The enemy warrior fiercely pounds his chest. His bloodthirsty eyes locked onto the prince. Faint pulses of prana burst from his body, rippling outward in shockwaves.
[Ashura Battle Tantra- Asuric Prakriti]
The warrior releases another beastly roar. The red prana around his body turns into a blaze, wrapping his entire body. Intense waves of heat spread outward, forcing the armies from both sides to retreat to the edges of the battlefield.
"An ashura warrior?"
The prince frowns and extends his right arm forward. Blue prana swirls around his body, protecting him from the intense heat.
"Sonitpura Empire!" he murmurs.
Ashura warriors are members of the elite force of the Sonitpura Empire. The prince's eyes narrowed. The warrior's identity fills the pieces of the puzzle. Several thoughts flash through the mind.
In ancient times, Asuras were a race of fierce, powerful warriors on par with Devas, the ancient deities who held the authority of the universe in their hands.
And the Ashura warriors of the Sonitpura empire are the descendants of those powerful Asuras from the myths. Although not as powerful as their distant Asura ancestors, each Ashura warrior is a formidable elite capable of confronting an army. The prince recalls the terrifying prowess of the Ashura warriors.
In the distant past, a kingdom invaded the home of the Ashura Warriors to plunder their resources. The Ashura tribe sent a legion of just over a hundred Ashura warriors to battle against an army of two hundred thousand human soldiers of the kingdom. The result was devastating. Despite their superior numbers, the kingdom suffered heavy losses. The victory was hollow as almost the entire two-hundred-thousand-strong army perished. The war resulted in massive devastation, and the terror of the Ashura warriors spread throughout the world.
Enraged and humiliated, the kingdom's ruler unleashed his fury on the Ashura tribe. Shedding all semblance of morality and ethical conduct, his people slaughtered many innocent children and women in the absence of the Ashura warriors. The world condemned his actions, but the power of the kingdom was too great and suppressed the dissenting voices.
However, the incident didn't end here. When the Ashura warriors returned to their tribe and found the bodies of their people, rage overwhelmed them, awakening the ancient Asura blood within them.
With his warriors, the king of the Ashura tribe charged to the capital of the enemy kingdom. His mighty axe tore through the skies; his rage condensed into a roaring thunder that swallowed the entire capital. When he swung his axe, the sky darkened. His fury ignited the clouds, and his wrath ripped open a wound in space.
The earth splintered into fragments. A pillar of fire erupted from the depths of the ground, exploding and reaching skyward. Shockwaves of heat rippled outward, vitrifying stones and turning sand to glass. The defences of the kingdom were as fragile as paper in front of the Ashura king's attack. Illusions, enchantments, barriers, and protective constructs were all incinerated and shattered, leaving no trace. The Ashura King's strike burned away the fate and karma of the kingdom.
The aftermath of that strike was devastating. The flames lingered, forming a blazing domain where no living being could survive. Till this day, the land reeks of smoke and sulphur, glowing faintly at night like embers beneath the ash.
Such a destructive attack wasn't without a price, much less when used against innocent mortals. After the terrifying attack, the life force of the Ashura king was drained, and the ember of his life diminished. The raging fire of his wrath scorched his chakra channels, extinguishing his strength. Scorched and petrified, his body was scattered in the wind as ashes. Despite the Ashura king's fall, the fame of the Ashura tribe rose higher, making them entities to be feared and revered.
And now, confronting such a being, the prince wasn't even slightly agitated. The dignity and pride of a warrior won't let him cower in front of a challenge.
The prince regains his calm. He closes his eyes for a single breath, and his focus sharpens.
The Ashura warrior's skin turns blood-red, etched with dark, pulsing markings that crawl across muscle and bone like living scars. Horn-like ridges rose subtly along his brow and shoulders, and his breath came out in steaming snarls. The waraxe in his hand drinks in his fury, igniting runes as his aura erupts violently outward. His expression is a mask of jagged, predatory force reeking of slaughter and endless hunger.
