“THERE was a time long back where humans stood as like the trees of today. There were far fewer than today but those that were there were possessed of great fortitude, stature, strength, life, and wisdom. Such were the people in the Era of Formation and during its early years, where hostility did not yet exist, peace reigned throughout all of Ārhmanhaḥ. But as all such things it was not to last.
“There came time when men encountered the Demons, holed away in the remotest locations of the world. Though their forms were fearsome and they seemed to rage with great animosity, their hearts were gentle to their cursed brothers and they sought kinship. And so peace was struck, and the Demons came into our fold, setting about their own dominions.
“It should should seem now, to the Mānuzhhaḥn, the Yavhaḥṃār, and even the Dehaḥṃār that conflict should not arise. For the longest period of time, the Demons had suffered from the curse cast upon them by the Gods. Through the aid of Daryurhaḥ, who accepted the curse alongside them, they were ale to maintain more appreciable forms, such as what Nakthaḥm has, and were able to stave away the pain. But with the years passed, and the hold over their own sanity decreased, they, with their numerous forces, opposed to event their own father, lashed out upon the humans and sought to devour them. It was here that the first wars arose.
“The Demons having significant advantage overwhelmed the men of the North and set dominion within that land. The survivors ran south and assimilated into the kingdoms of their kin. With this consolidation of power and unification of forces, did the Mānuzhhaḥn at last resolve to use their powers. With the help of their divine benefactors, they wrought great weapons and fortresses of stone and obsidian.
“There existed in this time aerial domains and ships, greater than even the Drasūvayeznds. They expanded to the size of cities, and in some cases becoming the capitals themselves of many kingdoms, though much of civilian population still lived below.
“Now you might think it odd for such people to use stone instead of metal for purposes of warfare. Yet such materials had little value in an age where the powers waxed so great that they could morph the properties of any matter they so desired. Indeed, one must not think that what they used was any ordinary material, even though, like with many things, it too came from the earth.
“Alongside these great weapons and edifices, they also arose from the earth, the first of the giants, masking them in protective barriers of the elements such that many now in existence still hold a particular affinity toward it, enough for it to replace their original form. The lightning giant you met is but one of them. These giants were arisen not for the use of combat, though they served well enough for that, but for being as keepers for the great weapons that these first humans wrought. Many of those weapons were either destroyed or became lost with the passage of time.
“During my time when I was scarce older than Tūmbṃār now, and a disciple to my own master, I had happened on a giant resting in the forest.
“I asked, ‘O Giant of the Eastern Woods, what is it you are doing here? Does not you kind now rest below the earth. I hear the domains below are more plentiful than the one above.’
“He responded to me, ‘Young child, indeed many of my kind here have done below; some to those very domains you have mentioned. But most have dissolved into the earth itself. My relations are gone, having vanished in years prior, leaving me with the sole job that I must attend.’
“Now being as curious as I was, and not able to mind my own business, I said, ‘What is the job you have been tasked? Is it to watch over this forest? It seems peaceful enough, through that might be granted because of your own presence.’
“The giant laughed, “In some part you are correct! I do watch over and protect this forest but not for the forest itself. There lies not far from here a set of ruins. And underneath those ruins lies a blade of great power! Though to you it may only look like a chunk of stone.”
“I was intrigued by this. Seeing this giant all by his lonesome, having to guard a weapon that might as well be dust, I sought to relieve him of his duty. ‘O giant,’ I said, ‘would you give me permission to seek this blade, to hold for myself?’
“The giant was surprised, and said, ‘Many others before have come seeking this blade and yet none were able to dig it from the earth. If such men of great valor and might failed to dislodge it from its confines, then what makes you certain of your own success?’
“I answered, ‘While those men who came before may have failed with their strength, I shall succeed by the will of my sight. My heart is pure and my mind is clear, and I can see the world as it should truly be, one filled with light.’
“The giant was suspicious of these words of mine, yet contracted its face into a smile. ‘If what you say is true then go to the ruins and claim that which should be yours.’
“And with eagerness I bowed to the giants and went deeper into the forest. It was not long till I happened upon the ruins the giant mentioned. They exceeded even the size of the giant standing some hundreds of cubits tall.
“Toward its center I came upon some tall steps leading to a platform. I flew past them toward the top. And there before me was what looked like a thick rod. It stood level to my eyes and its rim was worn with age. Now you must be thinking that I grabbed onto this rod with both my hands thinking it to be the hilt and pulled it out with ease. While you might be right about that rod being the hilt, I refrained from touching it. I decided to stand wait.
