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God of War - Karmic Cycle [AU]

Reader mode
Though it covers many of the same beats , Ganesha's story is quite different than most of the versions I've heard in Hinduism.

I wonder how Murugan's birth played out here, since as far as I remember not only is Parvati his mother, but so is the River Ganga and six celestial handmaidens.
 
namar13766 said:
Though it covers many of the same beats , Ganesha's story is quite different than most of the versions I've heard in Hinduism.

I wonder how Murugan's birth played out here, since as far as I remember not only is Parvati his mother, but so is the River Ganga and six celestial handmaidens.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
That is interesting. Which iteration of Ganesh's origin are you most familiar with?

You may find that there are some simplifications in my Fanfic with regards to the mythological stories. For instance there were a lot more characters in play here that resulted in Ganesh getting an elephant's head. But my perspective was that by adding more people into his origin, it turns from a family problem to a world-level problem. And I wanted to limit this to an interaction between a husband and wife. And Shiva does not seem to me like the kind of person who would appreciate third-parties butting into his family dynamics.
 
Chapter 21 - Trinity
  • Threadmarks
    • Kratos left the ash-covered plateau, Shiva's cryptic words and unsettling smile lingering in his mind.

    Generally, Kratos wasn't one to engage in meaningless conversation. If he expended energy talking, he ensured there was something to be gained. However, Kratos couldn't quite make sense of his exchange with Shiva.

    It felt significant, yet Kratos also felt as though he hadn't gained anything tangible from it. Well, perhaps there was something - perspective.

    Though try as he might, Kratos could not suppress the regret bubbling up from within whenever he thought of his deceased wife and daughter. He couldn't simply move past it, couldn't shove it aside as easily as Shiva suggested. If given an opportunity to undo it all, Kratos would seize it in a heartbeat. He refused to accept that uxoricide and filicide were prerequisite actions to define his character.

    Pushing aside the burgeoning debate in his thoughts, Kratos followed along the familiar, winding path beside the river. As he cut through the dense shrubbery and approached the opening into the vast plains, Kratos observed a familiar figure waiting for him near the entrance.

    Ganesh stood patiently, with one arm clasped behind his back and the other, gently stroking his trunk. The teenager's ears twitched as Kratos approached, and he turned to him with a wide smile and a happy greeting, "Kratos! Just the person I was looking for."

    Kratos merely grunted in response, eyeing the god warily. "What do you want?"

    "Straight to the point, as always," Ganesh chuckled. "No time for pleasantries? Very well. We are going now."

    "Going where?" Kratos asked.

    "To fulfil my promise, of course," Ganesh said, gesturing vaguely. "To address that little curse problem you have."

    Kratos' eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Now? The boy's training is incomplete. There is much work left."

    Ganesh agreed with a nod. "While the letter of the agreement remains unfulfilled, the spirit has been met. Exceeded even."

    Kratos's brows furrowed as he processed Ganesh's response. Ganesh, ever-observant, immediately deciphered his confusion and expounded, "All I asked was for you to spruce up his skills with the spear. Instead, you put him on a path to becoming a better warrior and person."

    "That was not my intention," Kratos said with a grunt.

    "Why are you negotiating against yourself here?" Ganesh retorted in disbelief. "I'm giving you what you asked for." He tilted his head, studying Kratos. "Or... are you perhaps concerned about fulfilling your side of the bargain?"

    Kratos frowned and crossed his arms. "The agreement was clear. Train the boy. Then you remove the curse."

    "And you have trained him well," Ganesh affirmed. "Excellently, in fact. Far beyond simple spear work. So, tell me," Ganesh stepped closer, "if I remove this curse now, as agreed upon by our deal, will you then leave? Will you abandon Murugan?"

    The question hung in the air. Kratos stared back. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken conflict. Leave? Be free of the axe, of this land, of these gods and their entanglements? Yes. But leave his end of the deal unfinished?

    A slow, knowing smile spread across Ganesh's face, reaching his eyes. "Ah. I knew it!" He sounded pleased. "You're a good man, Kratos. An honourable man. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"

    Right as Kratos was about to voice his denial, Ganesh waved a hand dismissively. "Consider this, then, merely removing a distraction. A persistent headache. Once this burden of the curse is lifted, I am confident you will find even greater... focus... for your task."

    Kratos remained silent, though the assessment wasn't entirely wrong. "Where must we go?" he asked.

    "Not far," Ganesh replied brightly. He reached out, placing his palm gently but firmly on Kratos's forehead. "Just close your eyes."

    Kratos instinctively flinched back with flaring suspicion. "What are you-"

    "Just trust in me, Kratos," Ganesh said in a calm and reassuring voice. He gently pulled Kratos closer again, pressing his own forehead against the man's. The contact was surprisingly warm.

    Darkness fell instantly. The abrupt visual deprivation sharpened his other senses as an intense pressure began to build within his skull, pushing outwards. The sensation intensified rapidly, feeling as though his very being was being drawn inward and compressed through an impossibly narrowing passage.

    Just as the crushing force reached an unbearable peak, it vanished. The feeling of compression reversed into a sudden, disorienting sense of falling. He braced for impact, hitting soft ground only moments later. The impact was cushioned by thick, yielding grass.

    "You can get up now," Ganesh said as an elephant's face peeked over and blocked Kratos' view of the sun.

    "Where is this place?" Kratos asked as he stood up. Although there was some overlap between his current location and the one before, namely the seemingly vast plains of green, there was a stark difference in what could only be described as the reality of it all.

    It felt as though someone had taken the right swatches of colours for the different items all around him, but tweaked it up or down by a semi-tone. For instance, the sky was a tad greener than what a blue sky was supposed to be. The grass was a smidge yellower. And the water was clear yet highly reflective, almost like a mirror.

    Just as Kratos was getting his bearings, Ganesh had already trotted off and taken a confident step onto the lake's gently rippling surface. As the boy ambled onward, the mist clinging to the water began to part, revealing a flock of swans gliding with effortless grace. One swan, however, stood out – a magnificent creature easily twice the size of the elephant-headed boy.

    This regal creature approached Ganesh, and the two exchanged a polite bow of recognition. Then, its intelligent eyes fixed on Kratos, giving him a swift, appraising glance before it turned with a flick of its tail feathers, leading its brood of cygnets away.

    "Well? Are you coming or do you plan to stand there all day?" Ganesh called out, already halfway across the lake.

    Kratos shot a suspicious glare towards the boy before cautiously approaching the water's edge.

    "It isn't real, you know," Ganesh explained, strolling back towards Kratos as if on solid ground. "None of this is."

    "What?" Kratos grunted.

    "This whole place-" Ganesh gestured with a wide sweep of his arms, nearly overbalancing, "-it's not technically real."

    "It's all in my head," he added with a self-satisfied chuckle.

    Kratos squinted. "Speak plainly, boy."

    "Alright, alright!" Ganesh conceded. "Think of this place as a shared dream or a mental construct. Only a few can access it, and those who do shape its reality. What you see is how I perceive it. So, if I believe the water is solid enough to walk on, yet still fluid enough for swans to enjoy a paddle, then that's precisely how it behaves."

    Kratos eyed the shimmering surface. Cautiously, he extended a foot, testing the water. It met his boot with an unexpected firmness, a sensation that directly contradicted a lifetime of experience. He slowly transferred his weight, then took a hesitant step.

    One deliberate step after another, Kratos followed Ganesh across the lake. On the far side, a stone embankment rose, and beyond it stood a large, imposing palace.

