Once atop the roof, Rudra paused to survey the palace grounds. His keen eyes scanned for any movement below. The generals, he knew, would not have personal guards like his father did. Only the regular patrolling guards could pose a threat to his infiltration.
He slithered along the roof, finding a way down into the interior of the palace. As he silently descended, he spotted a particularly large guard patrolling the hallways. Rudra followed him with stealth, ensuring his presence remained undetected. When the opportunity presented itself, he struck with precision, rendering the guard unconscious with a swift, silent blow. He rifled through the guard’s clothes, donning the uniform but keeping his mask on to avoid being identified. The unconscious guard was stuffed into a nearby closet, hidden from sight.
With his new guise in place, Rudra proceeded toward General Kumba's quarters. He moved through the dimly lit corridors, his steps soundless on the polished floors. The general’s room was only a short distance away, and Rudra’s heart pounded with anticipation as he approached the door.
Slipping into the room, Rudra saw General Kumba sprawled across his bed. The general was a formidable figure, even in sleep—a large man with prominent horns and a scar running down his right cheek. The sight of his nemesis stirred a dark satisfaction within Rudra.
Rudra’s eyes narrowed with grim determination as he pulled his Trishul from his back. The weapon glinted ominously in the faint light that filtered through the room. He approached the bed, moving with the silence of a predator.
With one swift and powerful motion, Rudra thrust the Trishul into Kumba’s neck. The force of the strike drove the weapon through the demigod asura's tough skin, and Kumba’s eyes shot open in shock. The general’s attempts to cry out were cut short, reduced to gurgles as blood poured from the fatal wound.
Rudra’s expression remained cold and resolute as he watched Kumba’s life drain away. The general’s struggles grew weaker until they ceased entirely. The dark satisfaction of vengeance filled Rudra as he withdrew his weapon, wiping it clean with a cloth he had prepared for the task.
Leaving the lifeless body of General Kumba behind, Rudra took a moment to compose himself. The night was still young, and his mission was far from over. He knew that the other generals were still out there, and he would need to strike quickly and decisively to ensure his revenge was complete.
As he exited the room, Rudra moved with the same stealth and precision that had brought him this far. His heart was set on the task ahead, driven by the need to avenge his mother and bring justice to those who had wronged him. The night was his ally, and he would use every advantage to fulfill his destiny.
Rudra moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors, his heart pounding in his chest. His target was General Krishna, one of the four powerful generals under his father. He had planned to strike quickly and silently, hoping to catch Krishna off guard. But as he slipped into the general’s quarters, he was met with an unexpected sight that froze him momentarily.
General Krishna lay in bed with his wife, both of them wrapped in the heavy blankets. Rudra's eyes widened as he realized he had walked into a personal moment. He weighed his options quickly. The presence of Krishna's wife complicated things, but he couldn’t afford to waste time. His revenge was too close, and he needed to act decisively.
Rudra’s grip tightened around the Trishul. He approached the bed with a determined stride, moving as silently as possible. With one powerful, practiced motion, he drove the Trishul into Krishna’s neck. The general’s eyes shot open in shock as the Trishul pierced his flesh, blood gushing from the wound. Krishna's wife, startled awake by the sudden commotion, gasped and turned towards Rudra.
Before Rudra could react, she let out a piercing scream that echoed through the palace. The shrill sound pierced the silence of the night, and Rudra knew his plan had been compromised. Panic surged through him as he realized that every moment now counted.
Without hesitation, Rudra smashed through a nearby window, the glass shattering around him. He clambered through the jagged opening, using his strength to pull himself onto the ledge. With one last glance at the chaos behind him, he sprinted across the rooftops, moving with a speed and agility that left a blur in his wake.
His mind raced as he navigated the palace rooftops, the distant sound of alarms and shouts growing louder. The alarm had undoubtedly been raised, and the palace would soon be on high alert. Rudra's focus was singular—he needed to reach his father’s quarters and carry out his revenge before it was too late.
As he neared the part of the palace where his father’s room was located, Rudra’s determination hardened. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges and that his chances of success were dwindling. But the thought of avenging his mother and confronting his father drove him forward. He would not be deterred, not after coming this far.
Rudra’s heart beat with a mix of adrenaline and fury as he raced towards his father’s quarters, ready to face whatever obstacles lay ahead. His mission had been thrown into chaos, but he was resolved to see it through to the end. The night was still his ally, and he was determined to use every ounce of his strength and skill to achieve his goal.
Rudra crouched low behind an ornate column in the palace’s grand dining room, his breath steady but his heart pounding with anticipation. The room was filled with shadows, the dim light from flickering torches casting long, distorted shapes across the walls. He could hear the distant clamor of boots against stone as guards scrambled towards the area where General Krishna had been struck down.
The palace was coming alive with activity. Shouts and commands echoed through the halls, the air thick with the tension of an impending clash. Rudra knew that his window of opportunity was closing rapidly. The palace guard would soon be combing every corner, and it wouldn’t take long before they reached the dining room where he was hiding. He needed to move swiftly, but with the palace on high alert, he had to be more careful than ever.
He listened intently, trying to gauge the situation. The sound of footsteps faded as the guards passed his hiding spot, heading towards Krishna’s quarters. For a brief moment, the din subsided, and Rudra heard voices—faint at first, then gradually growing louder.
His father’s voice, deep and commanding, carried through the walls. He was arguing with someone, his tone sharp and impatient. Rudra strained to hear the conversation, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what was happening.
“…failure to secure the perimeter! How could this happen under your watch?” Ravan’s voice was laced with anger, and Rudra could almost picture the intimidating figure of his father pacing furiously in his chambers.
“Father, the guards were doing their best. We couldn’t have predicted an intruder would strike so boldly,” another voice responded, calm yet edged with defensiveness. Rudra’s eyes narrowed—he recognized the voice. It was his eldest half-brother, Karna.
Karna’s presence complicated things further. While he had been indifferent to Rudra growing up, Karna was a formidable warrior, and his loyalty to Ravan was unwavering. If Rudra confronted his father now, Karna would undoubtedly intervene. Rudra couldn’t afford to fight both of them at once—not yet.
Rudra’s mind raced. He needed to isolate Ravan from his generals and his sons, or else the battle would quickly turn against him. He couldn’t let Karna’s presence deter him from his goal, but he needed to be strategic. He had already taken down two of the generals, but Ravan and Karna were an entirely different challenge.