“The sun overhead the trees was brought low and the noon came into view. The hilt strangely glimmered in the light as if it were inset with gems. Nevertheless, I continued to wait.
“When some time had passed and the song of the forest silenced, I saw a white horse at the edges of the trees. From the horse appeared forms of white. Specters had arrived, and from beneath the soil they wielded their weapon of choice. As like an army, they marched in unison and surrounded the platform. Though their forms were ghastly, it did not seem that they intended harm; in fact it did not look like they even noticed me.
“They stood at attention and suddenly from behind the throng emerged a specter unlike any I had seen before. It stood as tall as the ruins themselves, guarded in rattling armor that was certainly ravaged by the doings of war. Its hands were wrinkled and its steps were heavy. It breathed many deep breaths and seemed belabored by a great weight.
“When it reached the platform it bent low and grabbed onto the hilt. The platform shook, but I remained stead. It fell to its knees, and through its mask I could see its eyes worn with age and senescence. But its sight was not directed at me.
“From behind were launched torrents of arrows, the size of lightning bolts. And the giant of a specter that knelt before me, brought the hilt of the sword out the ground and shattered the arrows coming in their direction. A great wind overtook the surroundings and the trees shook violently. When the wind had calmed, I looked above to see that it had not unearthed the sword but instead its ghost. Ushering a great cry, it sped past me with its retinue to make battle in some part that I did not know.
“With the presence of the specters gone I knew that where I now stood was a grave. In some way they too were bound to this sword, perhaps having given their lives protecting it as the giant of the forest. My reason for staying awake had now gone, and so I slept that night.
“When morning had come, I awoke and resolved to meditate beside the hilt. Many days passed like this, and while unaware, the giant of the forest had come to keep watch over me. In my visions I could see the history of the blade, from where it was forged in the South of Ārhmanhaḥ, brought to the North by many kings, and slain a great many demons, greater than any you had faced. These memories came and went like the flick of a candle flame and beyond it all I came to meet its holder. A king whose armor was of gold, his mantle of silver, and his face like the Sun, shining with the lūr of old.
“Bowing to him with folded hands, I said, ‘O monarch of the past ages, whose face shines with the divine Lūr, I have come seeking these woods on behest of my master. It was here that I came upon a giant at the entrance, and heard of a great weapon buried beneath the earth. I seek to take this weapon from its hold, and bear it for myself. Will you give your blessings to me, O monarch of the thousand-fold line?’
“The king smiled to me, and said, ‘Take it child, do as you will with it. While my line has flourished the people of my age are all gone. Wisdom slowly dies as the ages pass and yet still few exist who possess the temperament to wield such great artifacts—as it were. I can see you are one such individual. By whose merit did you acquire such great ascetic powers, I child of the sages?’
“‘I have acquired them through the blessings of my master, Sage Hvesudehya. O monarch, I do not know you are, and I fear that this is the first and last that we should meet. Before we part, please tell me you name.’
“His form grew brighter than it did before, as if he were like a solar deity, and he said, ‘I am King Manu, first of my kind to be brought into this world, and the first to be crowned its king. Through my progeny, does flow the blood of the God Samiztrahaḥ, and from him was passed to me the knowledge of the Creator. A universal knowledge said to liberate Man from this everlasting cycle of birth and death. That now has been forgotten. But know that it shall not be long till this truth is once more established and the path to liberation once again opened. Out time has grown short, and now I must take my leave. Keep well my words, disciple to the sage Hvesudehya!’
“And with that I awoke. I reflected on the king’s words, knowing later that they foretold of the coming of Lūshhaḥ during the time of the five brothers. I then grabbed onto the hilt of the sword and with great force unearthed it from the base of the platform. The entire platform crumbled and by the use of my powers, I levitated to blade. Its length easily exceeded the ruins themselves in size! Knowing King Manu had mastered the higher powers, wielding a blade such as this would have been trivial. The blade then shrank and fell slowly to my hands, coming to the form you see now. I looked to my side, seeing the giant prostrating.
“He said, ‘And so my task has come to an end. It has been a long while since I lost my brethren. Perhaps I shall go see them again.While these words may prove unneeded given you now wield one of the most powerful weapons known to this world, O child, take care in your travels! Farewell and may we meet again!’
“And so he left, and to this day I have not once seen him. Perhaps he dissolved into the earth or perhaps he met his kin in more remote parts of the world. Yet, in his stead was left to me that weapon. The very one you see before you now.”