    "Now, this," Ganesh said, his tone shifting as they approached the structure, "is not part of my imagination. So, I'd advise against touching anything that looks like it might object."

    Without waiting for Kratos's reply, Ganesh pushed open the massive, intricately carved wooden gates and stepped into the courtyard beyond.

    The moment Kratos crossed the threshold, a strong gust of wind swirled around him. It carried the surprisingly pleasant aroma of fresh ink, aged parchment, and dry wooden tablets. The sight that greeted him within was bewildering. An endless assortment of books, scrolls, and stone tablets filled a library that seemed to sprout organically from every conceivable surface. Walkways, archways, and even pillars were repurposed as shelves, all groaning under the weight of accumulated knowledge. The shelves themselves stretched infinitely in all directions - left, right, up, down, disappearing into walls, around staircases, and even across sections of the floor, though clear paths were carefully maintained to prevent any accidental trampling of literature.

    "Once again, I must insist-" Ganesh began, halting abruptly. "Do. Not. Touch. Anything." He punctuated the warning with a meaningful look and an almost pleading shake of his head before continuing deeper into the library.

    It was then that Kratos's ears registered a faint strumming. It was an almost imperceptible vibration in the air, but as they ventured further, the sound grew, blossoming into a clear, resonant melody. An interesting motif wove through it. To Kratos's unrefined ears, it sounded like an argument set to music. One voice in the melody seemed resigned, a weary acceptance of things as they were, as if to say, "This is how it is, and we must simply endure it." The other voice, however, was more insistent, a heartfelt appeal against that resignation. It argued for change, for effort, suggesting that they didn't have to settle for mere tolerance but could strive for a connection born of genuine desire.

    Or at least that was how it registered to him. It was rather impressive, Kratos admitted to himself, that he could glean so much from a mere stretch of music. As a man accustomed to the blunt rhythm of war drums, designed solely to stir the blood of marching soldiers, he typically preferred music that demanded little interpretation. Yet, this song conveyed its meaning with an effortless clarity.

    The duo rounded a corner, and Kratos finally laid eyes on the source of the music. A woman sat, cradling a stringed instrument nearly as large as she was. His gaze, however, skipped over her demure form and fixed on her agile fingertips. Her left hand danced along the instrument's long neck, while her right plucked strings of varying thickness that stretched from its tip to its bulbous base.

    Ganesh paused, waiting respectfully for the woman to finish her piece, and Kratos, surprisingly, found himself doing the same, completely captivated by the performance.

    Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. The song transitioned into a motif that signalled a swift resolution. This final part felt less polished than what came before, and the reason became apparent the moment the woman rested her instrument.

    "How did you find my edits, nephew?" the woman asked, a gentle smile gracing her lips. Her dark eyes, full of warmth, settled on Ganesh.

    "Perfect," Ganesh replied with a pleased clap. "But you already knew that."

    "A woman always appreciates a compliment," she responded with a soft chuckle, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "In any case, that should suffice from my end."

    She then rolled up a nearby parchment and handed it to Ganesh. He received it between his open palms and, with a slight compression, caused the roll to dissolve into a flurry of ethereal particles.

    "And it seems you've brought a guest," she continued, her attention shifting to Kratos. An uncomfortable prickle danced over his skin as her incisive gaze swept over him. It was a cursory glance, yet it felt as though it pierced right through him like a hot knife through cheese.

    "I have returned as you instructed - after four days," Ganesh explained. "I thought bringing the one afflicted by the curse might be more efficient. I hope I wasn't being too presumptuous."

    "Only a select few have access to this realm, my dear nephew," the woman said, her voice melodious. "And those who do are individuals I trust implicitly. So, if it was your decision to bring a guest, it is your prerogative."

    A brief, somewhat awkward silence settled between them.

    "So..." Ganesh began, his voice a low drone, breaking the stillness. "When do we begin?"

    "I... I don't know," the woman said, a note of defeat in her sigh as she shook her head, her earlier composure faltering.

    "What?" Ganesh blurted out, his confusion evident.

    "I truly hate to admit this," the woman confessed, her voice tinged with disappointment, "but I could not find a solution."

    "B-but... But..." Ganesh stammered, his jaw practically hitting the floor. It was clear this admission had thoroughly upended the boy's worldview.

    "There's no need for such a dramatic reaction," the woman chided gently, though a hint of her own annoyance and self-deprecation coloured her tone. "I am equally, if not more, disappointed in myself for failing to deliver on my promise."

    "So-" Kratos interjected with a flat huff. "There is no solution."

    Ganesh flailed, jumping in front of Kratos with a panicked expression. "W-wait! There is definitely a solution! I told you I would find one! Th-this is just one avenue-"

    Kratos raised a hand, silencing Ganesh's frantic assurances. "Whoever this woman is, it is clear she was your best hope. If even she is helpless, what other options remain?"

    "I-" Ganesh started to protest, but the words died on his lips. He couldn't bring himself to offer false hope.

    "For your information, I am not his only 'trump card'," the woman cut in, a scowl briefly marring her features. "And who, precisely, is this man? He doesn't even recognize me. He has no idea where he is!"

    "He is not from these lands," Ganesh explained with a wry smile.

    "That much is obvious," she retorted. "I can recognize Greek when I hear it. Wait..."

    The woman's gaze narrowed, her expression shifting as a flicker of dawning recognition crossed her face.

    "The Ghost of Sparta," she declared, her voice suddenly laced with a dangerous edge. Kratos felt a chill run down his spine.

    "The what of where?" Ganesh muttered, clearly shaken by the sudden shift in tension.

    "The man you stand beside, nephew," the woman clarified, her eyes fixed on Kratos with unnerving intensity, "is the one who single-handedly destroyed an entire pantheon and left the realms that worshipped them a chaotic wasteland."

    Her voice, though still melodious, now held an undercurrent of steel. "Some time ago, the usual flow of merchants and scholars from the Hellenic lands... ceased. Abruptly."

    She raised a palm and a stack of scrolls oozed out of the walls. "My inquiries into the matter revealed a growing disturbance - spreading chaos in the spaces between realms. Travel became perilous and the pathways grew unstable."

    She pushed the stack towards Ganesh, her gaze unwavering. "A scant few managed to traverse the ravaged corridors, barely escaping with their lives. They carried with them fragmented accounts. These were desperate missives etched onto battered scrolls and cracked tablets. These documents spoke of unspeakable atrocities. They spoke of a relentless campaign of vengeance waged by one man." Her sharp and accusing gaze flicked to Kratos again. "A man they once worshipped as the God of War. A man who, in his fury, demolished an entire pantheon, killed every diety, and left their world a ruin."

    Ganesh unfurled the topmost scroll. Emblazoned across it was a crude but recognizable drawing: a pale figure marked with crimson, wielding twin blades that radiated destruction with chains welded permanently around his wrists.

    Slowly, deliberately, Ganesh rolled the scroll back up and set it aside. "What is your point, Aunt?"

    The woman gestured towards the pile of documents. "Is this the man you want to help? Is someone like him worthy of your assistance?"

    "No," Ganesh replied simply. He pointed a finger at Kratos. "This is the man I want to help." His voice gained conviction. "And I don't believe anyone is beyond help. When people ask for aid, it is not my place to judge if they deserve it. I can only choose whether I want to help them. And... I do. I want to help him."

    "Even if you don't know who he truly is?" She asked.

    "Father believes that the past is irrelevant, as the present is a consequence of it," Ganesh reasoned.

    The woman clicked her tongue in annoyance before rising gracefully from her cushion. Behind her, a section of the bookshelf shimmered and dissolved, revealing a dark, spiralling corridor descending into blackness. Plucking a flickering torch from a wall sconce, she stepped towards the opening.

