hurled by forgotten gods.
And then—from the yawning mouth of the Void itself—a shape began to form.
A hand. Vast beyond comprehension. Its fingers stretched like mountains. Its palm, wide as a castle, glowed with a sickly light as it tore through reality, reaching for the mortal realm.
The very air screamed.
Mountains wept molten stone. Rivers recoiled from their banks. The world itself seemed to shudder as if realizing what approached was not meant to exist.
As the colossal hand began its descent, aiming to crush Divyajit and Agnivardhana, neither warrior moved. Their bodies were broken, their Jeevashakti spent. There was no strength left to dodge, no fear of death—only the calm, unshakable resolve of men who had given everything.
They looked to the heavens and whispered their final prayer.
"Om Namah Shivaya…"
Though their voices were weak, devotion surged through every syllable. And in that moment, the prayer did not stay confined to the battlefield— It echoed across realms. Across time. Across existence.
"O Mahadeva, Lord of life and death, As I approach the end of this mortal journey, I surrender my soul at your sacred feet. Take away my fear, my pain, my regrets— And let me dissolve into your infinite grace.
You, the Lord of Time — Mahakaal, Free me from the cycles of birth and death. Let my last breath chant your name: Shiva. Let my final thought be of your form— Peaceful, powerful, beyond all.
Burn my ego like the ash on your body, And let my soul rise like the Ganga from your matted hair, Flowing into eternity, into you.
O Shambho, O Rudra, If I must return again, let it be in service to Dharma. But if liberation is your will, Then let me rest in your divine light forever. Har Har Mahadev."
The sky, once blackened by chaos, began to shift. Lightning froze mid-strike. Clouds parted like curtains. The oceans, once howling, fell still. And the titanic hand—that monstrous hand of doom—paused in midair.
For a single, timeless heartbeat… the world held its breath.
Then, from the Void, a voice spat in rage—furious and insulted:
"Hahaha! So… you finally noticed me, huh?"
But even that mockery trembled… as a radiance began to descend.
From beyond the stars, from the divine silence that lies between creation and destruction— An Eye opened.
Vast as the moon. Burning with stillness. Neither hateful, nor merciful… but eternal.
And it gazed—not at the mortals— But into the heart of the Void itself.
The very shadows recoiled as a golden aura spiraled outward from the Eye, forming radiant Sanskrit symbols across the sky.
"तत् त्वं नहिं — वापसी कर।" "You do not belong here. Return."
Each syllable etched into the air like divine thunder. Each glowing character pressing against the Void like the weight of cosmic law.
The Void—once endless and absolute— Began to crack.
Hairline fractures of light laced through the darkness like divine veins, Each one hissing with a sound not meant for mortal ears.
And then, from deep within the cracking void, the same regal voice—now distant, hollow, yet still defiant—spoke:
"Return."
Asurendra's broken body began to rise, levitating against his will. His single remaining arm reached out as if in protest, but there was no resistance left in him.
Eyes wide, he floated upward… back into the crumbling shadows that had once birthed him.
The dark swallowed him whole.
Then, as the Void began to collapse, that voice laughed again—madness laced with malice:
"Hahaha… You can stop me now—but tell me, O Divine One…" "…how will you stop what comes next?" "You cannot intervene… and humanity's warriors lie shattered beneath my hand." "Your time is over."
The laughter faded.
The Void vanished.
Gone like a dream at dawn, leaving only silence… and the two warriors who had dared to pray at the edge of annihilation.
Slowly, the world returned to its natural rhythm. The cracks in the sky sealed like healing wounds. The darkness dispersed. And the divine Eye—vast and eternal—began to dim, its golden light softening like dusk after a storm.
As it faded, sacred words, glowing in ethereal Sanskrit, appeared in the heavens above Divyajit and Agnivardhana:
"किं कामयसे?" ("Do you have any wish?")
Their breath shallow, their bodies shattered, the two warriors turned their gazes to each other. In their eyes—no regret, no sorrow—only the serenity of fulfilled duty. And they smiled.
With the last of their voices, they whispered in unison:
"हे महादेव, कृपया इस संसार की रक्षा करें निहिर की शक्ति से।" ("O Mahadev, please protect the world from the power of Nihir.")
The words were not a plea for survival, but a final act of surrender—an offering of their souls to something greater than war, greater than themselves.
The Sanskrit symbols pulsed once with golden radiance, then vanished into the heavens like a divine promise… as the Eye finally closed.
And in that moment, the universe knew: Their wish had been heard.
The divine Sanskrit faded from the sky like a whisper carried by the wind.
And as their final prayer echoed into silence, Divyajit and Agnivardhana—heroes of humanity, legends of an age—
closed their eyes for the last time.
Their chests rose… then fell.
And did not rise again.
There was no agony. No fear. Only peace.
As if the universe itself mourned, a gentle breeze swept across the scorched battlefield.
The blood, the ashes, the scars of destruction—all stood still.
And above their broken bodies, the first light of dawn pierced the clouds.
Two flames—pure, luminous, and steady—rose from their corpses.
One crimson. One silver.
They danced upward into the sky… and vanished into the ether.
They were gone. But the world would never forget their names.