The voices from the room continued, but Rudra couldn’t make out all the words. He edged closer to the door that led into his father’s chambers, careful not to make a sound. Every step was calculated, his body moving with the fluid grace of a predator.
“…need to search the palace thoroughly. Whoever did this is still inside,” Karna was saying, his voice closer now.
Rudra knew he didn’t have much time. If he was discovered before he reached his father, all would be lost. But the arguing voices suggested that there was still a chance, a narrow window of opportunity, to strike while his father and Karna were distracted.
Taking a deep breath, Rudra prepared himself for the next move. The sounds of the guards were growing fainter as they focused on the area around Krishna’s quarters, giving him a sliver of time. His hand tightened around the hilt of his Trishul, the weapon feeling like an extension of his will.
He could feel the weight of his revenge pressing down on him, the memories of his mother’s death fueling his resolve. He had come too far to turn back now. With one final, silent breath, Rudra made his decision and began to move towards his father’s chambers, ready to confront the man who had haunted his every thought for years.
Rudra crouched just outside the door to his father’s chamber, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it—the moment he had been preparing for, the moment he had been dreaming of, for ten long years. The memory of his mother’s lifeless body flashed through his mind, and the burning hatred he felt for the man responsible—his father, Ravan—ignited his resolve.
Enough waiting.
With a sudden burst of energy, Rudra kicked the door with all his might. The heavy wooden door shattered from its hinges and flew across the room, slamming into the far wall with a resounding crash.
Ravan and Karna, who had been arguing only moments before, whirled around in shock to face the masked intruder. For a brief moment, the two towering figures were frozen, their eyes wide with surprise as they took in the sight of Rudra, his dark cloak billowing around him, his tiger pelt mask obscuring his face.
Without hesitation, Rudra hurled his trishul directly at Ravan, aiming to pierce his heart with the deadly weapon. But his father was faster than Rudra anticipated. With a snarl, Ravan grabbed his ornate great hammer and swung it in a wide arc, deflecting the trishul with a thunderous clang. The weapon embedded itself in the wall, vibrating from the impact.
"You’re a fool trying to assassinate me," Ravan growled, his voice filled with blazing anger. His eyes, reflecting the fury of a thousand storms, locked onto Rudra as he prepared for the inevitable clash.
Rudra didn’t waste a second. He drew his long, serrated knife and launched himself at his father with lightning speed. His strikes were a blur of motion, his knife flashing as he aimed for every vulnerable spot he could find.
But as he attacked, a sudden, unseen sword came flying toward him from the side. Rudra reacted instinctively, blocking the sword just in time. He thanked his master for the countless hours of projectile training—training that had honed his reflexes to near-perfection. Karna was already rushing in with another sword, the blade gleaming as he aimed for Rudra’s throat.
Rudra quickly assessed the situation. He realized that while his father and brother were powerful opponents, they were completely outmatched in close combat. Neither of them had the formal martial arts training Rudra had received from Kartikeya. They were strong, and they had experience on their side, but their movements were undisciplined, relying more on brute force and instinct than technique.
A savage kick to Karna’s knee brought him down with a sickening snap. Karna let out a howl of pain as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his shattered leg. With one opponent down, Rudra turned his full attention to Ravan.
Now it was just the two of them.
Rudra pressed the attack, knowing that the palace guards would soon arrive. His blows were swift and precise, each one aimed to pierce his father’s defenses. But Ravan was no ordinary opponent. His immense strength, combined with the dragon scale-like skin he had inherited from Vritra, made him a nearly indomitable force.
Each time Rudra’s blade found its mark, it barely scratched the surface of Ravan’s tough, nearly impenetrable skin. It was like trying to cut through iron with a wooden blade. And all the while, Ravan swung his massive hammer with deadly force, the air whistling with each strike.
Rudra knew that one direct hit from that hammer would be enough to end him. He couldn’t afford to be hit—not even once. His every movement had to be perfect, every dodge, every strike, every block. And yet, despite his superior combat skills, he could feel the pressure mounting.
This wasn’t just a battle of strength—it was a battle of endurance. He needed to land a decisive blow before his father could overwhelm him with sheer force.
But as Rudra continued to fight, a chilling realization began to settle in his mind. His father was far more powerful than he had anticipated. The dragon scale skin was absorbing most of the damage, and with each failed attempt to strike a fatal blow, Rudra’s chances of success dwindled.
He needed to finish this quickly. He needed a new plan.
Rudra's every muscle burned with exertion as he continued his relentless assault on his father, Ravan. Each strike of his knife was swift, precise, and aimed to kill, but the more he struck, the more he realized how futile it all was. Hundreds of what should have been fatal blows barely left more than shallow cuts on Ravan's body. Blood trickled from the wounds, but it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough to bring down the monster before him.
With a swift dodge to the side, Rudra grabbed his trishul from where it had embedded itself in the wall. The heavy weapon felt reassuring in his hands, its weight familiar and comforting. This has to work, he thought. It has to.
He lunged at Ravan, his movements as fast as lightning, and plunged the trishul deep into his father’s leg. Ravan let out a roar of pain, the sound echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. For a moment, Rudra allowed himself a grim smile. He had finally managed to break through his father’s defenses. The pain in Ravan's voice was like music to his ears.
But the moment of triumph was short-lived.
Ravan's eyes narrowed, and for a split second, Rudra saw something shift in his father’s expression. There was a brief pause, a moment where everything seemed to slow down. Then, before Rudra could press his advantage, Ravan’s body began to change. His skin, already tough as dragon scales, grew thicker, denser, and darker. A second layer of what looked like steel dragon scales emerged from beneath his skin, covering him from head to toe like a suit of impenetrable armor. Only his eyes remained exposed, glowing with a menacing light.
Rudra stabbed at his father with all his strength, aiming the trishul at Ravan’s chest. The weapon, which had just moments ago pierced through flesh and bone, now glanced off the dragon-scale armor with a sharp clang. The blow had no effect—Ravan didn’t even flinch.
Rudra's heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation. He was strong, faster than any ordinary human, faster even than most demigods. But raw speed and skill were not enough to overcome the overwhelming power of his father's demonic abilities. The specific powers that each demigod inherited from their divine or asura parent gave them an edge that Rudra, for all his training, couldn’t match.
Ravan’s dragon-scale armor had made him nearly invincible. Rudra’s attacks were useless now, and while Ravan’s new armor had made him even slower than before, it didn't matter. Rudra could dodge his father’s blows all night, but without a way to penetrate that armor, he was doomed to fail.