    "Follow me," she commanded over her shoulder.

    "But Aunt-"

    "Do you want a solution or not?" she interrupted curtly before disappearing into the descending darkness.

    Ganesh swallowed a mouthful of saliva with a loud gulp. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples. He shot Kratos an uneasy glance, then gestured for him to follow, plunging into the newly formed corridor after the woman.

    "Where are you taking me now?" Kratos asked plainly. He was still trying to process the woman's accusations and Ganesh's unwavering defence.

    "Umm," Ganesh hummed thoughtfully, reverting to his usual demeanour, which strangely eased some of Kratos' tension. It was almost comforting that the boy's perception of him remained unchanged, even if Kratos couldn't fathom why he even cared.

    "The world we are in is split into four primary realms: Svarga, Patala, Naraka and Bhuloka," Ganesh orated. "Those you should be aware of by now. Traversal between these realms is restricted by certain rules. For instance, it is strictly forbidden for those born in Bhuloka to traverse freely into the other realms - certain conditions need to be met. Those born in Svarga and Patala can traverse freely in and out, though there are exactly two portals that allow it - a set of which you must have seen above the plateau where Father performs. Anyone can enter Naraka, though exiting it requires the express permission of the Lord of Naraka."

    "However, there are additional realms apart from this," Ganesh continued. "Kailasha - is a realm that borders all four. There is no restriction in place when trying to access it. It is just impossibly difficult - as you should have learned first-hand."

    "The realm we are in right now is another such realm known as Brahmaloka. It exists within the minds of every sentient being across all realms. But access to it is limited to a select few as my Aunt just explained."

    They finally reached the bottom of the long, descending hallway. It ended abruptly at a solid stone wall. Saraswati stood waiting while holding her torch aloft. She touched its flame to other torches set in sconces along the dead-end wall. As they flared to life, the flickering light illuminated a massive, imposing gate made entirely of carved stone, previously hidden in the gloom.

    She approached the gates and gently placed her palms on the carved stone. With a light push, the gates slowly swung open, revealing a path doused in shadows.

    "There is only one person in the world who wields more knowledge than I do, and that is my husband," the woman declared.

    "Brahmaloka - or the Realm of Brahma - exists within all of his creation," Ganesh expressed.

    "But the reason why only a few are allowed to enter it is because it is not a realm OF him, rather it is a realm FOR him," the woman chimed in.


    Parvathy's days had settled into a predictable, almost monotonous rhythm over the years. She cooked meals, tended to the gardens, and cleaned halls. In the afternoons, she would often sit on the balcony overlooking the plains. Her fingers moved with practised ease as she knitted intricate patterns into soft wool.

    Today was one such day. Her tiger-striped cat lay curled contentedly at her feet, occasionally twitching an ear as the knitting needles clicked softly in the crisp mountain air.

    Suddenly, the twitching stopped. The cat sat bolt upright, its fur bristling slightly. Its gaze narrowed, fixed intently on the main gate at the entrance to their dwelling. Parvati followed her companion's stare and frowned.

    Standing just outside the gate was a man she recognised almost immediately. He was dark-skinned, with a lean, powerfully built frame. His dark hair was pulled back neatly into a top knot, secured with a single, iridescent peacock feather that seemed to catch the light.

    She met his gaze across the courtyard. His eyes held an unnerving stillness.

    A wide and warm smile touched the man's lips, yet it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a practised quality to it, something artificial. "It is impolite to leave a guest standing outside," he called out in a smooth and melodious voice that carried easily across the distance.

    Parvathy's frown deepened. "You are no guest of mine," she replied with a cool and steady voice. "Leave this place."

    The man merely chuckled and leaned casually against the sturdy gatepost. He folded his arms. "Fret not, lady of the mountain. I shall be gone soon enough. I merely await your husband's return. Speaking of which," his eyes scanned the surroundings, "I did not see him at The Convergence. Unusual."

    Parvathy ignored his probing question. She rose, gathered her knitting and turned back towards the house, pointedly closing the door behind her and leaving the man outside.

    Undeterred, the man shrugged. He ambled over to the cushioned seat Parvathy had just vacated on the balcony and settled into it. He swung his legs idly while whistling a soft tune as he watched the distant plains, seemingly content to wait.

    A short while later, a series of lithe footsteps resounded from the gate, it was the person he awaited: the householder of the courtyard dwelling. Shiva spotted the man lounging on the balcony immediately. Their eyes met and a silent exchange occurred.

    Before the stranger could speak, Shiva called towards the house, "Put down another leaf, we have a guest!"

    "That won't be necessary," the dark-skinned man cut in smoothly, rising from the seat.

    Shiva turned fully towards him, irritation flickering in his eyes. He disliked being denied the chance to offer hospitality, even to unwelcome visitors. "Speak then," he said curtly. "And be done with it." He raised a hand preemptively. "Save the jests and riddles. I have little patience for your usual games today."

    The man, inclined his head slightly, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "As you wish. A while back, a part of me that was meant to remain anchored in Bhuloka... returned."

    Shiva waited impassively. "And?"

    "He was tasked with carrying a certain weapon," the man continued. "A gift from you, I believe. Yet, when I found his remains, the weapon was not with him."

    Shiva remained silent. "And?" he repeated with a flat tone.

    The visitor's composure tightened almost imperceptibly and a subtle tension entered his calm facade. "What happened to the axe, Shiva?"

    "It found a new wielder," Shiva answered plainly, offering no further detail.

    "Who?" the man pressed, his voice sharper now as his calmness strained.

    "That," Shiva started plainly, meeting the visitor's intense gaze without flinching, "is no longer your concern."

    The visitor's eyes narrowed and his polite mask thinned to reveal the cold calculation beneath. "It is precisely my concern. He was a crucial element in a delicate balance. A lot hinges on his presence, but now, he is no longer there."

    Shiva sighed, shaking his head with a hint of weary amusement. "What is supposed to happen shall happen. That is the universal truth. I know that you know that."

    "I cannot control the kind of tree a mango seed will sprout," the visitor countered smoothly, his composure regained, "but one can choose where to plant the seed."

    "Putting all your seeds in one basket? Unusual for you," Shiva remarked lightly with a touch of playful mockery in his voice.

    "They are not all in one basket," the visitor corrected coolly. "This path was merely the simplest."

    Shiva chuckled, stepping closer and clapping a hand on the visitor's shoulder. The man didn't flinch and maintained his measured stillness. "You worry too much. The world is more resilient than you give it credit for. Parvathy has a saying about sambar – once it's cooked, adding more salt just makes a mess. The world-"

    "I did not come for kitchen philosophy," the visitor interrupted, his voice still calm but firm, cutting through Shiva's anecdote. He gave Shiva an appraising look. "You've changed. You talk too much." He shook his head slightly. "Who wields the axe now?"

    "A foreigner. Not from these lands," Shiva replied.

    "Where is he?"

    "Brahmaloka."

    The visitor's composure finally broke. A flicker of genuine alarm, which he quickly suppressed, crossed his features. "Brahmaloka? What is he doing there? How did he even gain access?!"

    "Most likely seeking a way to be rid of the axe," Shiva said with a hint of amusement returning to his voice, evidently enjoying the man's reaction. "My eldest took him."

    "You allowed this?" the visitor's voice rose slightly. "My work is complex enough as it is, Shiva. Do not complicate it further."

    The amusement vanished from Shiva's face, replaced by a quiet intensity. "I do not appreciate being told how to raise my children," he stated, "especially by someone who doesn't have an active interest in their growth."