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The group was surprised. They expected the story to be more dull in nature given the many times they had heard recountings of similar tales in their youth. So for them to head of beings from the first era and their exploits, a civilization that was said to be washed away by a great cataclysm wrought by the Demons, came as more than just a surprise. They looked upon the sword with wonder, but also fear. They were to soon witness its potential.
Vādruhaḥ rose to perform exercises before the second half of the rial. Iḷēhaḥ related to the others what Tūmbṃār had planned.
When she finished, Feyūnhaḥ said, “Are we sure that thus will work? While Tūmbṃār has certainly performed great feats before, I fear we may be over-reaching here. Though this histories of the world recount little of his feats, he’s already a force to be reckoned with in battle. And given his association to great personalities of the past, I grow doubtful of our ploys.”
“I feel I should have more reason to doubt than any of you,” said Iḷēhaḥ, “but I know the sage would not do anything to put Tūmbṃār’s life in danger. We must make use of that! We shall not be able to defeat him otherwise.”
“You have always been one to stand against deceit in the past, Iḷēhaḥ,” said Nakthaḥm, “so why the change of heart?”
Iḷēhaḥ bit her lip, then sighed. “I fear I have been too cautious and watchful of Tūmbṃār. And now it seems he has become distrustful of me. I wish for him to place his trust again once more, and that I too can do the same for me.”
Tūmbṃār smiled. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Iḷēhaḥ. It’s that I felt you were restricting me. For my own good, of course, but at the expense of my enjoyment. You look as if you’re chained, bound to me and I’d rather you be as you were before. I’m not the only here now; all of us have come together. So rely on us.”
Her worries would not cease from his affirmation, yet for at a while she would try. “That I shall do,” she said with a smile.
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The match was set to resume soon. Vādruhaḥ had finished her exercises, and bore his sword high. It looked to have extended. The air was heavy, and it seemed as if it circulated about the blade. The group felt as if at any moment, the weapon would crash above them, and drive them through the group where they could no more see the light of day. They stood at attention, with Iḷēhaḥ standing foremost while Tūmbṃār stayed in the back. All others were of equal spread between, and they bore their weapons, waiting for Gravya’s call.
The young shepherd looked his surroundings. He shook with anticipation. The fear of what the sage had done not too long before had not left him and only seemed to heighten. He knew this was not good. He had to steel himself and so he did by way of correcting his breathing. When it had calmed, he looked to massive stone blade. His view turned to those on either side. He raised his hand and gave the call.
The group immediately dispersed. The blade came crashing down! It felt as if a tower had fallen. Dirt and dust picked up at the sides, ejecting high into the air. Iḷēhaḥ leaped atop Vrihkhaḥ, and the two flew to the top of the weapon.
As Vādruhaḥ brought the sword high, a flurry of attacks came his way from below. They were nullified by yet another barrier. But this time it did not look to be as strong or thick. Nakthaḥm dove under the blade and made a headlong sprint to the seemingly open sage. He cracked his fist through the barrier and landed a strike on the sage’s open palm. And using his other hand, Nakthaḥm elongated his nails and lunged them toward the sage’s neck.
Vādruhaḥ dodged, and he crushed the nails in between his neck and shoulder. With a sweep of his leg, he tripped Nakthaḥm, and in an instant, launched the demon back. But this did not deter the others and they continued to close the distance to the sage. The elements roared in intensity.
Then the moment came, where Vādruhaḥ braced his legs into a squat and swung the massive blade. They launched themselves in the air, avoiding the sweep. The motion of the blade did not stop and continued as the group was forced to evade swing after swing lest them be smashed into the earth.
It was then that Vādruhaḥ brought the sword into a full swing and with ease rose it above their heads. The elements roared in might as their aura preceded the blade. Rising to their zenith they signaled the imminent approach of the blade. At any moment, it would come crashing down.
Iḷēhaḥ and Vrihkhaḥ shot themselves higher up where rested a shining orb, emitting from the maiden’s hands. The others followed in suit after her. She motioned to them to hold their arms aloft. As they did so, they could feel their powers sapped into the orb. Yet as this was happening, they became suspended in the air. And they began to float to Iḷēhaḥ’s position. The orbs’ light intensified against the shadow of the ancient sword. The shadow grew and all below was covered in darkness.
Vādruhaḥ brought doom upon them. They now hoped that this ploy would work.
The blade crashed against the orb and lo! a light so great and so potent, blinded all in sight and seemed to ripple in the air. Shockwaves could be felt as far as the village and any remaining animals in the vicinity took flight in great distress. The group was caught in the blast, yet they remained unfazed. Beyond the cracks in the light they see the the motion of sword was halted. It was held in place by the orb, and no more could it move. From the center of the group, Tūmbṃār was ejected, and sent flying down.