Ravan’s frustration was evident as he growled in anger, unable to land a blow on Rudra despite his newfound defenses. The older man’s strength was immense, his swings powerful enough to shatter walls, but Rudra's speed kept him just out of reach. It was a deadly dance, one that Rudra knew couldn’t last forever.
The clanking of armor behind Rudra sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the first of the palace guards rushing towards him, weapons drawn, their eyes filled with murderous intent. In front of him, his father was smiling—a wicked, cruel smile that sent a chill down Rudra’s spine.
Time seemed to slow as Ravan raised his massive hammer high, the weapon gleaming in the dim light of the chamber. With a roar, Ravan swung the hammer in a devastating uppercut, aiming to crush Rudra once and for all.
Rudra barely had time to react. He instinctively raised his trishul in a desperate attempt to block the blow, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. The hammer connected with the trishul with a tremendous smash, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the room. The guards were knocked off their feet, and the entire palace seemed to shudder under the force of the blow.
Rudra was sent flying like a rocket, the sheer power of the strike propelling him upwards and out of the palace. He crashed through the ceiling, the stone and wood splintering around him as he was launched into the night sky. The wind whipped around him, and the stars above blurred as he soared through the air.
In those final moments before darkness claimed him, Rudra’s thoughts turned to his mother. I’ve failed you, he thought, a deep sense of despair settling over him as consciousness slipped away. His body, broken and battered, began to plummet back toward the earth, a single tear slipping from his eye as everything went black.
Durga stirred awake, instinctively reaching out to the side of the bed where Rudra should have been. The cool emptiness beneath her fingertips made her frown. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and glanced around the dimly lit tent. At first, she assumed Rudra had simply gone outside for a moment, maybe to relieve himself or check on the tigers. But then, a glint of something missing caught her eye—his trishul was gone.
Her heart skipped a beat as realization dawned on her. Rudra wouldn’t leave without his trishul unless…
She threw on her cloak and rushed out of the tent, the cold night air biting at her skin. She sprinted towards Siddartha’s tent and shook him awake, her anxiety evident in her voice.
“Wake up! Siddartha, wake up!” she hissed urgently.
Siddartha groaned and turned over, trying to bury his face in his blanket. “What the hell, Durga? It’s the middle of the night…”
“He’s gone,” Durga interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. “Rudra is gone—and he took his trishul with him.”
Those words jolted Siddartha awake like a splash of cold water. He shot up from his bedroll, all traces of sleepiness vanishing in an instant. “What do you mean he’s gone?” he demanded, his face growing serious.
“I think… I think he left to get his revenge on his own,” Durga admitted, her voice laced with frustration and fear. She could barely keep her emotions in check, the thought of Rudra going into battle alone gnawing at her insides. “That idiot!”
Her outburst was loud enough to disturb the tigers sleeping nearby. They opened one eye lazily, casting a brief, indifferent glance at the humans before returning to their slumber, their heavy breaths filling the night.
Siddartha cursed under his breath and quickly began to dress, throwing on a dark cloak to blend into the night. “We have to find him before he gets himself killed,” he said, his voice grim and determined.
Durga nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat. She followed Siddartha’s lead, pulling her own cloak tight around her shoulders. The two of them slipped out of the camp, their movements quiet and cautious.
They navigated the winding paths back into the city, moving through the shadows like ghosts. The streets were mostly deserted at this hour, save for the occasional patrol of guards or a lone drunkard staggering home from a tavern.
As they neared the palace, Durga and Siddartha chose a nearby tavern as their vantage point. It was a small, dimly lit establishment, mostly empty save for a few patrons who were either too drunk or too tired to care about anything but their drinks. The two of them took a seat near a window, their eyes fixed on the looming silhouette of the palace in the distance.
The silence of the night was suddenly broken by the faint sound of guards yelling. The voices grew louder, more frantic, and then an alarm began to blare—a harsh, piercing sound that sent a shiver down Durga’s spine.
Her breath hitched as she looked at Siddartha, her eyes wide with fear. “Was he caught? They’ll kill him immediately…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Siddartha reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on hers. “No way. Rudra is smarter than that,” he said, though his voice held a slight tremor. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm her down or himself. “He’ll be okay.”
Just as the words left his lips, a tremendous crash echoed through the night. The entire tavern seemed to shake from the impact, causing the few remaining patrons to glance around in confusion.
Durga and Siddartha shot to their feet, rushing to the window just in time to see a dark shape hurtling through the ceiling of the palace. It rocketed into the sky at an incredible speed, a blur against the night, before disappearing over the rooftops of the city and out of sight.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the sight rendering them both speechless. The ominous feeling in the pit of Durga’s stomach deepened as she stared at the spot where the dark shape had vanished.
“Rudra…” she whispered, her voice barely audible as dread filled her heart.
Siddartha’s hand tightened into a fist. “We have to find him,” he said, his voice resolute. He had no idea what had just happened, but one thing was certain—they needed to get to Rudra before it was too late.
Durga and Siddartha exchanged a look of determination as they slipped out of the tavern and into the darkened streets, moving swiftly towards where the dark shape—Rudra, they were certain—had crashed. The city was beginning to stir in the wake of the commotion at the palace, and they could see a swarm of palace guards pouring out, all heading in the same direction.
"We have to get to him first," Durga whispered urgently, her voice edged with panic. Without waiting for a response, she broke into a full sprint, her heart pounding in her chest. Siddartha was right behind her, their cloaks billowing as they raced through the narrow alleys, dodging obstacles and leaping over low walls.
The palace guards, though fast, were no match for the two of them. Durga, with her demigod-enhanced strength and speed, left them far behind, and even Siddartha, who had trained rigorously over the past month, managed to keep pace. The city blurred around them as they ran, the adrenaline surging through their veins.
As they neared the crash site, Durga felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. The damage was immediately apparent—a clothing store, now reduced to rubble, lay at the center of the impact. The walls had caved in, the roof splintered, and debris was scattered across the street. A few late-night onlookers were gathered at a safe distance, murmuring among themselves, their eyes wide with shock and curiosity.
Durga’s breath caught in her throat as she spotted Rudra’s massive frame buried under the remains of the store. He was crumpled in a heap, his body twisted at odd angles, and even from a distance, she could tell he had broken several bones. His trishul was impaled in the ground, its sharp point dangerously close to his head. The sight of him so battered and broken sent a wave of despair crashing over her.
They both moved quickly, pulling their masks over their faces to conceal their identities. Durga reached Rudra first, her hands shaking as she knelt beside him. She was relieved to see his chest rising and falling faintly—he was still alive, though just barely.