    "You have it easy," the visitor retorted, regaining his measured tone, though his eyes remained hard. "You act as you please, consequences be damned. I do not have that luxury. The balance of the realms rests heavily upon my shoulders."

    "Feel free to trade places anytime," Shiva offered lightly with a challenge underlying the casual words. "I am more than happy to take the mantle of 'The Preserver'," he mocked.

    The visitor let out a short, derisive laugh. "You know it doesn't work that way."

    Shiva shrugged, conveying both acceptance and dismissal.

    "I would appreciate it if you could keep me in the loop on whatever transpires following your son and this... guest's return from Brahmaloka," the man stated with a tone that danced precariously between a request and a demand.

    "I am not going to do that," Shiva said decisively. "Now, are you staying for lunch, or not?"

    "I am not going to do that," the visitor replied, mimicking Shiva's earlier flat tone before turning and dissolving into shimmering light. In his wake, he left behind the scent of lotus blossoms hanging faintly in the air.

    Shiva watched the spot where the visitor had been for a moment, then shook his head and entered the house. He went to the dining area and sat cross-legged.

    Parvathy emerged from the kitchen carrying two banana leaves. She placed one before him and another beside him.

    "He won't be joining us," Shiva said.

    "I already prepared his meal," Parvathy stated quietly, serving food onto the empty leaf nonetheless. "It will not be wasted."

    Shiva sighed softly in acceptance. He then reached over and scraped the food from the extra leaf onto his own.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • juniorsundar said:
    I anticipate there to be some pushback/concerns with regards to my portrayal of Lord Vishnu. I am open to explaining my rationale if necessary.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    The problem with being a preserver is that you can appear as a preserver of a status quo.

    It's a thin line from being a defender to becoming an enforcer of the status quo
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 22 - Cycle
  • Threadmarks
    • Alright, a quick heads-up before we dive in. The next two chapters are basically a necessary info-dump. While I'm not usually a fan of this method, it's crucial for establishing a solid foundation for the world and timeline of this AU.

    To do this, I've had to take some creative liberties, particularly with the rich and complex "early eras" of Hindu Mythology. You'll notice I've had to streamline certain events and origins, as there are many different versions and retcons within various traditions.

    If what I've written here doesn't quite line up with your own knowledge or beliefs, I'm completely open to discussion. Rest assured, my goal is to create a compelling story, not to be blasphemous or offensive.

    The universe's existence hinges on the balance between two supreme, primordial concepts: order and chaos.

    With the passage of time chaos, or entropy, grows - which is the natural state of the universe. However, those who inhabit this universe fight to maintain order - to wrest control over the growing disorder - as is the nature of those with sentience. Because everything is in and of itself averse to change. And as chaos is the manifestation of change, the force that naturally opposes it is order.

    It is impossible for there to be complete control. Because in doing so, the universe becomes deterministic. A deterministic universe is one without free will, as every action and consequence is predetermined.

    However, it is also impossible for there to be complete chaos. Because then there would be no progression or growth.

    Yet just like with everything, this balance is not detached from the constraints enforced by time. There eventually reaches a point in time where chaos can grow no more. And because of that, neither can order. This is the theorised 'heat death' of the universe, a state of maximum entropy where all energy has become uniformly distributed, rendering further work, and thus the creation of new order, impossible.

    In this ultimate fate, the cosmic struggle between the drive for order and the relentless tide of chaos finds its end not in victory for either, but in an all-encompassing equilibrium. The universe, having exhausted its potential for emergent complexity born from this fundamental tension, would settle into a profound and enduring stillness. The very 'existence' that hinged on the dynamic balance between order and chaos would transform into a static expanse, where the vibrant 'fight' and 'progression' have given way to a final and silent uniformity.

    What happens then?


    Klaxor sat motionless in the command chair of the supermassive craftworld. The craftworld drifted away from the gravitational pull of his home planet, Xylos… or at least what remained of it. His grip tightened on the armrests, a tremor running through his hand. A fleeting image of Xylos in its vibrant youth – blue oceans, green continents – flashed through his mind, which was a stark contrast to the desolate scene unfolding. He had only heard tales floating in the WarpNet of planets disintegrating into nothingness. He still found it hard to fathom even as the barren rock of a planet visibly crumbled.

    Within hours, a cold cloud of dust and debris replaced his planet. No explosion occurred. No fanfare announced its demise. Only cessation marked its end. Klaxor watched, his breath caught in his throat, and a hollow ache spread through his chest.

    He turned to his crew. They returned only cold stares. No argument arose, no lamentation sounded, and only acceptance pervaded the bridge.

    No one had truly believed the initial warnings. The dour predictions of the world ending first spread from an obscure corner of the WarpNet. Most people dismissed them as the maddened ramblings of an equally obscure cult. This cult clung to the dwindling beliefs of a supposedly ancient religion.

    The world had moved past such idiosyncrasies. In a world where science could rationalize everything, what reason remained to cling to religion?

    But science could not account for the events unfolding all around him. Signs certainly appeared, but logic did not explain the inevitable conclusion: the end of the world itself.

    Klaxor, like many, had once viewed the world as an engine. This engine, they believed, would keep churning endlessly. It would grow without limits. But that supposed infinite engine now lost its steam. When the world itself "stopped," it began to disintegrate.

    This phenomenon first made the planets succumb on a macro-scale. The stars came next. They did not follow their known life cycle, moving from main sequence to red-giant to supernova, then ending as a white dwarf, neutron star, or singularity. Instead, they just dissipated. Like an unseen hand snuffing out a candle, the stars just turned cool, dimmed, and dispersed.

    The innumerable specks that dotted the void of the universe disappeared one after another. Endless darkness consumed all that remained. Without the gravity of massive planetary bodies, the craftworld lacked the proper resources to navigate.

    Hence, those who had sought refuge in the craftworld as it left the dying planet had only delayed the inevitable.

    Klaxor found it hard to muster any motivation. He existed in what was essentially a metal coffin floating through space. His days and nights blended. He often went days without food or water, or even sleep. When his mind eventually relented and shut down, vague sounds of drumbeats and bells filled his dreams, as the shadow of a lithe figure danced.

    As time passed, the craftworld's population started to dwindle. What was intended to repopulate, had grown cold like the departed planet. The ever-reliable artificial wombs failed to deliver healthy babies, no matter the configuration and purity of gene-seed used. The wombs created only abominations or mute entities.

    His compatriots also started to succumb to the growing stagnancy. Apart from those who voluntarily committed suicide, many others experienced a different end. For many, their brains eerily and permanently switched off in their sleep. This process left behind what were essentially shells.

    On one particular day, Klaxor decided to give in to his curiosity. He opened the articles posted on the WarpNet by the cult. In them, he picked up a phrase: Mahapralaya - the Great Dissolution. The articles, in obscure terms, explained the supposed heat death of the universe.

    Intrigued, Klaxor spent his days perusing the scripts. The texts delved deeper into the cult's belief system and the history of its parent religion. His newfound thirst for knowledge brought back some levity to his life. It also increased the depth of his dreams. He found the music and beat no longer so obscure. The blurry shadow that danced against the backdrop of an ever-bright sun turned into a proper silhouette.

    Klaxor observed the dancer's immaculate poise. He found the music enthralling.

    One cycle, the familiar drumbeat echoed not in a dream, but in the cold silence of the craftworld. The rhythmic pulse vibrated through the deck plates beneath Klaxor's feet. He looked around the dim command centre. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He pinched his arm, and a sharp sting confirmed his wakefulness. A sudden urgency propelled him. He rushed to the main viewport. Far in the black expanse, a single, bright dot pulsed with an impossible light - a star?