“What’s happened to Tūmbṃār?” cried Feyūnhaḥ.
“I sent him down to fight with the sage,” said Iḷēhaḥ. “All of us need to remain here to hold the blade. We will need to expend more of our powers in to hold it in place.”
“You didn’t mention this before!” said Feyūnhaḥ, but she sighed. “I suppose there’s no use complaining now. At least the swing of the weapon has halted.”
“Cease your talk!” said Nakthaḥm. “Concentrate on the maiden’s orb, otherwise we shall all fall here.”
They silenced themselves and surged more of their power into the orb. Tūmbṃār crashed to the surface. Bracing his blade, he rose from within the dust clouds and faced his teacher. Vādruhaḥ looked above and smiled. He let go of the sword’s hilt. From out of his hand emerged another blade, also of stone and less worn and seemed not only to arise from his body but also from the suspended stone blade. This one was sleek in comparison and its edges seemed sharp as if curved upward almost like a sickle.
“I am impressed,” said Vādruhaḥ, “but do not think this alone shall stop me. My powers are greater than you think. If you cannot best me here, then even if I should let you continue you would surely perish. The force of the world conspire against you. They seek to entangle you within the illusion of their powers. Powers that shall almost surely distress the physical, yet cannot overcome the spiritual. Even the former should cease if the latter can be reached. So brace yourself, Tūmbṃār, and show me the power willed by one chose by the Gods and the Light!”
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Vādruhaḥ clasped onto the blade and split it in two, and each formed into the same likeness of the former. Then their forms enlarged, till they were as long as twice the sage’s height. A woeful comparison to the ancient sword, but Tūmbṃār could tell that they brimmed with power, enough to fell all in range should his teacher desire it. The sage dissolved his barrier and moved the elements into the weapons themselves. The surety of this outcome was well within his mind.
Tūmbṃār answered the call by unleashing the aether and higher powers, surging them into his blade. His concentration was now focused. The powers lined themselves about him as if to be his aura. The sage did likewise, causing his eyes to glow like the sun. They each gave a cry and launched to combat.
The sage flew toward Tūmbṃār and spin himself with the blades. Tūmbṃār evaded, and shot needles of aether through the openings between the blades. His teacher was too fast and dodged each as they came through. The sage’s body contorted as he spun and the blade arched in and out in all directions as if to try and cut the boy along their path. Tūmbṃār launched himself to the side and tumbled to a halt below the ancient sword. He could hear the cracks forming across the weapon as it tried to forced itself through the orb.
He turned to look at his master, and saw that the weapons there were also beginning to crack. An idea came to him, and he rushed back to the fray. Vādruhaḥ once more leaped and flew toward Tūmbṃār. He took the hilts of the swords and combined them at end.
The blades receded on one end and lengthened on the other but the force of the powers heightened in the center. It now seemed as an elongated spear. The sage dove toward the boy. Tūmbṃār turned to a defensive stance and braced his blade with both hands. The spear came in range with the powers focused at the tip. Tūmbṃār saw his chance. He crashed the edge of his blade against the tip of the spear and issued his powers from the point of contact. The elements deflected one another and lowered to either side of them. Success was had!
Tūmbṃār’s blade cracked through the tip of the spear and through the incisions of the blade. His teacher’s weapon was destroyed. It seemed at that moment that Tūmbṃār’s blade would find its way to the heart of the sage. The boy would win at the cost of incurring the due of a terrible deed.
He hesitated and Vādruhaḥ took his chance. He clasped onto the blade with both his palms and disarmed his disciple. And still in flight, the teacher attempted to grab onto the student’s arms. Tūmbṃār would not let him. Tūmbṃār mustered his power and erected a barrier of darkness between. But this barrier seemed strange.
It resembled in nature what Athruyam once used against Tūmbṃār but weaker in power. It was a chance occurrence, and the sage could hardly believe it.
He could not stop his flight, and on impact, the elements warped inside and blasted the teacher and student away from each other. Both tumbled on either side and when they came to, they coughed blood. Their organs were ruptured from the blast. Tūmbṃār looked to his hands that wrinkled before him. Above, the group could see all that occurred in the battle. They were in disbelief.
They would not have to wait long to see the outcome, for the sword above them began to crumble and fall as raining earth upon the surface. The impacts leveled any heights within their descent. Iḷēhaḥ diffused the orb, and all with the powers calmed the air about.