Siddartha was already working to extract the trishul from the ground, his movements quick and efficient despite the urgency of the situation. The onlookers began whispering among themselves as they watched the two dark-cloaked figures seemingly come out of nowhere to claim the fallen man.
“Who are they?”
“Are they with the intruder?”
“They look like assassins!”
Durga ignored the murmurs, focused entirely on Rudra. They had to get out of here before the palace guards arrived and boxed them in. She shot a glance at Siddartha, who nodded grimly, understanding the situation as well as she did.
“The city exits will be watched,” he murmured as he finally freed the trishul and slung it over his back. “We’ll have to climb the walls.”
Durga nodded, determination hardening her resolve. She gingerly hoisted Rudra’s limp body over her shoulders, his weight heavy but manageable thanks to her enhanced strength. As she lifted him, Rudra let out a low, pained moan, causing Durga’s heart to clench painfully. She bit back a sob, not allowing herself to cry—not now.
“We’re getting you out of here, Rudra,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She looked to Siddartha, who was already scouting a path through the alleys that would take them out of view of the onlookers.
They moved quickly, slipping into the shadows and avoiding the main streets. The sounds of shouting guards echoed behind them, growing louder as the palace soldiers closed in on the crash site. Durga and Siddartha didn’t slow down, scaling a large wall with practiced ease. Siddartha climbed up first, pulling Rudra up as carefully as he could without causing him further injury. Durga’s enhanced strength made it easier, but the strain of keeping Rudra balanced and secure while climbing wasn’t easy.
Rudra moaned again, a sound of raw pain that tore at Durga’s heart. She couldn’t help the tears that spilled from her eyes as she pulled him over the wall, finally reaching the top. They paused only for a moment to catch their breath, the city sprawling out beneath them, bathed in moonlight and the flickering glow of torches as the guards searched for the intruder.
Durga let out a shuddering breath, the sounds of the city and the shouting guards fading behind them as they scaled down the other side of the wall and sprinted toward the jungle. Every step took them farther away from the chaos, from the danger, from the nightmare that had unfolded.
As the dense trees of the jungle enveloped them, Durga felt a momentary sense of relief, but it was tempered by the weight of Rudra’s broken body on her shoulders. They had managed to escape for now, but she knew they weren’t out of danger yet. Rudra needed help, and they had to find a safe place to tend to his wounds before it was too late.
But for now, they ran, leaving the city—and the guards—far behind.
Durga, with Rudra still draped over her shoulder, barely slowed as they entered the clearing of their jungle home. The familiar sight of the makeshift camp offered little comfort as she carefully laid Rudra down on the mat inside their tent. The moonlight filtering through the trees illuminated his pale, bruised face, and Durga’s heart clenched as she saw the extent of his injuries.
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Without wasting a moment, she got to work, her battlefield experience guiding her hands as she assessed the damage. His right arm was broken in two places, his left leg twisted unnaturally, and from the way he was breathing, she feared he had broken ribs as well. Gritting her teeth, Durga started setting his broken bones, the grim task of splinting them making her fingers tremble. Every time Rudra moaned in pain, it was like a knife to her heart, but she forced herself to stay focused.
But the deeper she got into the task, the more overwhelming it became. She could see Rudra was barely clinging to life—his skin was pale, clammy, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. Infection was a serious risk, and even if they managed to prevent it, there was no guarantee that he would survive these injuries. Durga’s hands shook as she tied off another splint, tears blurring her vision.
“Siddartha, get me some water,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.
Siddartha, who had been pacing near the edge of the clearing, stopped in his tracks at the sound of her voice. He quickly grabbed a water skin and brought it to her side, his usual easygoing expression replaced with one of deep concern. He watched as Durga worked tirelessly, her desperation evident in every movement.
When she had done everything she could—splinting his limbs, wrapping his chest to stabilize his ribs, and cleaning the cuts and bruises as best she could—Durga sat back on her heels, her hands covered in blood and dirt. She looked down at Rudra’s unconscious form, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free.
“Rudra…” she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached out to stroke his sweat-matted hair. “Please, don’t leave us…”
She sobbed openly, her shoulders shaking as she bent over his body, feeling utterly helpless. All her strength, all her training, all the battles she had fought—it was all meaningless now. Rudra was dying, and she could do nothing to save him.
Siddartha knelt beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. His face was grim, his eyes reflecting the same fear and sorrow she felt. “We’ll find a way,” he said quietly, though even he sounded uncertain. “We’ll get him a physician, Durga. We won’t let him die.”
Durga shook her head, the tears streaming down her face. “He’s too far gone, Siddartha. Even if we get a physician, he might not survive the journey back. He’s…he’s at death’s door.”
Just then, the tigers, who had been resting at the edge of the clearing, got up and approached them. The massive beasts sniffed at Rudra’s prone form, their bright eyes reflecting concern and curiosity. Then, as if sensing Durga’s despair, they began to lick her hands and face, their rough tongues bringing a strange comfort.
Durga managed a wet laugh through her tears, the absurdity of the situation not lost on her. “You big goofs,” she murmured, reaching out to scratch one of the tigers behind the ears. It was such a simple, innocent gesture, but it made her heart ache with a bittersweet tenderness. These were Rudra’s brothers, his family, and they, too, seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.
Siddartha offered her a small, sad smile. “You’re not alone, Durga. We’ll figure this out together.”
But even as he spoke, both of them knew the truth: without some kind of miracle, Rudra’s chances were slim. They needed a healer, a powerful one, and they needed one now.
Durga opened her mouth to say something when a voice, deep and resonant, cut through the quiet of the night.
“My foolish disciple…”
Both Durga and Siddartha froze, their eyes widening in disbelief. The tigers’ ears perked up, and in an instant, they bounded away from the tent, heading toward the source of the voice.
Durga and Siddartha turned just in time to see an old sage step into the clearing. He wore simple robes, his white hair tied back in a loose knot, and his face was lined with age and wisdom. Despite his unassuming appearance, there was an undeniable aura of power about him—an energy that made the air around them seem to hum with life.
The tigers reached him first, nuzzling against his sides with clear affection. The sage chuckled softly, scratching their heads as he continued to approach.
Durga’s breath caught in her throat as she realized who this must be. She could hardly believe it—this was the man who had trained Rudra, the one who had raised him for years. And now, just when they needed him most, he had returned.