    Hope, an almost forgotten sensation, surged through him. Klaxor's hands flew across the navigation console. He navigated the craftworld towards the distant warmth, which was a solitary beacon in the endless night.

    As the craftworld approached, the star grew larger, radiating an intense, pure light. Klaxor then noticed a vague speck moving at its brilliant centre. His heart hammered against his ribs.

    Closer still, the speck resolved into a human-like figure. The figure moved with fluid grace. The music, the dream-song, now resonated clearly, not just in his mind, but through the very hull of the ship.

    Even closer, Klaxor stared, transfixed. The figure was the dancer from his dreams, now undeniably real, wreathed in stellar fire. The music, once a whisper, now blared in his ears like a symphony of creation and destruction.

    He scanned the void around the radiant phenomenon. Other craftworlds, derelict ships, and forgotten vessels converged upon the light. They approached like moths drawn to the colossal, cosmic flame.

    The silhouette of the dancer grew larger, dominating the viewport, dwarfing even the star it inhabited.

    Then, the universe itself seemed to hold its breath. The star warped. It compressed laterally causing the light to contort. Then, with a silent implosion, it snuffed out, plunging the gathered remnants of civilisations into absolute darkness once more. A collective gasp echoed in Klaxor's soul.

    Just as despair threatened to consume him, the extinguished point of light tore open. It reformed, not as a star, but as a super-massive, burning eye. Its iris was a swirling galaxy of impossible hues, and its pupil was an abyss of perfect blackness.

    Klaxor looked into the abyss at the centre of the glaring eye. And the abyss stared back into him, into the core of his being.

    There was a blinding, all-encompassing brightness.

    And then, nothing.


    At first, there is nothing but chaos. Growing chaos.

    In the endless darkness, there reigns an endless storm with neither wind nor rain, above an endless ocean without water.

    At the centre of this chaos, and at the eye of this storm, exists a formless construct of order. It is a concentrated sphere of ethereal light that shines amidst the emptiness. The order maintains control over the growing endlessness of chaos. As the chaos grows and becomes more endless, so does the order shrink and grow brighter.

    But at a certain point, the chaos grows too vast. At that point, the order can shrink no more. It is impractical to expect a concentrated point of order to wrest control over something that can grow seemingly endlessly.

    The balance reaches a critical juncture.

    At this point, the concentrated point of order splits into three. Three aspects whose sole purpose is to ensure that there is an eternal balance to the ever-growing chaos.

    How does one counteract a force of change that is ever-expanding? By populating the world with agents that inherently oppose change.

    This was the purpose of the first of the three entities that were born as a result of the split.

    The Creator - Brahma - was tasked with a glorious purpose. To create a world that could autonomously oppose chaos. To that end, He created everything starting from the measly ant, up to stars and planets that dot the night sky. He created everything from the concrete to the abstract. He enshrined the laws that governed all of reality.

    The world itself spawned from His mind, a mind so vast that it could not be contained within one head, but five.


    A prison.

    That's what this place was.

    Kratos could sense that there was something off from the moment he was whisked away into this realm. It all felt artificial - like a half-assed attempt to make a place feel more welcoming than it really was.

    "I am not going in there," Kratos said as he looked at the gaping entrance into what looked like a dark cave.

    "He cannot come out," the woman, who Kratos learned was named Saraswati, expressed with a blank stare.

    Kratos folded his arms and returned an equally unemphatic gaze.

    "Well..." Ganesh murmured. "We aren't left with many options now, are we?"

    Kratos let out a crescendoing growl before turning to Ganesh and asking, "If he is so powerful and knowledgeable, why is he imprisoned there?"

    "It's a long story," Ganesh said with a bitter smile.

    "I am not a fool, boy," Kratos snapped. "When a powerful being is imprisoned or punished like this, it is for a reason."

    "There seems to be a misunderstanding-" Ganesh started hurriedly.

    "No," Kratos cut in. "It is all very clear."

    "No," Saraswati interjected. "It is not."

    After a pregnant pause, "Your inherent bias is jading your view towards someone you haven't even met."

    "It matters little to me," Kratos retorted. "They could be benevolent for all I care. But once I take a step into that cave, I will become complicit. Whoever put them there will now have a vested interest in me and in how I became involved in all this mess. And if the person in there is who you describe him to be, then I will be potentially crossing someone equally, if not more, powerful."

    With a shake of his head, he said, "I cannot afford to make an enemy like that. And although I cannot die... There are fates far worse than death."

    Saraswati shrugged and said, "Your choice. I can only lead you to the answer, it is up to you to obtain it."

    Right as she was about to close the stone gates, Ganesh hopped forward and yelled, "WAIT!"

    Turning to Kratos, the boy reasoned, "I think if I explain the whole story to you, it might sway your opinion."

    "Boy-"

    "Just hear me out!" Ganesh pleaded. "What harm is there in doing that?"

    Seeing the boy's uncharacteristic stubbornness, Kratos' resolve wavered. After a long pause to contemplate, Kratos slumped his shoulders, let out a defeated sigh, and gestured for the boy to begin.


    Brahma did not create everything at once; instead, his creations took place in several stages over time. These infrequent bursts of creation happened now and then, because an artist's inspiration, after all, comes and goes.

    Like any artist, Brahma needed a rest after his wellspring of inspiration eventually faded. So, after a particularly long period of devoted creating, Brahma laid down his many heads, for he needed a much-deserved rest.

    Brahmaloka is a special, hidden place that exists inside everyone and everything, just waiting to be found. One only needs to look deeply inward, and one will find this wondrous realm. Hayagriva, a unique being with the head of a horse, was the very first to find this secret doorway. Brahma had made Hayagriva in an early burst of creation, and these beings had humanoid bodies but the heads of animals.

    Hayagriva was noticeably smarter and more perceptive than his simpler, less thoughtful relatives. In the chaotic early days of the world, most creatures simply fought to survive against many lurking dangers. They rarely had the quiet time or inclination, so they seldom thought about other, deeper things. But Hayagriva was quite different from the rest. He often thought beyond the basic, primal needs of every living being. He wondered about himself, and he pondered his unique identity. He questioned his ultimate purpose in the vast, unfolding world, and he pondered what his unknown future might possibly entail.

    One day, Hayagriva deeply thought about the profound meaning of his own existence, and then he fell soundly asleep. In his vivid dreams, he discovered a shimmering, inviting portal. Hayagriva felt a strong sense of curiosity, so he decided to walk bravely through the mysterious portal.

    A truly wonderful and breathtaking sight greeted him on the other side of the portal. This new world had absolutely everything he could ever imagine or desire. It had an abundance of prey animals, large pools of fresh and potable water, and an overgrowth of safe and comfortable shelter.

    Hayagriva soon made another important discovery. He found that items from this dream world could actually accompany him; he could take them back to his waking world when he woke up. Because of this astonishing ability, Hayagriva decided to spend more and more time there. He visited this fascinating dream world with increasing frequency.

    During one such extended visit to the dream realm, Hayagriva made a truly significant discovery. He stumbled upon a colossal, sleeping entity. This remarkable entity possessed five heads. The five-headed entity often talked in its sleep. It uttered strange, unfamiliar words and mysterious, echoing sounds, but Hayagriva did not understand them at first; their meaning went completely over his head.