They gently fell to the surface. They made their way to Tūmbṃār, who in desperation was ingesting pockets of water to cure his affliction. It was no use. The pain would not subside and only worsened. He writhed in distress unable to even shout. The others hastened to him as quickly as they could. They saw the horrible state of their dear friend. Using their powers together, they issued it across the boy’s body but it only helped to cure his cuts and bruises.
“What should we do” cried Aiṛth. “What is happening? This is beyond anything I have seen before. Was the use of the higher powers too much for him to handle?”
“No,” said Nakthaḥm, grabbing onto Tūmbṃār’s hands; “I did not think such a thing should occur by chance but it has.” He looked to Iḷēhaḥ who gnashed her teeth. She knew what this was. “Iḷēhaḥ knows what must be done to cure or correct this, but once she does so, she will be rendered incapacitated for some time.”
“Speak clearly Nakthaḥm!” cried Sanyhaḥmān. “What do you mean?”
“This requires a lengthy explanation to understand, and that sort of time we do not have.” Nakthaḥm pointed to the sage, who slowly rose, bearing the elements in his hands. “It looks like the sage is not done with us quite yet. Sanyhaḥmān, Vrihkhaḥ, come with me. The rest, stay behind and care for the goddess, for she will certainly needs it when she is finished.”
They could not understand what was happening, but they stuck to the demon’s direction, knowing they could not afford to argue. Nakthaḥm seemed to know what he was doing. They did as he bid in full confidence of his resolve.
“O sage of Ārhmanhaḥ!” called Nakthaḥm. “Would you not halt this bout in light of what afflicts both you and your disciple? We can understand the intention of laying our lives on the line, but surely you do not seek our deaths, do you?”
The sage coughed, but said, “My affliction is staying for the time being. But do you now decide to forfeit this match?”
“Nay,” said Nakthaḥm, unsure, “I did not say that.”
“Then there is no more reason to talk. Either defeat me now or let me go to Tūmbṃār. I shall carry him to the edge of the ring and the match shall be decided. With your defeat I shall end his journey and keep him under my watch. And perhaps I shall give the role of halting the Demons to all of you.”
The three were shocked at the sage’s declaration. Nakthaḥm looked behind to see Iḷēhaḥ preparing herself for what she had to do. He looked to the others, and then reflected.
“What are we going to do now, Nakthaḥm?” whispered Sanyhaḥmān. “I don’t very much like where this is going.”
The wolf whispered unsure of himself.
“O sage,” called Nakthaḥm, “we shall not forfeit this match. Least on account of you. Tūmbṃār would be very much furious with us if we conceded now. Perhaps you use this as a means to test us, but we shall not fall to such feints, not least when the Light guides us. You, as well as I and the goddess, know what the boy has just done, but even so we shall press forward. The Demons will hanker to find him, no matter where you seek to hide him. His path is no more with you, but with us. We shall endeavor to bring him to the ends of the world if need be, to fulfill the charge of both those detestable Gods, and the Light who remains supreme above all. Now let us fight!”
Nakthaḥm gave his signal, and he along with Sanyhaḥmān and Vrihkhaḥ, charged to the lone sage who now seemed fully healed. The sage smiled, and in an instant, his face blazed with fury. The powers were heightened, far more than they were before, erupting from the sage’s palms like meteors from above. He brought his arms behind, and he shot from his position.
He flew in between the three, and stuck each of them on the face. The impact forced them to the ground and carved the surface like molds within a furnace. The sage would not give them respite for even a moment, and proceeded to clobber each one until could no more put resistance.
Sanyhaḥmān and Vrihkhaḥ went unconscious as Nakthaḥm did his best to hold to his defense. His mastery over the aether was greater than Tūmbṃār’s, allowing him to use it for all means, especially illusion. But the latter proved futile. The sage was impervious to all forms of illusion; his mind fully resolute and absorbed in the Divine. Whatever meager defense the demon could muster was no match against the wrath of the seer.
Nakthaḥm’s defense began to wane with each strike the sage landed. Holes began to form in the wall of darkness, and through it did the sage’s strikes meet their target. Nakthaḥm was assailed all over by the rage of the elements. And the physical strikes themselves seemed to numb his body. Yet even through all this he sought to restrain the sage, and bring as much time as he could for the maiden to perform her deed. Nakthaḥm broke through the strikes and latched tightly to Vādruhaḥ’s back. The sage did not go soft, and burned and charred the demon who held as strong as a supplicant to their statue. The wails of the demon resounded loud.