The old sage stopped beside Rudra’s body, his eyes taking in the scene with a calm, knowing gaze. He looked at Durga, then Siddartha, and finally, his eyes rested on Rudra’s battered form.
“You were never one to do things the easy way,” he murmured, more to himself than to them. Then, with a sigh, he knelt beside Rudra, his hands glowing with a faint, golden light as he began to assess the damage.
Durga could only watch in awe, her heart pounding in her chest. Could it be possible? Could this man, this sage, save Rudra where she had failed?
The old sage didn’t waste any time. He placed his hands over Rudra’s broken body, and the golden light intensified, bathing the entire tent in a warm, comforting glow.
“Rest easy, child,” he said softly, his voice filled with a gentle authority. “You’ve done well to bring him back to me. Now, let me do my part.”
Durga and Siddartha exchanged a glance, their earlier despair slowly giving way to hope as they watched the sage work, his every movement filled with purpose and care.
For the first time that night, Durga allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Rudra would survive after all.
Durga stared at the sage, her mind racing as she pieced together the revelation. Her eyes widened in realization. “My lord Kart—” she began, but the name caught in her throat as she remembered that Rudra had only recently revealed his master’s true identity to her.
Siddartha, noticing Durga’s stunned reaction, looked between her and the sage with confusion. “What’s going on?” he asked, his curiosity evident.
The sage looked up from his work with a dangerous, knowing smile. “It appears my disciple has been sharing secrets he was instructed to keep,” he said, his tone both amused and slightly reproachful. His gaze shifted to Durga, and he added, “You must be quite special to him for him to reveal such matters. Though, I must say, it’s understandable. You are nearly as beautiful as my mother,” he said with a chuckle, making Durga’s cheeks flush with a deep blush.
The sage then addressed both of them. “Let’s just say I am a deva and leave it at that, shall we?” As he spoke, he kneeled beside Rudra and placed his hand gently on his chest. A golden light began to emanate from his palm, bathing Rudra’s body in a warm, healing glow. Almost immediately, Rudra’s condition seemed to improve; his breathing steadied, and the color began to return to his cheeks.
Durga gasped in astonishment, her heart leaping with hope. “Will he be alright now?” she asked, her voice filled with a mix of relief and trepidation.
The sage nodded, a reassuring smile on his face. “Yes, though he will be quite groggy and sleep like a log for the next few days. His body needs time to recover.”
Siddartha, still in awe, asked the sage, “Why don’t devas intervene more often? That healing looked effortless.”
The sage’s expression grew somber as he replied, “We are not permitted to interfere directly. Devas who overstep these bounds face severe consequences from Indra. Similarly, asuras are restricted in their interventions, with punishments administered by Vritra. This is the cosmic order, designed to maintain balance.”
Durga and Siddartha began to apologize, feeling guilty for having drawn the sage into their troubles. “We’re so sorry for causing you trouble,” Durga said, her voice filled with sincerity.
The sage waved off their apologies with a chuckle. “It’s quite alright. My brother and I are a special case due to our father,” he said ruefully. Siddartha’s confusion was evident, but Durga nodded in understanding, having caught the gist of the situation.
The sage continued, “My sibling and I are not subject to the usual rules of punishment. However, if Indra were to complain to the Trimurti about our special treatment, it could lead to severe repercussions from our father. We tread carefully in our actions to avoid provoking any such complaints.”
As the sage settled down and began preparing a meal for everyone, he turned to Durga and Siddartha. “How did you two come to meet my disciple?” he asked, his curiosity genuine.
Durga and Siddartha took turns recounting their journey and the bond they had formed with Rudra. As they shared stories of their time together, the sage listened intently, occasionally interjecting with his own memories of Rudra as a child.
Durga smiled as she spoke about Rudra’s bravery and growth, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The sage’s presence had a calming effect, and she found comfort in the stories and the care he was showing. As she watched Rudra’s slow but steady recovery, she couldn’t help but think about her own father. If he were like this sage, perhaps she would have felt more connected and understood.
The meal prepared by the sage was simple but nourishing, and as they ate, they continued sharing stories and laughter. Durga felt a growing sense of gratitude and warmth in the sage’s presence, a stark contrast to the despair of the night before.
Rudra stirred awake, his eyelids heavy as he blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The first thing he saw was Durga’s relieved yet tear-streaked face hovering over him. He managed a weak smile. “Did you manage to drag me out of there?” he asked, his voice hoarse but filled with the hint of a tease.
Siddartha, sitting nearby, burst into laughter. “You could say that,” he replied, shaking his head. “Though we nearly had to carry you out in pieces.”
Before Rudra could respond, Durga’s hand connected with his cheek in a light slap. “That’s for making me watch you almost die, you idiot!” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.
Rudra’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly shifted his expression to one of remorse. “I’m sorry, Durga,” he said sincerely, his smile fading as the mood in the tent turned serious.
Siddartha crossed his arms and nodded in agreement. “We can’t believe you’d leave us behind to take on your revenge alone. What were you thinking?”
Rudra’s face fell, and he lowered his gaze to the ground. “I... I thought it was the right choice,” he admitted, struggling with the words. “If you’d come with me, you both might have been killed. I couldn’t live with that.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but before Rudra could say anything more, a voice behind him broke through the tension. “My disciple has always had the unfortunate habit of trying to take on the world by himself.”
Rudra froze, his heart skipping a beat as the familiar voice resonated through him. He turned slowly and, as soon as his eyes met the figure of his master, he surged forward, wrapping the sage in a crushing hug. The sage laughed warmly at the embrace until he caught sight of the anguish on Rudra’s face.
“Master, I’m so sorry,” Rudra said, his voice breaking as tears welled up in his eyes. He pulled back just enough to look up at the sage, his tears flowing freely. “I failed you... I failed your teachings.”
Rudra’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, bowing his head at his master’s feet in a gesture of deep regret and shame.
The sage, with a gentle smile, placed a comforting hand on Rudra’s head. “You didn’t fail me, Rudra,” he said softly. “You did everything within your power. But despite all the training and the preparations we’ve made, the truth is... even you cannot stand against the strongest demigods—especially not your father, the son of the most powerful asura.”
The weight of the sage’s words hung in the air, but they were also laced with understanding and reassurance. Rudra looked up, the tears still clinging to his lashes, and the sage gave him a nod of encouragement.
“Come,” the sage said, looking to Durga and Siddartha as well. “Let us sit together and share a meal. I want to hear all about your adventures, Rudra. It’s been nearly a year since you left the jungle.”
