The night air was tense, thick with an eerie silence that felt unnatural. Shivansh and Lucky, still catching their breath from the recent battle, looked at each other with a mix of relief and exhaustion. The battlefield was still, the remnants of their fight scattered around like echoes of a storm now passed.
Just as they turned to leave, footsteps echoed behind them. A familiar presence approached, his aura radiating both anger and concern. It was Yogi. His usually calm and composed face was marred with frustration, his piercing gaze fixed on Shivansh.
"Shivansh! Do you even realize what you have done?" Yogi's voice boomed, his tone laced with both urgency and reprimand.
Shivansh furrowed his brows, confused by Yogi's sudden outburst. "What are you talking about, Yogi?" he asked, trying to make sense of the situation.
Lucky, sensing the tension, stepped back slightly. "Yogi, whatever it is, just know that I told him not to do it," he said, pointing at Shivansh. "He never listens to me."
Yogi exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Do you even understand the magnitude of your actions? When you used your bow—"
"Vajranand," Shivansh corrected him instinctively, referring to his divine weapon.
"Yes, Vajranand," Yogi continued, his tone unwavering. "When you unleashed its power upon this land, it sent out a ripple, a vibration so strong that it did not just shake this world—it awakened something that should have remained asleep."
A chill ran down Shivansh's spine. Lucky, for once, had nothing to say.
"Who?" Shivansh finally asked, his voice quieter now.
Yogi's expression darkened. "A being far more sinister than what you have faced before. A creature who had been waiting—waiting for a sign, a signal that his time had come. And you just gave him that signal."
Shivansh clenched his fists. "Who is he?"
"Vikraal," Yogi whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "An ancient Asura, once sealed away because of his insatiable hunger for power. He had been banished into the depths of the netherworld, waiting for the right moment to return."
Lucky scoffed. "Okay, so he's awake now. Big deal. We'll just fight him and send him back to wherever he came from."
Yogi's gaze snapped to Lucky, his expression unreadable. "You think this is a mere battle? This is a war, Lucky. Vikraal is not some mere demon you can strike down with brute force. He is a tactician, a monster who doesn't just fight; he conquers. And he doesn't come alone."
Shivansh took a deep breath, trying to absorb the gravity of the situation. "Then what happens now?"
Yogi's eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. "He won't come to you directly. He knows better than that. No, first, he will send his army—his minions, creatures born of darkness, those who live to hunt and destroy. They will be here soon."
Lucky's usual smirk disappeared. "How soon is 'soon'?"
Yogi turned his head slightly, gazing at the dark horizon. "They are already on their way."
A heavy silence followed his words. The wind howled through the battlefield, carrying with it an unspoken promise of the chaos that was about to unfold.
Shivansh instinctively reached for Vajranand, feeling the weight of his destiny pressing down on him. "Then we fight."
Yogi shook his head. "No. Not yet. We need to prepare. This is not just about you, Shivansh. This is about what you represent. Vikraal doesn't just want you dead; he wants what you possess. Your power, your bow, and most of all…your bloodline."
Shivansh stiffened. "My bloodline?"
Yogi nodded solemnly. "You are the heir to a legacy far older than you realize. And Vikraal knows it. That is why he will stop at nothing to take what is yours."
Lucky exhaled dramatically. "Okay, so to sum up: a giant demon lord wakes up, wants to kill Shivansh, steal his power, and probably destroy the world in the process. And we are the only ones standing in his way."
Yogi didn't respond. He didn't have to. The truth was already written in the silence between them.
Shivansh took a deep breath. He had fought before, he had won battles, but this? This was different. This was personal.
"Then let's get ready," he said, his voice steady. "Because I'm not going down without a fight."
Yogi gave a small nod. "Then may the gods be with us."
As the night stretched on, the first echoes of an approaching army rumbled in the distance, signaling the beginning of a war that would change everything.
Shivansh and Lucky stood in deep contemplation, their minds racing with the possibilities of what was about to unfold. How would Vikraal's army attack? What strategy should they use? Was Shivansh even ready for this battle? These questions lingered heavily in the air. Meanwhile, Yogi's demeanor had changed entirely—his usual calm was replaced with a sharp, watchful tension. His eyes scanned the surroundings, anticipating the first signs of an ambush.
Then, it happened.
A sudden, eerie silence fell over the land. The wind that had been gently rustling through the trees ceased, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The temperature dropped ever so slightly, sending a shiver down Shivansh's spine. Lucky, who was usually the first to crack a joke, remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he sensed the change in the air.
Above them, the sky darkened unnaturally. Thick, swirling clouds—deep black and laced with eerie purple streaks—rolled in at an unnatural speed, blotting out the stars and moonlight. It was as if the heavens themselves recoiled in fear of what was about to descend upon the earth. The very air became heavy, charged with an unseen force, pressing down on them like an invisible weight.
Then, without warning, a violent gust of wind tore through the battlefield, carrying with it a storm of dust and debris. The ground trembled, faint at first, but quickly growing into a rhythmic quake—as if hundreds of feet were marching toward them in perfect unison.
As the dust settled, their worst fears materialized.
From the shadows, emerging like phantoms from a nightmare, stood an army unlike any they had ever faced. Rakshasas—demons of the dark. Their forms were grotesque, twisted by unnatural energy, their bodies covered in dark, cracked armor that pulsated with a sinister glow. Their eyes—red as smoldering embers—locked onto Shivansh with a hunger that sent chills down his spine. Some carried jagged, bloodstained swords; others gripped massive spiked clubs, their very presence exuding raw, unfiltered malice.
And there were so many of them.
A sea of destruction, standing no more than a hundred meters away, advancing with slow, deliberate steps.
Yogi's fists clenched as he took a deep breath. His voice, though calm, carried an undeniable weight of urgency.
"They're here."
Lucky let out a low whistle, trying to mask the unease creeping up his spine. "Wow. That's… a lot of bad guys."
Shivansh remained silent, his hand tightening around Vajranand, his sacred bow. The battle had not yet begun, but he could already feel the gravity of what lay ahead.
Yogi took a step forward, his eyes locked on the advancing horde. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unsheathed his weapon—a divine staff, glowing faintly in his grip.
"This is it. No more waiting. No more talking. Take out your weapons… because from this moment on, we fight."
A cold wind howled through the battlefield, carrying with it the unspoken promise of war.