Gravya was struck with greater fear. He looked to his side to see Dhīṇahi wailing, trying to call for Nakthaḥm. He grabbed a hold of her and brought themselves farther from the ring. He could not in good conscience keep her as close to them as she already been. The fallout of whatever was to come would no doubt reach them; and in the worst case, kill. He fled high to the distant kills, keeping a tight hold over the girl, who screamed and kicked him on their ascent. The ring was now barely visible from where they were. And Dhīṇahi continued to cry, thinking they would all die now. Gravya wondered how she fared this long and did his best to console her. His attempts were met with screeches, and hard strikes.
Iḷēhaḥ and the others, clasped their ears on hearing Nakthaḥm’s wails. Aiṛth sought to run to his aid, but Feyūnhaḥ stopped her.
“Let me go, princess!” cried Aiṛth. “He will not last much longer!”
“Yes he will!” shouted Feyūnhaḥ.
“Then I won’t!” said Aiṛth, breaking down in tears. “How much more should I endure before I see the one before me finally fall? Has not this futile resistance of ours gone long enough. He might be expendable to you all but not me! No more should I have to bide this!”
“He’s a friend to us as much as you!” said Feyūnhaḥ. “But we knew full well the trouble we were to face by undergoing the sage’s trial. Trouble has come out way many times, and at each Nakthaḥm has done his best to act as out sentinel. We are much too weak to fight against such dire forces. So let us, at least for the moment, do our duty and protect Iḷēhaḥ! Nakthaḥm will bear the suffering, while we finish what it is he sought us to do. A demon will not die so easily.”
Aiṛth, however, could not set aside her feelings and ran off. Feyūnhaḥ was about to give chase, but was stopped by Iḷēhaḥ.
“Let her go,” she said, “and help me for now.”
“But if she does what I think she’s going to do, she could very well die!”
Iḷēhaḥ shook her head. “Nakthaḥm will not let her, that I am sure.”
Aiṛth was now too far out of reach and Feyūnhaḥ prayed that the Gods would answer her will. The priestess came in range of the sage who continued to assail Nakthaḥm. Vādruhaḥ did not notice her approach and she taking her chance doused the demon with a great torrent. She then knocked back Vādruhaḥ and grabbed a hold of Nakthaḥm. Her hands burned on touching him, but she repaired her covers and hid her scars.
Nakthaḥm could barely sense and with a weak voice, said, “The fires of the king’s hall were a pittance compared to this.”
“Silence!” whispered Aiṛth.
She attempted to carry him away. But the sage appeared in front of her. He knocked her away without so much as touching her and grabbed a hold of Nakthaḥm. Aiṛth was sent tumbling out of the bounds of the ring. When she came to, she tried to enter the ring, but a force held her back. She had lost her match.
“I thank you for sparing her, O sage,” said Nakthaḥm, “but your strike against her has caused wrath to abound in me. Do forgive me it I should do mad now.”
Nakthaḥm issued a cry so loud that the ground below shook in resonance. He brought about his armored form and levitated in front of the sage’s hold. With one lock over his powers released he maintained control over his sanity, but the control over his powers could scarce be had. The sage crossed his arms forward, and suddenly, a wave of darkness issued toward him. Through the darkness emerged long nails, tough as steel, and light as the wind. They pierced the sage’s arms and struggled to move any farther.
Caught within his grasp, Vādruhaḥ clapped his hands and sent fire blazing from the open wounds, producing an inferno that was like a tower of fire. Nakthaḥm was unmarred. The natural elements could not stand a chance against the rising density of aether. Nakthaḥm closed in position toward the sage, retreating his nails and disembodying himself into a mass of darkness. He enveloped the sage’s surroundings, blocking out what little light passed through the clouds. A cage of aether from where the sage could not hope to escape. But escape was the last thing on his mind. He understood these illusions better than most, and simply waited for what was to come.
From within the darkness, multiple projectiles launched. They soared at great speeds, elongating into thin needles, ready to pierce the sage’s nerves. Vādruhaḥ did not move from his position, and instead deflected all incoming needles with the tips of his fingers. Though he could not see, he could certainly hear. Then Nakthaḥm emerged from the aether. He heightened his speed, and it seemed as if he duplicated across the whole of the area. His voice echoed in the space as he said:
Prepare to meet your end, O Zūryashhaḥ! The darkness emitted by my form shall consume you in the depths of the aether. Your existence shall be erased, and no remnant of your form shall be left behind. Let this madness that burns in me fell you here and now!
Nakthaḥm could no longer keep hold of his mind, and in his maddened state, he rushed from all ends launching strikes and volleys in successive fashion without rest. The sage evaded all attacks that came his way, and went so far as to use its power. He let the aether take its hold and produced a screen about him self that served as his armor.