The group gathered around the fire as the sage began preparing a simple but hearty meal. The tension in the air slowly gave way to a warmer, more comfortable atmosphere as they settled down. Durga and Siddartha exchanged glances, both relieved and grateful for the sage’s presence, while Rudra began recounting their journey, his voice steadying with each word.
As Rudra spoke, the sage listened intently, occasionally offering a chuckle or a nod of approval. Despite the heavy topics, there was an undeniable sense of camaraderie and warmth that grew with each shared story. Durga found herself smiling more as she listened, and Siddartha’s usual light-hearted demeanor returned as he contributed his own anecdotes.
Rudra’s heart felt lighter as the night wore on, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to relax. The weight of his failure still lingered, but the sage’s presence and the company of his friends made the burden easier to bear.
As the fire crackled softly, the sage—now revealed as Kartikeya—leaned back, his expression somber as he looked at Rudra. "The battle between devas and asuras," he began, his voice carrying the weight of countless ages, "has raged on since time immemorial. But now, with demigods and mortals on either side drawn into the conflict, it has grown much darker and more tragic."
He paused, his gaze distant as if seeing the endless cycles of war and strife playing out before him. "There are those among the devas and asuras who believe this conflict has become pointless, who have grown weary of the bloodshed. Yet Indra and Vritra... they will not relent. Their hatred for each other is too deep, too old. Whenever a village, a kingdom, or a demigod falls, they each see it as an injustice that must be avenged, and thus the cycle of violence continues."
Rudra listened intently, the enormity of the conflict weighing heavily on him. "Couldn’t the Trimurti intervene?" he asked, hoping against hope that the supreme gods might bring an end to the endless war.
Kartikeya shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "Just as devas and asuras are not permitted to interfere much with mortals, the Trimurti cannot interfere much with the affairs of devas and asuras without upsetting the balance of the universe—and the very fabric of karma itself. Besides," he added with a chuckle, "my father finds the squabbles of devas and asuras childish. He hates having to get involved. It’s usually Lord Vishnu or Brahma who speaks to us when we've done something wrong."
Siddartha’s eyes widened in disbelief as the realization struck him. "Wait, your father... is the Mahadev?" he exclaimed, almost unable to comprehend the weight of what he was hearing.
The sage huffed, clearly amused. "Yes, I am Kartikeya, son of Shiva," he confirmed, turning his gaze to Rudra with a raised eyebrow. "And this brings up a good point, my wayward disciple. Didn’t I tell you to keep my true identity a secret? Not to go sharing it with the first girl you—" Kartikeya cut himself off with a knowing smirk, "—the first girl you get close to."
Rudra looked down, sheepish, while Durga turned bright red with embarrassment. Before Rudra could stammer out an apology, a sharp crack of thunder rumbled above them, echoing through the jungle clearing. Kartikeya glanced skyward, a sigh escaping his lips. "Yes, yes, Indra, I know my time is up," he muttered, the playful annoyance in his voice evident.
Rudra’s heart sank as he realized what his master meant. "Can’t you stay longer, Master?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
The sage’s expression softened. "No, Rudra. We devas and asuras are not even supposed to converse with mortals. We make exceptions for our demigod children, and in your case, I consider you my adopted son. Indra allowed it to slide this time, but even with our children, we cannot stay too long. And it seems my time is up."
Durga and Siddartha quickly expressed their heartfelt thanks to Kartikeya for saving Rudra and for his guidance, but Rudra remained silent, his fists clenched in frustration. Kartikeya noticed his disciple's turmoil and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don’t look like that, my son," Kartikeya said with a sad smile. "I will be watching over you, as will my father."
Rudra looked up, confusion etched on his face. "Your father?" he asked.
Kartikeya nodded. "Yes, my father. He has been watching over you your whole life, ever since you first prayed to him as a boy with your mother. He’s the one who sent me to you when you first entered the jungle."
All three of them—Rudra, Durga, and Siddartha—looked at the sage with incredulous expressions.
Durga found her voice first. "Lord Shiva... chose Rudra?" she asked in disbelief.
Kartikeya laughed, nodding. "Indeed. It’s even in his name. 'Rudra' is one of the oldest names of my father, Shiva. He could not grant you any power directly, Rudra, as he did in the past. There were too many who misused those boons for evil. But I can give you something."
Kartikeya’s tone became serious as he addressed Rudra. "Hold out your arm, my son."
Rudra did as he was told, extending his arm towards the sage. Kartikeya clasped Rudra’s forearm, and a golden light radiated from his touch. When the light faded, a golden trishul tattoo had appeared on Rudra’s forearm, glowing faintly with divine energy.
"I chose a power that fits you well," Kartikeya said with a laugh, glancing at the tigers that had gathered around them. "Learn to use it properly, and only then seek your revenge. And remember, Rudra, do not misuse this power, or it will bring much unwanted attention upon both of our heads."
Kartikeya’s expression grew soft as he stood, preparing to leave. "Goodbye, my son. Remember, both I and my father watch over you with pride."
Rudra, his emotions overwhelming him, wiped the tears from his eyes. With a serious expression, he made a vow to his master. "After I have had my revenge, I promise you, Master, I will serve out justice as the Mahadev’s weapon until the end of time. I will make both of you proud."
With a final, warm smile, Kartikeya nodded and, in a flash of divine light, vanished from the clearing, leaving Rudra, Durga, and Siddartha standing in awe.
The jungle seemed quieter in the wake of his departure, the air filled with a sense of solemnity and purpose. Rudra looked down at the trishul tattoo on his arm, feeling its power thrumming beneath his skin. Determination welled up within him as he resolved to fulfill the promise he had just made—to honor his master, to carry out justice, and to one day face his father again, not as a failed son, but as a warrior of the Mahadev.
Rudra awoke early the next morning, the weight of his vow to Kartikeya heavy on his mind. He knew that his current strength was nowhere near enough to face his father again, let alone take on the strongest demigods. He needed to train, to unlock and harness the power granted to him by his master, and only then would he be ready to carry out the justice he had promised to deliver.
"I’m going to train," Rudra declared to Durga and Siddartha as they gathered around the fire for breakfast. His voice was resolute, his gaze unwavering. "I need to gain control over whatever powers Kartikeya has given me. Once I do, I’ll begin traveling to different kingdoms, meting out justice in the Mahadev’s name."
Siddartha raised an eyebrow. "You’re planning on taking on demigods for real?" he asked, half in disbelief.