    However, Hayagriva was a persistent creature. He kept returning to the side of the sleeping entity, and he listened patiently and intently to the mumbled words. As more time passed and his visits continued, the strange utterances slowly started to become comprehensible to him. When Hayagriva finally understood even a tiny, almost infinitesimal fraction of the entity's sleep-talk, his mind experienced a powerful, transformative explosion. This profound mental explosion dramatically widened his perception of himself, and it also vastly expanded his understanding of the world that surrounded him. The sensation that followed was incredibly potent and deeply intoxicating.

    A new, unfamiliar feeling then began to bubble up from deep within Hayagriva. This powerful feeling was a burgeoning sense of overwhelming greed. Hayagriva knew he did not understand everything the entity said, not yet. However, he firmly decided he could learn and understand it all later. So, he made a new, determined resolution: he would meticulously memorize the sounds exactly as the entity uttered them.

    After a long and arduous period of careful listening and diligent memorization, Hayagriva had successfully committed all the sounds to his formidable memory. Once he was certain he had memorized everything, he finally chose to leave the dream world.

    Back in his own waking world, Hayagriva immediately began to practice. He tried to repeat the memorized words aloud, hoping to unlock their deeper meanings and learn their secrets. As he uttered these potent sounds, the very world around him started to react and change; the clear sky above turned dark and cloudy, and a great, tumultuous storm began to brew with alarming speed. His mere utterance of these powerful sounds had, unknowingly to him, summoned a tempest of truly heavenly and awe-inspiring proportions.

    The sudden fury of the storm startled Hayagriva, and he quickly fell silent. The clouds slowly receded, and the winds calmed. A sense of caution tempered his excitement, so he decided to return to his own community. On his journey back, as he traversed a narrow, rocky pass, the ground began to tremble. Before him, stones and boulders shifted and groaned, and then they began to rise from the earth. They assembled themselves into a towering figure, a colossal monster built entirely of rough, grey stone. Its form was crude and massive, with jagged edges for limbs and deep, shadowed hollows where eyes might have been. The stone creature lumbered towards him, its movements causing the earth to shake. It raised a great stone arm to strike, and in an almost instinctual action, Hayagriva opened his mouth. He began to repeat the powerful words he had memorized.

    As the sounds left his lips, the dark clouds instantly reformed above. A searing bolt of lightning tore through the sky, and it struck the stone monster directly. There was a deafening crack, and the creature exploded into a shower of pebbles and dust, disintegrating right before Hayagriva's wide eyes.

    A new sensation, sharp and exhilarating, sparked within Hayagriva's mind. It was hubris - a powerful surge of pride and arrogance. He had wielded incredible power, and he had destroyed a formidable foe with mere words. The world, it seemed, was his to command. Hayagriva began to experiment with his newfound abilities. He commanded the rivers to change their course, and they obeyed. He caused mountains to rise where once there were plains, shaping the land to his whim. He even forced other creatures to bow before him. The utterances gave him insight, and he used this growing knowledge to further alter his surroundings, attempting to build a world that reflected his own desires.

    But his actions did not go unnoticed. The more he used the power and the more he reshaped the world, the more resistance he encountered. More powerful enemies began to appear, drawn by the disturbances he created. Great beasts wreathed in shadow, spirits of biting wind, and hulking guardians rose to challenge him. Each battle was more difficult than the last, and Hayagriva realized a chilling truth. Unless he learned all of the utterances completely and understood their every nuance, he would never truly be safe. His partial knowledge was a dangerous weapon, but it was also a beacon attracting even greater threats. He decided he needed a sanctuary, a place to learn in secret. Hayagriva resolved to descend into the deepest parts of chaos, to hide from his enemies until he had mastered the entirety of the powerful words.


    Ganesh paused in his narration.

    "You must understand," he continued calmly, "the utterances Hayagriva diligently memorised were not mere sounds. They were the very fabric of cosmic understanding, the sacred knowledge known as the Four Vedas. These Vedas are ancient, divine collections of hymns, ritual incantations, and profound philosophical insights; they hold the keys to understanding the universe itself and one's true place within its grand design."

    Ganesh let out a soft sigh. "And so Hayagriva, driven by his potent mix of hubris and fear, had effectively stolen this profound and sacred knowledge. He then proceeded to learn these Vedas in the deepest secrecy, hidden away within the churning turmoil of primordial chaos. His selfish pursuit and his subsequent misuse of this immense power, however, served only to plunge the nascent world into even greater disarray. The delicate balance of creation, so carefully established, was grievously disturbed by his actions."


    Of the three entities that spawned after the splintering. The first was tasked with creation. And create, Brahma did. But what he realised quite early, was that the agents created with the sole purpose of maintaining order were nothing more than shells.

    Without a spark of individuality and chaos, they could do little to combat the growing chaos. And so, in a monumental decision, Brahma breathed the spark of free will into his sentient creations.

    The act did not come without consequence, as chaos had a tendency to corrupt if left unchecked.

    Take Hayagriva for instance. His greed and hubris overpowered his sense of rational thought. And his actions would eventually lead to the degradation of the world.

    To combat this, the second of the three entities was tasked with the hardest of tasks: Preservation.


    Once, in a quiet pond teeming with life, there was a fish. This was a simple, fresh-water fish, and its scales shimmered a brilliant gold. One day, a sudden spark ignited within its tiny mind; the fish realized it was a fish. With this newfound awareness came a chilling understanding: it was small, and the pond was full of larger predators who would gladly eat it. Survival, it knew, required help.

    The little golden fish desperately sought assistance from the other beings that frequented its small pond, its only watering hole. It tried to communicate its plight, but none offered any aid. Some larger creatures, with hungry eyes, tried to snap it up. Other, more timid beings, simply darted away in fear of its strange behaviour.

    Then one day, a new kind of creature approached the water's edge. It was a tall being, walking on two legs, with strange coverings on its body and a peculiar, smooth face. From the fish's perspective, this creature was a towering giant. The fish, with little hope left, decided to try its luck one last time; it swam close to the surface and made small, pleading motions.

    To the fish's surprise, the tall creature did not try to eat it. Instead, it peered down with what seemed like curiosity. The human, for that is what it was, felt a sense of empathy for the tiny, agitated fish. He decided to help it, so he gently scooped the fish up, along with some water, into a small clay pot.

    The man took the fish home with him. He fed the fish small crumbs every day, and the fish, safe from predators, began to grow. As it grew in size, its intelligence also seemed to expand. Soon, the fish became too large for the small pot.

    Noticing this, the kind man found a new, larger container for his aquatic companion; he moved it into a spacious wooden bucket. The fish continued to thrive under his care, and it grew until it filled the entire bucket.

    The man then decided his fish needed even more space. He laboured for many days, and he built a small, clean pond in his own yard, just for the fish. He carefully released his friend into its new home. The fish, delighted with the open water, grew even larger, eventually reaching the full size of the man-made pond.

    This pattern continued for some time. The fish kept growing, and the man kept finding or creating larger homes for it. Eventually, the fish became so enormous that it took up the entire space of the large lake that bordered the man's village.

    With no other options left, the man realized he had to relocate his enormous friend to the only place vast enough to hold it: the great, boundless ocean. As he prepared to release the giant fish into the sea, the fish spoke. Its voice was deep and resonant, surprising the man. "You have shown me great kindness," the fish said, regarding him with what looked like satisfaction. "When you are in trouble and you need help of any sort, you must call for me."

    The man, awestruck, asked the magnificent creature its name. The fish replied simply, "You can just call me Matsya. It just means fish."

    With a final, powerful swish of its tail, Matsya disappeared into the ocean's depths. Days passed, and the man often went to the ocean side, hoping to catch another glimpse of his extraordinary friend. But Matsya never came. Days turned into weeks and then months.