Nakthaḥm, enraged, enlarged himself till he was as tall as a giant. And with his massive form he sought to crash into the sage and overcome him with the mass of aether.
The sage remained calm. Within his hands he amassed his own holding holding of the aether, combined with the higher powers. A light in a ball of darkness, as it were. The sage multiplied them till they numbered in the hundreds and sent them flying toward the demon.
They assailed Nakthaḥm in his fall, and dissolved the armor that obscured his humanity. And with his form now reverted, the illusion was lifted. Nakthaḥm fell to the ground unconscious, his body ravaged by the elements. Vādruhaḥ felt pity.
He carried Nakthaḥm in his arms and went to the priestess at the edge of the ring. Aiṛth tried to move past the barrier but failed in her attempts. She ceased when the sage placed Nakthaḥm gently into her arms.
She was about to burst into tears, before the sage said, “Worry not, Aiṛthyavā, for his wounds shall heal soon. You can greatly relieve his distress were you to use your powers to mend his afflictions. I assure you, he shall wake within a few hours. My attacks were harsh, but I had no intention of fighting at full capacity. For were I to do so, then not only all of you but perhaps even Ārhmanhaḥ as a whole would perish as a result. Yet what I have displayed is enough to test you. It is a shame, however, that even with all your strength you were unable to best me.”
“O sage!” called Aiṛth. “Do not speak as if the battle has been won! Our time to forfeit this quest has not come, this I am certain. Iḷēhaḥ will do her deed and bring back Tūmbṃār, and though it pains me to have to leave our hopes upon a child, I know that he shall best you. The light will not stop us from proceeding at this point, when he has come to test Tūmbṃār. The light will lay within him. He is now a messenger of the Gods and a Herald of the Light!”
She pointed behind him toward Iḷēhaḥ. “See now, what is to occur, O sage!”
Vādruhaḥ turned to see Iḷēhaḥ’s hands become golden. She shined with splendor and laid her hands on Tūmbṃār. From there they proceeded inward and a multitude of lights issued from within the boy’s cavity. The wrinkles on his hands reversed, and his eyes and mouth suddenly opened, with light emitting like golden rays. A harmonious sound played in the air as an unintelligible song resounded in their minds. Yet it was soothing and beautiful.
It was as if the Gandharvas had descended and were hosting a performance just for them. The lights danced, and the spirits came. They centered themselves around the goddess and whispered prayers of revitalization to the child. After having given their favors, the lights and the spirits left, and Iḷēhaḥ went unconscious, reverting to her old form. She did not wail this time, but still curled into a ball, clutching herself lightly, shivering from the aftermath of her powers.
Vādruhaḥ then sensed something amiss and raced toward them.
Feyūnhaḥ immediately moved in front to provide cover. Her attacks slowed down the sage, who had become distracted. But his pursuit did not halt and he continued forward. Feyūnhaḥ rushed to meet him and wielding the daggers in hand she swung and thrust to push back Vādruhaḥ. It seemed to work. Vādruhaḥ’s movement had slowed no doubt due to the onslaught dealt by Nakthaḥm. Her blades could not move past his defense, yet she cared little for that. She sought to buy time till Tūmbṃār awoke. She heightened her powers and coursed them into the Dvı̄sahlvah.
The elements raged about them: fire singing the grass, air cutting their clothes, water generating mist, earth shooting from the ground, and space expanding the range of attacks. The flurry grew as like a tornado, and all about was dazzling lights and colors from the unrestrained usage of the powers.
Her attacks were landing on Vādruhaḥ and it seemed victory was at last in sight. She drew near, intending to finish what Tūmbṃār could not, and pushed her daggers through the gap in the sage’s arms, grazing them as they flew through. Her aim was set to his chest and the daggers almost pierced. Her movements were arrested. Any hope she had of ending this conflict ceased.
The air about her pressurized, and she was locked in place. And the sage grabbed her by the arms and flung her from the ring. Her battle had ended.
The sage was relieved for the moment.
He turned and saw Tūmbṃār was missing. Suddenly, from above, a pillar of lightning struck the ground in from of him. Lightning issued across the entire plain as if a storm had come. The clouds grew erratic and the wind swirled with fury. Before him stood Tūmbṃār ready with bow and arrow, his body levitating in place. Looking more closely, Vādruhaḥ could see they were no ordinary bow and arrow. They were the Vreshkhano (water bow) and the Natjhṛsa! Tūmbṃār’s eyes glowed with the same light and fury that Vādruhaḥ had displayed and he stood poised to launch the bolt to the heavens.
