Parshurama swung his axe, swift as a falling star, its blade smashing Bhishma's arrow mid-flight.
Sparks flared, crimson and fierce, the arrow bursting into shards that rained like molten embers across Kurukshetra.
The earth groaned, a deep shudder cracking the dry plain, as Parshurama's roar split the silence—"Come on!"
Dust spiraled high, a gritty storm swirling around his boots, the sun blazing overhead, casting jagged shadows.
Bhishma stepped back, his bow raised, wind surging wild around him, a gale howling from nowhere.
"You've begun it, Guru," he said, voice low, steady as iron, his gray eyes glinting like sharpened steel.
He loosed an arrow, its tip flaring silver, streaking forth—a piercing whistle tore the air, the ground trembling faintly.
Parshurama grinned, fierce and untamed, his axe slicing the arrow apart, sparks raining hot onto the cracked earth.
"Arrows alone?" he bellowed, voice a thunderclap rolling over the plain, shaking the distant hills.
He tossed the axe aside, its blade sinking deep, dust exploding outward like a dragon's roar.
From his back, he drew a bow—dark, gnarled wood pulsing with ancient might, its string humming a low, ominous note.
The plain stretched wide and desolate, grass brittle under the sun, the sky clear—too clear—for the chaos about to erupt.
Amba stood distant, her sari fluttering, the talisman from Parshurama glowing faintly in her fist, a shield against the storm.
Parshurama drew his bow, swift as lightning, his voice booming—"Vayavastra!"
An arrow flew, its tip blazing white—wind screamed free, a typhoon bursting forth, tearing the plain apart.
Grass shredded, earth spiraled skyward, the air twisting into a howling vortex that darkened the sun with churning clouds.
A gust slammed the ground, fissures snapping wide, dust and rock surging upward in a spiraling tempest.
Bhishma's bow rose, his voice cutting sharp—"Prithviastra!"
His arrow flared brown, striking fast—mountains erupted from the earth, jagged peaks clawing the sky to meet the storm.
The typhoon crashed into stone, a deafening crack splitting the air—rocks exploded, dust billowed like a tidal wave.
The plain quaked, an earthquake rippling outward, hills trembling miles away, their slopes avalanching into chaos.
Parshurama leapt high, bow drawn mid-air—"Agneyastra!"
An arrow blazed red, fire roaring free—a volcanic surge burst forth, lava spewing across the battlefield.
The earth melted, molten rivers carving black scars, heat warping the air, smoke rising thick as a funeral pyre.
Craters bubbled, flames danced wild, the sky glowing crimson as embers rained like a meteor shower.
Bhishma spun, his bow humming—"Varunastra!"
His arrow shimmered blue, unleashing a deluge—oceans surged from nowhere, waves towering high, crashing down.
Fire met water, a thunderous hiss shaking the heavens—steam erupted, a scalding fog swallowing the plain.
The ground buckled, tidal surges clashing with lava, mud exploding upward, the air trembling with their fury.
Parshurama landed, dust swirling, his voice roaring—"Vaishnavastra!"
An arrow glowed violet, divine energy surging—a beam of celestial light tore forth, the sky bending under its weight.
The plain split, glowing fissures snaking wide, a pulse of power shattering rocks into glittering dust.
Clouds parted, the beam scorching a path, its radiance igniting the air, a cosmic storm descending fast.
Bhishma's stance widened, his bow taut—"Indrastra!"
His arrow flared gold, thunderheads bursting—lightning bolts rained, a thousand jagged arcs cracking the earth.
The astras clashed, light and thunder colliding—a blast tore the sky, electric tendrils lashing the ground.
Mountains crumbled, their peaks vaporized, a shockwave flattening the plain, dust storms raging miles outward.
Parshurama's eyes blazed, his bow creaking—"Nagastra!"
An arrow hissed green—serpents erupted, massive and coiling, their scales glinting like jade, venom dripping hot.
The earth sizzled, giant fangs sank deep, poison rivers flooding the cracks, a writhing tide of death surging forth.
The air thickened, a toxic haze rising, serpents towering high, their roars shaking the battlefield's core.
Bhishma's bow sang, his voice steady—"Garudastra!"
His arrow flared gold—eagles soared free, colossal wings beating, talons gleaming, their cries splitting the air.
The astras met, serpents and eagles tangling—a storm of scales and feathers erupted, venom spraying, blood raining.
The ground shattered, craters forming fast, a typhoon of beastly fury whipping the dust into spiraling chaos.
Parshurama charged, bow drawn—"Twashtrastra!"
An arrow shimmered silver—blades of light spun free, a vortex of steel slashing forth, each edge singing with power.