The ground beneath him cracks wider, crumbling under his strength. Rain evaporates around his body, hissing into red mist. His strength multiplies—each movement now heavy with destructive intent; each step shakes the ground. Bloodlust manifested into a pillar of red light, sweeping terror through the battlefield.
With a roar, he charges again, faster, stronger and more terrifying. His axe descends with enough force to split the battlefield apart.
Despite the immense pressure of the enemy's aura, the prince took a step forward. Prana stirs within his body, and the moon symbols on his arms glow faintly.
[Chandra Yudh Tantra—Divya Vikarah]
With each step forward, the divine bloodline within the prince stirs. Moonlight pours from the sky, enveloping him in a celestial silver light. The surrounding air thrums with mystery and power, and the moon's aura glows with calm and vast, serene yet infinite radiance.
The prince channels his prana and moonlight radiance into his silver, curved sword. The bright gem on the sword's pommel glows up; several runes shimmer along the blade's edge.
While the Ashura warrior radiates bloodlust and rage, the prince exudes authority, courage, and unyielding resolve. Both warriors rush forward and clash at the centre of the battlefield.
The Ashura's aura slams into the prince's radiance like a tidal wave. Rage meets calmness; blood meets moonlight. The opposing forces grind against each other; sparks of crimson energy and blue lightning explode with every strike. The exchange between two warriors appears like a blur to the onlookers; their speed of clash far exceeding perception.
The forest floor between them fractures into glowing fault lines, unable to withstand the pressure of clashing powers.
Roar… the frenzied Ashura snarls, the prana around him manifests into the avatar of a mighty six-armed Asura of colossal size. Its body radiates with burning crimson energy and emits a nightmarish hue. Each of its six arms wields a different weapon: blades, chains, claws, scythes, and a mace. Like the manifestation of destruction, the colossal fiend exudes an aura of rage and domination. Its eyes blaze with savage fury; its presence warps the land and covers the sky with dark clouds, flickering with crimson lightning.
The bloodthirsty aura pours towards the prince in violent waves. Its thunderous roar rattles the prince's eardrums, drowning him in the illusion of death and annihilation. The prince's consciousness fades from the overwhelming sense of oppression; his mind falls into hallucinations and nightmares. The prince falls to his knees, his strength ebbs away from his body, and the war axe inches closer to his body.
"Oh, valiant prince! Don't be beguiled by the illusion of the enemy's might. Your brilliance and brawn are unmatched in potential. Oh, chivalric hero of Prayaga, son of Chandra Vansh, recall your divine roots and purge this illusion of fragility. Look upon me and let courage arise in your heart. Show the world the might of a Chakravartin."
Just as the prince was about to fall under the enemy's blade, Acharya Sukrit's calm, encouraging voice echoed in the prince's ears. Like a ripple in the sea, his words shattered the illusion and the nightmares that haunted the prince's mind.
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The blue moon on Prince's arm releases a radiant light that shrouds his entire body. A pillar of prana rises from and shoots towards the skies, piercing the dark clouds above.
The clouds parted, revealing a vast, luminous figure emerging from the moonlight. Towering and serene, its form sculpted from silver radiance and tranquil shadow, crowned with a halo of shifting lunar phases. Its calm gaze meets the furious gaze of the Asura, radiating an immeasurable pressure.
Moonlight spills from the cracks in the clouds, covering the entire battlefield in serenity. Illusions dissolve, rage falters, and fear subsides under this tranquil aura.
The prince slowly lifts his gaze, and strength returns to his body. Crescent moon reflects in his pupils, and the curved silver blade in his hand shimmers with starlight.
Two supreme forces, demonic and divine, confront each other—the tall Asura surge forward in fury, intent on annihilation. The moon meets it with quiet, unstoppable resolve.
"Chandramaaa!" A furious roar tears through the heavens.
"Krodhasura!" another serene voice replied with divine grace.
The two avatars tangled and vanished in a display of radiant light, illuminating the battlefield.
The divine might leave the spectator stunned. Even the two powerful warriors in the sky paused their battle and observed the duel below with astonished gazes.