“Teacher!” called Tūmbṃār. “Dusdrahaḥ, like you, warned me of the use of the Dvhaḥṣhtro. Yet I know that even if I should unleash this bolt, you’ll counteract it. For all the times we fought you always seemed to know what it was that I’d intend to do, even before I knew it myself. But my mind feels clear now. I don’t think, at this moment, you should be able to read it. Tell me, teacher, do you know how it is I shall act once this bolt is unleashed?”
Vādruhaḥ stood silent. He examined the situation, but could not get a read of Tūmbṃār’s next action. “It is as you say, Tūmbṃār. I do not know! But I do not think that alone should give you the advantage over me. You cannot defeat me! Lay down the divine armament!”
Tūmbṃār smiled. “I can’t assent teacher. The Light has asked me to pass through you.”
He strung back the bow, and the thunder and lighting in the sky grew ever more violent. Vādruhaḥ made haste toward Tūmbṃār, flying as fast as he could. The sage was too late.
Vādruhaḥ stopped his movement all at once and readied his hands into the sky. Tūmbṃār unleashed the bolt and a terrible twang of like a thousand blaring conchs resounded in the plains. Tūmbṃār was thrown back as the bolt launched high. The bolt eviscerated the clouds.
The light of the sun was overpowered by the glow of the bolt. From on high, it multiplied nearly ten thousand times and it seemed as like the torrent of projectiles issued by Dusdrahaḥ himself. The air grew hot and the sky seemed blazed like an inferno. And to all who witnessed it seemed doom was coming to them. From out of the air emerged spears of light centered about a chakra. They too multiplied in great numbers till the valley seemed filled with them.
Resting in Vādruhaḥ’s hand was a bow of equal splendor to the one of Sītṛa’s. Stringing back the bow, arrows formed of the natural elements emerged from the notches of his fingers. With a great cry, he unleashed them and the spears of light followed in suit. The sky was dazzled with lights. Any normal person that should have witnessed this spectacle would most certainly think the Gods were descending.
The sky filled with the clashes of the divine projectiles, canceling each other out, and issuing terrible sounds that seemed to fill the quarters of the earth. The ground shook as each of the projectiles clashed and lo! those stray arrows and spears that did not meet, leveled the surface with a tremendous blast of the powers. So great was their might, that distant hills and mountains vanished under the duress of blazing light, reflecting the red and golden colors of the sky that seemed to cry in pain.
Vādruhaḥ strained to direct the course of the spears toward the arrows. He could not allow any more of the projectiles to batter the surface than they already had.
Though they were far from any habitation, he could hear the cries of the earth; the goddess that dwelt within begged for release. Tūmbṃār too could hear them, and he felt anguish unlike any he had felt before.
He quickly brought himself up and with the powers left at this disposal, he directed the course of the arrows and neutralized them against the spears. The perfect clash between each, now issued sounds that rang like the tolling of bells. Towers of light emerged like a staircase to the Heavens, slowly fading away.
This went on for some time, until at last only one arrow and one spear remained. They missed each other by a wide margin and arced toward the two combatants. Vādruhaḥ caught the arrow of lightning while Tūmbṃār caught the spear of light. And the two flew toward one another. Bearing the weapons in front, they struck the two tip for tip, and one final blast of light issued.
The wind about the luminous tower was forced away and the group had to do all they could to hold to the surface. When the light disappeared, in its place, they could see the fractured soil, the dead vegetation, and the cracks and crags that effused copious levels of dust.
Within the middle were left a greatly wounded master and disciple, striking each with bloodied fists, seemingly unaware of the damage wrought about them. Vādruhaḥ’s movements began to slow, and Tūmbṃār took his chance to unleash a flurry of blows that sent the sage flying back. Tūmbṃār followed in pursuit, combining the elements as he flew. The sage issued a cry and braced himself for impact. Tūmbṃār’s hands molten from the course of the elements struck against the sage’s palms. The sage and the boy were forced toward the edge of the ring until they slowly came to a halt.
Vādruhaḥ’s hands were burned while Tūmbṃār’s fists were flayed.
Tūmbṃār fell to his knees unable to continue any more. He let out a few coughs and a deep sigh, and then tumbled to the surface. He wanted to close his eyes and rest but the adrenaline rushing inside would not let him.
His master relaxed and bent in front to look at his face. A great smile appeared, and he said, “It looks like you have won, Tūmbṃār.”
Tūmbṃār, in shock, turned around to look behind him. Without a doubt, the sage was outside the ring.