"Yes," Rudra replied, a dark smile playing on his lips. "What better way to test my new powers than in real combat? And only then, when I’m strong enough, will I be able to erase my father from history."
Durga, who had been listening quietly, nodded in agreement. "You’ll need guidance," she said, her tone thoughtful. "I’ve spent my whole life learning to harness my fire powers. I can teach you how to focus, how to tap into that well of energy within you."
Rudra looked at her, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you, Durga. It will be good to have you as a teacher. It’s about time I let you be the master for once."
Durga grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. "I’ll enjoy that. You might regret giving me the chance."
That night, after everyone had settled in, Rudra stayed up, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to activate his powers. He sat cross-legged by the fire, his eyes shut tight in concentration, attempting to feel the energy Kartikeya had bestowed upon him. His frustration grew with each failed attempt, his brow furrowed as he clenched his fists in determination.
"Rudra," Durga’s voice called from her sleeping mat, annoyance lacing her tone. "Could you stop trying to explode yourself and let me get some sleep? You’ll figure it out in the morning."
Rudra chuckled softly but couldn’t bring himself to stop. The power was there, he could feel it—he just didn’t know how to draw it out. He remained focused, trying various methods to awaken the power within him, but by the time dawn broke, he was no closer to unlocking it.
The next day, Rudra moved to a grassy field near their jungle home, determined to make progress. He sat down, closed his eyes, and began to meditate, trying to clear his mind and focus on the energy within. Durga and Siddartha continued their usual training routine, practicing the techniques Rudra had taught them.
As the hours passed, Rudra’s frustration mounted. He could feel the power, like a coiled spring within him, but he couldn’t make it manifest. Finally, his patience snapped. "Damn it!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the clearing.
To his surprise, the ground around him trembled, and a faint ripple seemed to spread out from where he sat, like a shockwave emanating from his body. Startled, he opened his eyes, his heart racing.
Siddartha, who had been running laps nearby, laughed as he passed by. "You’ve spent too much time with tigers, Rudra! You’re starting to sound like one!"
But Rudra wasn’t paying attention. He stared at the ground around him, frozen in place. Did I do that? he wondered, replaying the moment in his mind. It had happened when he yelled... Could it be that his power was linked to his voice?
He decided to test it again. He stood up and let out another yell, but this time, nothing happened. His brow furrowed in frustration, and he tried once more, this time roaring with all the force he could muster, just as he had done in his moment of anger.
The effect was immediate. A visible wave of energy, like a soundwave, erupted from his body, expanding outward in a perfect circle with a radius of about twenty feet. The shockwave rippled through the grass, bending the blades as it passed.
Rudra’s heart raced with excitement and awe. He had done it—he had tapped into the power Kartikeya had granted him. But now that he had discovered it, he needed to understand it fully. How could he control it, focus it, and use it in battle?
His thoughts raced with possibilities, but one thing was certain: he was one step closer to fulfilling his promise to Kartikeya. This power was his to wield, and he would make sure to master it, no matter what it took. As Rudra stood there, a fierce determination settled over him. His training had just begun, and he was ready to push himself to his limits and beyond.
Durga and Siddartha, noticing the energy pulse, hurried over to him, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. "What was that?" Durga asked, her eyes wide.
Rudra looked at them, a fierce smile forming on his lips. "That," he said, "is the power my master gave me. And it’s only the beginning."
The next several days were filled with relentless training as Rudra, Durga, and Siddartha worked together to unlock the full potential of Rudra's new powers. Durga, having experienced the challenges of mastering her own fire abilities, was both a supportive teacher and a formidable sparring partner for Rudra as he grappled with his newfound strength.
Rudra's first discovery was that his roar—an instinctive bellow from deep within—triggered a powerful shockwave. When he let out a roar, the sound burst forth in all directions, creating a devastating wave of force. It was strong enough to deafen anyone caught in its path, throwing them backward as if hit by an explosion. Durga found herself knocked off her feet more than once, much to her annoyance.
"Could you give me a little warning before you do that?" Durga grumbled as she picked herself up from the ground, brushing dirt off her clothes.
Rudra winced, feeling a bit guilty. "Sorry, Durga. I'm still figuring it out."
Despite the frustration, they quickly realized the destructive potential of Rudra's shockwave. With each roar, the force of the sound grew stronger, able to shred objects in its path. The louder he roared, the more powerful the shockwave became.
"Let’s see if it can stop projectiles," Siddartha suggested one morning, his face lit with excitement at the prospect of testing Rudra's powers in a new way.
Durga frowned, crossing her arms. "We should start with rocks or something less dangerous," she insisted.
But the boys were too caught up in their enthusiasm. "Screw it!" Rudra and Siddartha said in unison, laughing like schoolboys up to no good.
Siddartha grabbed his bow and nocked an arrow, taking aim at Rudra. "Ready?"
Rudra nodded, steeling himself. "Ready."
As the arrow flew through the air, Rudra roared with everything he had. The soundwave erupted from his body, and as it expanded outward, the arrow was deflected and shredded into splinters before it could reach him.
Both Rudra and Siddartha shouted in triumph. "That was awesome!" Siddartha exclaimed, punching the air with excitement.
Rudra, however, was quick to notice a potential weakness. "I can't keep this up forever," he admitted. "I have to take breaths, and I’ll get hoarse eventually."
Durga nodded, considering the implications. "You’ll need to learn to use it sparingly—at the right moment. You don’t want to run out of breath in the middle of a fight."
Rudra knew she was right. He resolved to practice using the shockwave in short bursts, timing it perfectly to block or deflect attacks while conserving his voice and energy. He began sparring with Durga, using her as a live opponent to hone his skills.
Durga attacked with her flames, throwing fire spears and explosive fireballs at Rudra, who countered each with a well-timed roar. His training in blocking projectiles with his bare hands served him well, as he quickly grasped the rhythm of deflecting her attacks with the shockwave.
However, continuous attacks, like the stream of fire that poured from Durga's hands in a near-constant barrage, were another story. Rudra found that he couldn’t sustain the shockwave long enough to block such a relentless assault. Eventually, he would run out of breath, leaving him vulnerable.
Siddartha, who had been watching their training with keen interest, soon became an invaluable resource. "I've got an idea," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Why not try narrowing the shockwave? Focus it in one direction instead of letting it spread out."
Rudra was intrigued. After several attempts, he succeeded in creating a concentrated blast of sound that erupted only in front of him. The directed shockwave was even more powerful than before, allowing him to knock Durga's fire spears out of the air with pinpoint precision.
