The plain of Kurukshetra shuddered, its cracked earth glowing red under a sky twisted into dusk, day fifteen of a war that refused to bend.
Dust spiraled high, a gritty shroud around Parshurama, his bow discarded, his axe back in hand, its blade scarred and dripping blood—his own, from a gash on his arm where Bhishma's arrow had grazed.
He slammed the axe into the ground, cracks snaking wide—molten waves erupted, lava surging forth, a crimson tide roaring toward Bhishma.
The air warped, heat blistering the plain, rocks melting into slag, the sky flaring orange as flames danced wild, a hellscape born of his wrath.
Bhishma stood firm, his chariot wheels grinding, his tunic torn at the shoulder, blood trickling from a cut above his brow.
"Not enough, Guru!" he snapped, voice sharp as a blade, his gray eyes glinting fierce, unyielding amidst the chaos.
He thrust his bow skyward, wind howling—a cyclone spun free, its edges sharp as swords, shredding the molten tide to ash mid-air.
Sparks flew, embers raining, the ground trembling as the storm carved trenches, dust and lava clashing in a storm of ruin.
Amba crouched low, her sari shredded to rags, the talisman pulsing faint in her fist, its light a fragile shield against the fury.
Parshurama leapt, axe raised high, his roar shaking the heavens—"Fall, Bhishma!"
The blade swung down, a crescent of fire trailing, its edge screaming as it cleaved the air, aimed to split Bhishma's skull.
The earth buckled, a shockwave ripping outward—grass ignited, craters bloomed, the plain groaning under his might.
Bhishma's chariot surged, horses snorting wild, his voice cutting through—"Not yet!"
He ducked low, the axe grazing his helm, sparks exploding as he loosed a volley—arrows streaked like comets, their tips blazing gold.
The sky cracked, golden trails burning bright, each shaft slamming the ground, blasts of light erupting, dirt and blood spraying high.
Parshurama twisted mid-air, axe meeting arrows—steel clashed, sparks rained, a gash opening on his thigh, blood soaking the grass below.
"Pathetic!" he growled, landing hard, dust billowing, his axe swinging wide—a wall of flame roared forth, its heat melting stone.
The plain shuddered, fissures glowing red, the air trembling as fire surged, a tidal wave of wrath aimed to swallow Bhishma whole.
Bhishma's chariot wheeled sharp, his voice booming—"Try harder!"
He slammed his bow down, hands weaving fast—wind spiraled into blades, a storm of slashing gusts tearing the flames apart.
The sky darkened, cyclone shards slicing earth and fire, embers scattering like dying stars, the ground splitting deeper with every cut.
Parshurama charged, blood dripping, his axe slashing upward—a pillar of molten rock burst free, its peak jagged and glowing.
The earth roared, mountains buckling miles away, their echoes thundering as the pillar speared the sky, aimed to crush Bhishma's chariot.
Bhishma leapt from the reins, his voice fierce—"You'll need more!"
His bow sang, a single arrow loosed—its tip flared silver, splitting mid-flight into a hundred shards, each a screaming blade of light.
The pillar shattered, rubble raining, the air trembling as shards carved the plain, blood flecking Bhishma's arm from a glancing blow.
Parshurama roared, axe twirling—"I'll bury you!"
He slammed the blade down, earth erupting—a geyser of lava shot skyward, its spray igniting the air, a fountain of death raining hot.
The sky bled red, molten drops sizzling, the plain quaking as craters formed, steam hissing where lava met cracked stone.
Bhishma rolled aside, his voice sharp—"Bury yourself!"
He thrust his palm out—wind condensed, a spear of air streaking forth, its tip howling as it pierced the geyser, blasting it apart.
Lava scattered, the air screaming, a shockwave flattening grass, blood dripping from Bhishma's ear as the blast grazed him hard.
Parshurama staggered, grinning wild—"You bleed, boy!"
He spun, axe slashing—a crescent of shadow surged, its edge sharp as night, cutting the air with a low, ominous hum.
The plain darkened, shadows stretching long, the crescent shearing stone, its path a scar of black aimed at Bhishma's chest.
Bhishma's bow snapped up, his voice steady—"So do you!"
He loosed an arrow—light flared, a radiant arc streaking forth, its glow shattering the shadow into wisps of smoke.
The sky split, a fissure glowing white, the ground trembling as light and dark clashed, dust storms surging like angry seas.
Parshurama laughed, blood streaking his leg—"Good!"
He leapt high, axe overhead—a storm of fireballs erupted, each blazing red, raining down like a meteor swarm.
The earth shattered, craters blooming wide, flames dancing wild, the air warping as heat and ash choked the battlefield.
Bhishma's chariot charged, his voice roaring—"Keep coming!"
He swung his bow wide—wind spiraled, a vortex of blades spinning free, slicing fireballs mid-air, sparks raining like blood.