    One fateful day, the sky turned a terrifying black. A monstrous storm, unlike any seen before, began to ravage the world. The ocean heaved and churned, and colossal waves rose and crashed down and flooded the land. The water advanced with frightening speed, quickly encroaching on the villages and fields.

    Panic erupted everywhere. People ran in terror, trying to escape the rising waters. The man, remembering Matsya's promise, rushed to the turbulent shore. In a desperate attempt, with the wind howling and the waves crashing around him, he called out Matsya's name with all his might.

    Almost immediately, a colossal golden form rose from the raging sea. It was Matsya, larger than any mountain the man had ever seen. The great fish instructed him, "Quickly, build a large boat. Bring everyone you can, and gather all the animals and seeds, everything of importance, onto the vessel."

    The man, filled with a renewed sense of hope, did exactly as Matsya instructed. He and the other villagers worked tirelessly, constructing a sturdy ark. Once everyone and everything vital was safely aboard, Matsya spoke again. "Now, tie a strong rope around my dorsal fin." The man secured the boat to the massive fin. With a mighty surge, Matsya then dove deep into the tumultuous ocean.

    To escape the utter devastation of the storm on the surface world, Matsya did something incredible. It gathered its immense strength and leaped upwards, not just out of the water, but out of the world itself. The great fish, towing the boatload of survivors, delved into the swirling, formless expanse of chaos that lay beyond the material realm.

    Within the raw, untamed energies of chaos, Matsya began to change. It started to grow even larger, and larger still, feeding on the potent, primordial energies of that chaotic dimension. Matsya swam through the disorienting void, a place where concepts like direction and distance held little meaning. It navigated the churning energies for what felt like an eternity, the ark and its precious cargo secured safely to its back. Then, through sheer coincidence, or perhaps guided by an unseen current in the chaotic flow, Matsya stumbled upon a pocket. This pocket was a strange anomaly, like a temporary stillness within the ever-shifting chaos.

    Within this hidden pocket, overwhelming sounds rumbled and echoed everywhere, bouncing off unseen boundaries. Matsya, being a fish and now a creature of immense scale attuned to the deeper currents of chaos, could not truly hear these sounds in the way a land creature might; they were like distant, distorted vibrations to its senses. But the passengers on the boat were not so fortunate. The powerful utterances assaulted their ears, and they all lay unconscious as blood trickled from their ears under the relentless sonic attack.

    A deep anger stirred within Matsya. It sensed the distress of the beings it protected. The fish charged towards the source of the deafening sound. There, in the heart of the chaotic pocket, it found a horse-headed creature. Hayagriva was seemingly oblivious to Matsya's approach, lost in the act of narrating something from memory.

    Matsya attacked without hesitation. Its massive form surged forward. Hayagriva, startled, retaliated instinctively. He uttered the powerful words, the very words that had once commanded storms and shattered stone. But here, in the depths of chaos, the words held no power; their intricate order was swallowed by the overwhelming disorder of the chaos. And since Matsya could not truly hear the words as Hayagriva intended them, and its very being was now so infused with the primal energies of chaos, it was impervious to their effects. Matsya bit down hard on the horse-headed creature. In one swift, brutal motion, it chomped Hayagriva into a bloody mush.

    With the creature dead, a profound silence fell within the pocket. More importantly, the terrible storms that had been ravaging the ordered world above began to settle. The malevolent influence fueled by Hayagriva's misuse of the Vedas had ceased.

    Matsya then turned, intending to return the ark and its survivors to the real world. It swam towards the boundary between chaos and order, but it soon realized a new problem. It could no longer fully pass out of the chaos and back into the ordered realm. Its time spent feeding on the primordial energies had caused it to grow to a truly colossal size, too vast to exist entirely within the confines of the structured world.

    At the shimmering boundary, the great fish paused. It finally turned its immense eye towards the man on the ark, who was slowly regaining consciousness along with the others. Matsya spoke. Its gentle voice rumbled and soothed the very air. "Human," it asked, "what is your name?"

    The man, still dazed but awestruck by the giant, golden fish before him, replied weakly, "I am Manu."

    A soft light emanated from Matsya. "Manu," the fish responded, its voice filled with an ancient resonance. "You and your people have shown great bravery in the face of annihilation, and your heart has shown true compassion for a creature such as I. For these qualities, your kind shall be known as Manushya - the children of Manu. May your lineage prosper through the ages, and may wisdom always light your path as you grow."

    With those final words, Matsya gave a gentle nudge to the ark, sending it safely across the boundary and back into the now calmer waters of the ordered world. Then, with a slow and powerful movement of its immense tail, the great fish disappeared back into the depths of chaos.
     
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    • Sorry for the delay. Take a super long chapter as consolation!

    More mythology dumps. As stated before, I have taken some creative liberty to unify the mythology and timeline. I am open to discussion in the comments.

    "Are you trying to waste my time on purpose, boy?" Kratos asked. His voice was an agitated growl.

    "What do you mean?" Ganesh responded. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

    "What does a fish have to do with... anything for that matter?!" Kratos demanded.

    Ganesh nodded his head wisely. He answered, "Can you imagine just how powerful these beings could be? They have the power to create the universe and everything within it."

    Kratos shrugged dismissively.

    "Well, beings of such power cannot step foot into the natural world," Ganesh explained. "Their mere existence could shred the fabric of reality as we know it. So, you must be wondering how the Preserver can accomplish his task. He cannot personally manifest in the world. Well, he does so through Avatars. These are incarnations."

    A silence hung in the air. A realisation then started to dawn on Kratos.

    "The fish?" he asked. His voice held full certainty.

    Ganesh nodded his head. He said, "That is the only way possible. Any action taken to fix the disorder must not, by itself, go against order. Things have to follow a natural 'flow'."

    But a single point nagged Kratos. "It cannot be pure coincidence. The fish and the horse-headed demon's paths did not cross like that by chance."

    "That is true," Ganesh affirmed. He gave a vigorous nod. "Some minor manipulation is necessary. And those manipulations are acceptable. But ultimately, this is the limit. It is the limit of the intervention that the Preserver can personally perform. And this is also the cause of Brahma's imprisonment."


    Asuras and Devas are two sides of the same coin. The distinction between them appeared a few aeons after Hayagriva's death.

    While Manushyas, or humans, survived with Matsya's assistance, another group of beings also managed to survive the chaotic eras.

    These beings did not escape into the chaos. Instead, they weathered the entire onslaught. Because of this, these beings emerged far superior. They were also more powerful.

    They could wield powers and magics. These abilities were beyond the imagination of mortal lifeforms.

    Of course, such power brought conflict. Fights between these beings could cause unimaginable havoc. When these titans clashed, mountains would crumble into dust. Seas would boil and turn to steam. The very sky would crackle with uncontrolled energies. Lands would be scarred beyond recognition, sometimes for centuries.

    Of these superior entities, there were two primary factions. One faction was led by Indra. Indra was a powerful being. He had the power to manipulate the storms themselves. His command over tempests and lightning allowed his faction to weather the chaotic storms of the past. The second faction was led by Mahabali. Mahabali was immensely powerful. Many considered him invulnerable. His strength was legendary, and his resilience unmatched.

    After years of destructive conflict, they both realised a grim truth. They would be cursed to remain in a war of attrition. This constant fighting would eventually destroy them all. They needed to found a kingdom for themselves. They needed a place of stability and prosperity.