"You’re a genius, Siddartha," Rudra said with a grin, clearly impressed.
Siddartha shrugged modestly. "As a normal human, I’ve always imagined what it would be like to have powers. I’ve spent a lot of time dreaming up ways to use them."
But Siddartha’s ideas didn’t stop there. "Try storing the soundwaves," he suggested. "Maybe you can hold them in until you’re ready to release them."
Rudra was skeptical but willing to give it a shot. After some trial and error, he found that by holding back the roar, he could build up the energy inside him. When he finally let it out, the resulting shockwave was even more potent.
Siddartha also offered suggestions to Durga, who was eager to experiment with her own abilities. He suggested she try condensing her fire into more precise points of energy. Durga concentrated, forming fire at her fingertips until she produced a thin, laser-like beam that shot out with incredible precision. She also managed to create a wave of fire that exploded outward in a wide arc, similar to Rudra’s shockwave.
The trio worked tirelessly together, pushing each other to new heights. Rudra, with his newfound ability to control and direct his shockwave, began to feel more confident in his power. Durga’s mastery over her flames grew with each passing day, while Siddartha’s inventive mind continued to fuel their progress.
But even as they trained, Rudra's thoughts often returned to his vow. He knew that despite all their progress, there was still much to learn. Only when he had mastered his powers completely would he be ready to face his father and fulfill the promise he made to his master.
And when that day came, Rudra was determined to leave a mark on the world that no one would ever forget.
A year had passed since the sage's visit, and in that time, Rudra, Durga, and Siddartha had transformed into formidable warriors, each honing their skills to unprecedented levels.
Rudra had become a master of his power. Through relentless practice and an iron will, he had gained unparalleled control over his shockwaves. He could now emit them from any part of his body, focusing the destructive force with incredible precision. Whether it was a narrow beam of sound shot from his eyes that could pierce through rock or a massive cone-shaped blast unleashed from his fists, feet, knees, or elbows, Rudra wielded his power with the ease of a seasoned warrior.
But it wasn’t just about control; it was about potency. Rudra had learned to constantly growl under his breath, a low, nearly inaudible rumble that vibrated through his chest. This growling wasn’t just a habit—it was a technique. By constantly growling, Rudra stored up vast amounts of sonic energy within the core of his being, always ready to release it in a moment’s notice. He had tested his limits time and time again, pushing the boundaries of how much power he could store. But each time, he found that his capacity seemed endless. The more he stored, the more he felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to unleash unimaginable force when needed.
In addition to mastering his shockwaves, Rudra discovered an unexpected but incredibly powerful ability: flight. By unleashing a thunderous roar from the soles of his feet, he could propel himself hundreds of feet into the air. The force was so intense that it sent him soaring like a human rocket, the jungle below becoming a blur. Once airborne, Rudra could emit sound blasts from any direction to propel himself wherever he wished, changing direction in mid-air with ease. His movements were precise, and he could fly through the sky as long as his breath held out. The first time he had tried this, the exhilaration was matched only by the sheer terror when he realized he was about to crash. But instinctively, Rudra had roared again, sending a powerful cone-shaped blast from his mouth toward the ground. The force of the soundwave canceled out the momentum of his fall, allowing him to land safely.
Durga and Siddartha had laughed, calling him some kind of "sound dragon," and the nickname stuck. The image of a dragon roaring with enough force to propel itself through the sky had resonated with all of them, and Rudra took pride in the comparison. After all, dragons were mighty, fearsome creatures, and that was exactly what he aimed to become.
Siddartha, too, had grown in skill and confidence. His close combat abilities had reached a level where he could likely hold his own against a weaker demigod, provided he could dodge their powers and close the distance. Rudra’s intense training had sharpened Siddartha’s reflexes to a razor’s edge, allowing him to anticipate and counter even the most complex of attacks. Additionally, Siddartha had become proficient in using projectiles, thanks to Rudra’s guidance. He had developed a keen eye for timing, able to exploit openings in an opponent’s defenses with deadly accuracy. Siddartha was no longer just a strategist—he was a warrior, and a dangerous one at that.
Durga, on the other hand, had reached another level of mastery over her fiery powers. The flames that she once wielded as simple projectiles had now become something far more dangerous. She had learned to envelop herself in a flaming set of armor, a barrier of searing heat that burned anyone who dared to come close. The armor moved with her, a living inferno that consumed all in its path. But her power didn’t stop there. Durga had also learned to forge weapons of flame, blades that didn’t just cut—they burned. Each swing of her sword left trails of fire in its wake, and any wound she inflicted continued to smolder and blaze long after the initial strike.
The three of them had become a force to be reckoned with, each pushing the others to greater heights. Their days were filled with intense training, their nights with plans and dreams of the future. They knew they were no longer the same people they had been a year ago. They had become something more—something powerful.
One afternoon, as they gathered around a small campfire, Rudra broke the silence. "We’ve come a long way," he said, his voice carrying the weight of their journey and the trials they had endured. "But it’s time to test what we’ve learned—to see how we measure up against real opponents."
Durga nodded, her fiery eyes flickering in the fading light. "You’re right. We’ve been hiding here in the jungle for too long. It’s time to take our fight to the outside world."
Siddartha, ever the strategist, looked thoughtful as he studied the map before them. "The closest kingdom to us is Trivandrum," he said, pointing to a location on the map. "It’s ruled by Velhm, one of the most powerful demigods known, and he’s the son of Indra."
Rudra’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the map. "Velhm, huh? Taking him down would certainly send a message, and it would be the perfect test of our strength."
Durga looked concerned, though her resolve was clear. "Velhm is no ordinary demigod, Rudra. He’s strong—stronger than most. This won’t be an easy fight."
Rudra’s lips curled into a determined smile. "That’s exactly why we should start there. If we can defeat him, there’s no one who can stand in our way."
Siddartha nodded in agreement, his gaze steady. "It’s a risky move, but it could also be our best chance to make a real impact. If we take down Velhm, others will take notice."
Durga sighed, but there was a fire in her eyes. "Then we should prepare. Velhm won’t go down easily, and we’ll need to be at our absolute best."
Rudra clenched his fists, the sound of his growl rumbling in his chest as he looked at his companions. "We’re ready," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "It’s time to take our first step out of the jungle and into the real fight."
With their next target decided, the three of them stood, ready to embark on the next chapter of their journey. Trivandrum awaited, and with it, their first true test against one of the most powerful demigods in existence. They knew the battle ahead would be difficult, but they were ready to face it head-on, together.