The Ashura and the prince are lost too deep in their duel. Axe and sword collide once more, more fervent and rigorous. Every clash sends a pillar of light and crimson force skyward; every strike rends the clouds apart. Thunder crackles with collision, and the impact shatters the earth. Shockwaves flatten everything in their vicinity, hurling debris everywhere.
The clash intensifies, each strike fiercer than before. The battle seemed even, but it wasn't. While the Ashura warrior was lost in his maddening fury, the prince was calm, preparing for a decisive moment. Opportunities aren't granted; they are earned.
The prince draws upon his remaining prana, slowly condensing it in his left arm. He reduces the force in his blade, creating a vulnerable opening for the enemy to strike. And just as he expected, the Ashura warrior attacked with a ferocious strike.
The force of the attack pushes the prince back, and the recoil sends his blade flying up in the air. The Ashura warrior charges forward, lunging towards the prince. He performs a powerful horizontal sweep with his axe. The strike possesses enough strength to cleave the prince in half. In his rage, he failed to notice the surge of prana in the prince's left hand, his senses long dulled by the intense fury, his judgment clouded by his wrath.
Just as the enemy's axe was inches away from his chest, the prince took action. With all his might, he stomped the ground beneath him. The force of the stomp presses the earth beneath him, lowering his body enough to dodge the fatal strike.
Instincts honed by countless life-death battles, the Ashura warrior responds, turning the horizontal sweep into a vertical slash. However, his actions were a bit too slow. The prince takes advantage of the opportunity that he fought too hard to create.
His tightly clenched left hand unleashes a devastating blow- a powerful uppercut that lands squarely on the Ashura warrior's jaw. The force of the blow is so powerful that it lifts the burly body of the Ashura warrior from the ground, hurling him towards the sky.
The prince leaps in the air, grabbing his falling blade. He holds the blade in both hands and brings it in front of his chest. Moonlight and prana swirl around him as he chants a battle art.
[Chandra K?ura Tantra – Ardhendu]
He pours all his might and prana into the silver blade, unleashing a crescent slash of radiant moonlight. The crescent slash charges forward, crackling with immense force.
While in mid-air, the Ashura warrior regains his senses. He hurriedly throws his war axe, wrapped in crimson energy, to meet the crescent slash.
The crimson energy shrieks and fractures under the immense power of the crescent slash. Moonlight sliced cleanly through the raging aura, tearing the crimson prana and cleaving the mighty waraxe in half. The force of the strike doesn't dissipate; it charges forward, striking the foe in midair.
A deep, devastating gash is carved across the Ashura's chest. The silver moonlight burns through flesh, armour, and bloodthirsty aura alike. The force of the strike plunges him to the ground, and the earth splits beneath him in a jagged scar. On his side, the two halves of the waraxe fall, carving two craters on the ground.
The blood-red glow fades from his skin, draining away like a dying fire. His aura collapses inward, extinguished, leaving only silence and rain. The enemy's body pounds the ground heavily—immobile, broken, unconscious. The Asura bloodline calms down, forcibly subdued by the prince's divine strike.
The prince stands still, blade lowered, breath ragged. His left arm hangs by his side, limping from a fracture. During the decisive moment of his strike, the enemy also counterattacked. Ashura's powerful physique allowed him to crush the bone in the prince's arm, and the backlash shattered it.
The duel has ended, and it was his victory. The battle was a hard-fought one; the enemy was powerful, the strongest match he could ever find.
Around him, warriors pause—some frozen mid-action, others staring in disbelief. The prince silently stood on the spot, glancing at the fallen body of his adversary. The enemy wasn't dead, only unconscious. Striking a fallen enemy was beneath the creed of a warrior, and he, too, currently lacked the strength to land the killing blow.
Suddenly, a jolt passes through his body. A powerful force erupts from deep within his body, exploding and injuring his internal organs. The prince puked a mouthful of blood and fell to the ground.
'So that was your trump card.' The prince's vision turns blurry, and his consciousness fades.