The plain fractured, metal storms carving trenches, the air screaming as blades danced, a whirlwind of destruction.
The sky twisted, light bending wild, the astra's force slicing hills in half, their rubble cascading like waterfalls.
Bhishma leapt aside, his bow humming—"Aindrastra!"
His arrow flared crimson—fiery bolts rained, a meteor shower crashing down, each strike igniting the earth.
The astras clashed, blades and meteors colliding—explosions lit the plain, fireballs bursting, shockwaves leveling the ground.
A volcanic plume erupted, ash choking the sky, the battlefield trembling as if the world itself wept.
Parshurama roared, bow taut—"Prajapatyastra!"
An arrow glowed emerald—vines surged, massive and thorned, a jungle bursting forth, roots cracking stone apart.
The plain groaned, trees towered instantly, their branches lashing like whips, thorns raining sharp as spears.
Earthquakes rippled, the forest swallowing craters, a green storm of life raging wild under the ash-filled sky.
Bhishma's bow rose, his voice calm—"Yamastra!"
His arrow flared black—shadows rolled free, a tide of deathly mist sweeping forth, its chill withering all it touched.
Vines blackened, trees crumbled to dust, the astras clashing—a dark fog clashed green, the air freezing solid.
The ground split deeper, frost cracking stone, a blizzard howling sudden and fierce, ice shards pelting the plain.
Parshurama's bow creaked, his voice booming—"Shivshakti!"
An arrow flared white—a trident of light streaked forth, its prongs splitting the air, power pulsing like a heartbeat.
The earth heaved, glowing cracks snaking wide, the sky trembling as the astra roared, a divine wrath unleashed.
Mountains shattered miles away, their echoes thundering, the trident's wake igniting the air in radiant fury.
Bhishma spun, his bow humming—"Vishnuchakra!"
His arrow spun gold—a whirling disc erupted, its edges razor-sharp, slicing the heavens as it flew.
The astras met, trident and disc clashing—a blast of light tore the sky, shockwaves flattening the plain.
Dust storms surged, the ground buckling, a golden-white vortex spiraling high, bending reality itself.
Parshurama landed hard, his voice roaring—"Rakshasastra!"
An arrow hissed red—demons burst forth, towering and clawed, their roars shaking the earth, eyes glowing crimson.
The plain darkened, shadows stretching long, a horde of chaos charging, their claws rending stone to dust.
A blood-red mist rose, the air trembling, demonic howls igniting typhoons that tore the battlefield apart.
Bhishma's bow sang, his voice steady—"Devastra!"
His arrow flared silver—celestials shimmered free, radiant and winged, their spears gleaming, chants piercing the dark.
The astras clashed, demons and devas colliding—a storm of light and shadow erupted, sparks raining like stars.
The ground shattered, craters glowing, a cosmic war unfolding, typhoons and earthquakes merging into chaos.
Parshurama leapt high, bow drawn—"Arunastra!"
An arrow blazed orange—dawn surged forth, a fiery wave of sunrise roaring, its heat melting stone to slag.
The plain ignited, lava bubbling anew, the sky glowing red as embers danced, a phoenix storm descending fast.
Volcanic plumes shot skyward, the air warping, the astra's radiance scorching the earth into a molten sea.
Bhishma's bow rose, his voice calm—"Chandrastra!"
His arrow shimmered silver—moonlight burst free, a tide of cold radiance rolling forth, its chill clashing with the dawn.
The astras met, fire and ice slamming together—steam exploded, a blizzard of frost and flame shaking the heavens.
The ground froze, then cracked, ice shards and embers raining, the battlefield a maelstrom of extremes.
Parshurama's eyes flared, his bow taut—"Manavastra!"
An arrow glowed silver—a legion of spectral warriors surged, their swords flashing, a tidal wave of steel charging forth.
The plain thundered, dust swirling high, their war cries shaking the air, an army of light storming the chaos.
Earthquakes deepened, the spectral horde carving trenches, their blades igniting the air in a storm of silver fire.
Bhishma's bow hummed, his voice steady—"Suryastra!"
His arrow blazed gold—a sun erupted mid-air, its rays searing, burning the legion to ash in a radiant blast.
The astras clashed, light swallowing shadows—a solar flare scorched the plain, the sky bending under its weight.
The earth melted, craters glowing white-hot, a shockwave flattening hills, dust storms surging like tsunamis.
Amba gripped the talisman, her sari shredded, dust caking her skin as the plain rocked beneath her.
The talisman pulsed faint, its shield wavering, a thin thread against the chaos reshaping Kurukshetra.
His bow creaked, another arrow notched, his voice a thunderclap—"This is just the start!"
Bhishma stood tall, his bow taut, his eyes blazing—"Then let it rage, Guru!"