The plain quaked, trenches carving deep, the sky twisting as wind and fire clashed, a gash opening on Bhishma's thigh, blood soaking his tunic.
Parshurama landed, axe raised—"I'll carve you to dust!"
He slammed the blade down—a rift tore open, molten chains surging forth, their links glowing red, lashing toward Bhishma.
The ground split, chains rattling loud, the air trembling as they whipped wild, aimed to bind and burn Bhishma alive.
Bhishma leapt, his voice fierce—"Break first!"
His bow sang—a pulse of light erupted, a radiant wave smashing the chains, their links shattering into glowing shards.
The sky flared, fragments raining, the earth shuddering as light met fire, blood dripping from Bhishma's hand, his grip faltering briefly.
Parshurama roared, axe swinging—"No mercy!"
He thrust the blade forward—a dragon of flame burst free, its jaws gaping, scales molten, roaring as it charged Bhishma.
The plain ignited, earth melting, the dragon's breath scorching stone, its roar shaking the heavens, a beast of wrath unbound.
Bhishma's eyes blazed, his voice sharp—"Face your own!"
He spun his bow—a phoenix of wind surged forth, its wings razor-sharp, shrieking as it met the dragon head-on.
The astras clashed, flame and wind tangling—a blast tore the air, feathers and embers raining, the ground splitting wide.
Blood sprayed, Parshurama's cheek gashed, Bhishma's arm slashed, both staggering as the plain shuddered, a storm of beasts undone.
Parshurama grinned, blood dripping—"You're tough, boy!"
He swung his axe high—a pillar of shadow erupted, its peak piercing the sky, tendrils lashing like a living storm.
The earth groaned, mountains crumbling, the sky bleeding black as tendrils whipped, aimed to crush Bhishma's spirit and bone.
Bhishma charged, his voice roaring—"Not tough enough!"
He leapt, bow discarded—his hands flared, a spear of light forming, its tip screaming as he thrust it into the pillar.
The shadow shattered, tendrils scattering, a shockwave splitting the plain, blood flecking Bhishma's face from the recoil.
Parshurama roared, axe slashing—"Die standing!"
He spun—a vortex of molten blades surged forth, each edge glowing red, spinning wild, a storm of steel and fire.
The ground cracked, trenches glowing, the air screaming as blades danced, the sky bending under their relentless fury.
Bhishma rolled, his voice fierce—"Live fighting!"
He thrust his hands up—wind condensed, a wall of slashing gusts rising, smashing the blades mid-air, sparks raining hot.
The plain shuddered, dust swirling, blood dripping from Bhishma's shoulder as a shard grazed deep, his stance unwavering.
Parshurama laughed, wild and fierce. He leapt, axe overhead—a comet of fire streaked down, its tail blazing, aimed to bury Bhishma in a crater of ruin.
The earth split, flames roaring, the sky trembling as the comet fell, its heat igniting the air, a star of wrath descending.
Bhishma's eyes flared, his voice booming—"I'll outlast you!"
He swung his arm—a cyclone of light erupted, its core blazing, spiraling upward to meet the comet head-on.
The clash shook the heavens, light and fire exploding—a shockwave flattened the plain, blood spraying from both as shards flew.
Amba gripped the talisman, dust caking her face, the battlefield a chaos of fire and wind she could only watch.
Satyavati stood far off, atop Hastinapura's walls, her gray sari fluttering, her eyes wide, awed by the storm below.
"Heavens weep," she whispered, voice trembling, her hands clutching the stone, the clash a spectacle shaking her core.
Parshurama landed, blood streaking his arm—"Fall, damn you!"
He thrust his axe—a wave of molten spikes surged, their tips glowing, piercing the air like a thousand spears.
The ground shattered, spikes raining, the sky twisting as they flew, aimed to impale Bhishma through heart and soul.
Bhishma spun, his voice sharp—"Not today!"
He clapped his hands—a shield of wind flared, its edges screaming, shattering spikes mid-air, dust and blood mixing wild.
The plain quaked, cracks glowing, blood dripping from Bhishma's leg as a spike grazed deep, his calm fierce, unbroken.
Parshurama roared, axe high—"This ends you!"
He leapt—a storm of shadow and fire erupted, a titan's silhouette surging forth, its fists blazing, aimed to crush Bhishma flat.
The earth split, flames roaring, the sky bleeding black and red, the titan's roar shaking mountains to dust miles away.
Bhishma charged, his voice booming—"It ends us both!"
He thrust his fist—a phoenix of light burst free, its wings radiant, talons sharp, meeting the titan with a deafening blast.
The clash tore the heavens, light and shadow exploding—dust storms surged, blood rained, the plain shuddering as titans fell.
Parshurama staggered, blood pouring from his side, his voice fierce—"Not yet!"
Bhishma stood, blood soaking his tunic, his voice steady—"Never!"
The sky wept ash, the earth trembled, their clash enduring, a war of gods raging into the dusk, unbroken still.