With every clash, every strike, a portion of the enemy's malevolent prana seeped into his body. He could restrain this evil force with his prana, but once his prana reserves were exhausted, this vicious prana was unrestrained. It erupted and damaged his internal organs.
Just as he was about to pass out, a soothing force enveloped him. The silver moon necklace around his neck emitted a faint light. It gently rejuvenated him, expelling the malevolent force from his body. He exhaled plumes of dark red wisps that dissipated in the air. The prince coughed slightly, spitting another mouthful of dark blood.
"Prince!"
Moon warriors rush forward to shield the prince from enemies. The enemy forces also retreated with the Ashura warrior in tow. The battle has ended with the prince's victory. He triumphed over the mighty Ashura warrior of the Sonitpura empire- a foe whose name sends a shiver down the spine of every warrior in this realm. Yet, their proud prince stood unfazed against such a mighty warrior. He fought toe-to-toe in a close battle and finally emerged victorious.
Joyful laughter and cheers erupted among the kingdom's soldiers, boosting their morale. The defeat of their deputy commander broke the enemy soldiers' morale. They retreated with sombre expressions. However, not everyone was overjoyed by the prince's victory.
High above the torn clouds, the enemy commander, the demonic archer, gazes at the battlefield below with a cold expression.
"Prince Roshasura lost the battle." He mutters.
"Senapati Darpasura, retreat with your army." Sage Sukrit's calm, collected voice echoed through the skies.
His deep blue eyes peer through the clouds, staring straight at Darpasura's face hidden beneath the veil of his robe.
"Prince Adhiraj has proved his valour and potential as the future Chakravartin by defeating the representative of Sonitpura's Chakravartin in a fair duel. So, return to your emperor and relay this message." The Sage continues.
"Impossible!" Darpasura bellows. His thundering voice breaks the gloom of the battlefield, silencing the victorious jeers of the kingdom's soldiers.
"The emperor's order was complete annihilation. This duel was a mercy granted by the whims of Prince Roshasura. The duel might be over, but the battle hasn't ended yet."
Darpasura's eyes turn red from fury. Overwhelming prana swirls around his body, breaking the shackles of the mortal realm warrior. Darpasura raises his hand high towards the sky. His lips move frantically from the chants of forbidden mantras.
"Om Bhraam Bhreem Bhraum Sah Rahave Namah…"
The sky darkens unnaturally, as if something vast, something ancient has cast its gaze upon the world.
The clouds spiral inward as a colossal shadow takes form—a massive demonic head, the embodiment of the ancient demon Rahū, a harbinger of eclipse, darkness and devouring hunger—an entity of the universe's Tamsik force. Its vast maw yawns open, lined with fangs that drip void rather than blood. Within its throat churn fragments of swallowed light—half-formed suns, shattered moons, screaming constellations.
The world dims, losing all sources of light. Rahū is the embodiment of shadow that swallows the light. Sunlight falters and moonlight trembles.
[Demonic Astra – Rāhupā?a]
A massive demonic head surges downward, coiling through sky and storm like the manifestation of living calamity. Its massive figure veils the skies, eclipsing the sun and the moon. Wherever its shadow passes, light is snuffed, fires extinguished. Divine radiance weakens. Even prana recoils, dragged toward oblivion.
Below, the soldiers on the battlefield react in terror.
Warriors shield their eyes as day and night are simultaneously devoured. The land groans as gravity itself warps under Rahu's descent. The demon's roar emits no sound, but a concept of absence—a hollowing void that threatens to swallow everything it touches.
Its gaze fixes on the prince.
The Rahupā?a lunges, jaws widening to swallow not just the prince, but his very existence, the morals and values he embodies—seeking to end cycle, order, and legacy in a single act of vengeance.
High above, Darpasura stands rigid, his eyes burning with hatred.
Below, the prince lifts his head, his gaze filled with defiance and fighting spirit tinged with helplessness.
'My people, my teacher, my mentor, and my comrades… they all stand behind me. Yet, in front of this adversary, I stand helpless.' The prince clenched his fists.
Sigh… A sigh escapes from Sage Sukrit's mouth.