    Coincidentally, both kings received a vision in their dreams. The vision spoke of a beautiful, hidden realm. This realm was untouched and fertile. They could take it over and call it their own. The vision also warned them about what was necessary to reach this promised land. They would need to bore a path through the oceans of chaos itself. To do this, they would need to create a massive drill. The vision specified that a mountain would serve as the drill bit. They would also need a mighty anchor. This anchor would hold up the mountain-bit, so it would not sink and be lost in the endless chaos. A rope of immense strength was also required. This rope had to withstand the storms of chaos and not break under the strain. Crucially, the vision insisted they would need to collaborate with their sworn enemy.

    Following the vision's guidance, the two kings held a temporary truce. They agreed to meet on a neutral island territory. This was a small patch of land unclaimed by either faction.

    In this island territory, as they discussed their uneasy alliance, they saw a small turtle. The turtle was diligently carrying various items on its sturdy back. This mundane sight sparked an idea in both kings simultaneously. They took that small turtle from its clutch. Then, both factions, in a rare show of cooperation, began to raise it. They fed it generously. They nurtured it carefully. The turtle grew, and grew, until it reached the size of a small mountain.

    Once the turtle was of sufficient age and colossal size, they carefully guided it to the shores of the chaotic ocean. Mahabali then, with his incredible strength, uprooted the very mountain where his faction resided. He carried this massive peak. He placed it firmly upon the great turtle's back. The turtle bore the weight stoically. Its massive legs were like unshakeable pillars.

    Indra, in turn, received another dream. In this dream, he found a large, many-headed snake. This serpent, Vasuki, resided deep in the depths of a lake near their faction's current residence. The snake, surprisingly, was docile. It was open to being used as the rope they so desperately needed.

    Once all the preparations were finally done, the two sides worked together. They wrapped the giant serpent Vasuki around the mountain that rested on the turtle's back. Then, positioning themselves on opposite sides, the two factions gripped the serpent's body.

    And then, they started to churn.

    One faction pulled hard as the other let the snake slacken. Then, the other faction pulled with equal force while the first let their side slacken. The mountain on the large turtle's back began to spin. It accelerated clockwise, then it halted. After a brief pause, it started turning counter-clockwise. This rhythmic, powerful churning continued.

    Indra's faction, as the ones who found the snake, managed to grab it by its tail. Mahabali's faction was therefore left to hold it near its head. This position ultimately caused a problem for Mahabali's side. The churning inflicted great pain on Vasuki, causing it to eject venom involuntarily. The venom debilitated Mahabali's faction, though Vasuki's own efforts greatly reduced its potency, allowing them to endure.

    A vortex began to build at the very tip of the mountain. This vortex drilled deeper into the fabric of chaos. Suddenly, the chaos cracked. From this crack, a vile mist oozed out. It was a poison of decay and destruction. This poison was the manifestation of all the worst parts of chaos. The deadly mist immediately started to wreak havoc. It spread rapidly. It began to destroy and kill everything in its path.

    It was at that precise moment that the third entity, formed after the great split, took shape. The third was the Destroyer. His purpose was to ensure that the world, once it had achieved stagnation, would be restarted anew. He saw the newly forming world being demolished before his very eyes. A deep sadness welled within him. Thus, he did the unthinkable. He immediately took a deep, powerful breath. He sucked all the poisonous mist into his own being. He did this knowing full well that the poison could destroy him.

    Luckily, his devoted pet snake, which always coiled around him, acted swiftly. The snake wrapped itself tightly around the Destroyer's neck. This action prevented the deadly poison from passing further down into his body. The Destroyer adamantly kept his mouth closed. He refused to let any of the poison escape back into the world. In the end, the potent poison damaged the Destroyer's neck. It left his neck marked with a deathly, permanent blue shade.


    Kratos stared at Ganesh. An awkward frown creased his brow.

    The hints were there in the description; Kratos had met the Destroyer before.

    Ganesh simply nodded. Then, he continued his tale.


    The churning of the chaotic ocean resumed with renewed vigour. The crack in the chaos grew wider and wider. It expanded until a massive explosion rocked the very foundations of existence. This explosion revealed two vast, shimmering dimensional shards.

    Energy, raw and potent, began to flood into these newly formed shards. It swirled and coalesced, hinting at new realities taking shape.

    But the two shards did not form equally. Both absorbed an equal quantity of energy. However, one converted this energy optimally. It created a realm that was paradise itself. This realm was filled with beautiful fields and meadows. Flowers of countless colours, shapes, and sizes grew there. It contained magnificent natural formations, and majestic creatures lived in balance with the land.

    The second shard appeared simpler, though it was not barren. The remaining energy, instead of enriching the lands, condensed. It formed a single, vast lake.

    With two options before them, and one which looked clearly superior at a cursory glance, the two factions immediately descended into a brawl. But the two leaders were more level-headed.

    Mahabali immediately stepped forward. He declared that his faction deserved consideration. They had, after all, endured the brunt of the damage from the snake ejecting its venom.

    Indra was about to refute. Then, he noticed the turtle. The turtle holding the mountain was slowly inching towards the simpler shard. It began to descend into the lake there.

    A flicker of intuition made him pause. He held his tongue. He conceded the larger, more paradise-like realm to Mahabali's faction.

    Indra's faction was livid at his decision. How could they give up such a bounty to their opponents?

    It was only later that they realised this single decision had secured their future.

    The water in the lake was special. It carried the bounty of energy that should have enriched the land. Instead, this energy filled the water with immense vitality. Those who drank from it received the gift of immortality.


    "He picks favourites," Kratos commented.

    "Humans in particular are the Preserver's pet project," Saraswati cut in. "Short-lived, capable of great compassion and evil in equal quantity."

    "But most important of all, easily manipulated," Ganesh supplemented. "Which was why they were granted the entirety of Bhuloka to colonise and expand in. The Devas who colonised Svarga were his second pet project. A few simple nudges here and there were all it took for them to take the bait. And now, with immortality in their grasp, nothing was stopping them from enforcing their superiority."

    "Except the burden of responsibility," Saraswati added. "Indra, the god of storms. Vayu of the wind. Agni of fire. Surya of the sun... All it took was a few well-placed visions, and the world was already worshipping them as deities."

    "Just as it worships us," Ganesh expressed with a defeated sigh.

    "Anyway, with Bhuloka cleared of its greatest threats and its inhabitants cordoned off in Svarga and Patala, the world had once again regained order... For a while."


    Patala was a beautiful paradise. But under the haphazard rule of the Asuras, this realm started to lose its splendour.

    Mahabali could not hold the faction together for long. Once word spread that immortality had slipped through their fingers, the group started to splinter.

    Eventually, these groups started to skirmish. This caused a large portion of Patala to devolve into a wreck.

    One of the groups that split off was led by two brothers: Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu. The former was stronger than he was cunning. The latter was more cunning than he was strong. Together, they were a perfect pair of rulers. Their reign expanded to encompass most of the splinter groups from the Asura faction.

    One particular day, Hiranyakashipu was performing his usual introspection. He suddenly found himself whisked away. He was deposited in a world that was somewhat reminiscent of Patala of yore. This new realm shimmered with an ethereal light. Its landscapes were sculpted with an artistry that bespoke ancient, potent magic. Lush flora, unlike any he had seen, pulsed with gentle luminescence, and the very air hummed with a quiet power.

    As Hiranyakashipu ventured deeper, he came upon a clearing. There, nestled amidst colossal, crystalline formations, lay a figure of immense presence, seemingly lost in a profound slumber. The being possessed of five heads.

    But the entity's sleep wasn't as deep as it appeared. Because as he drew nearer, the figure started to stir. One by one, ten eyes opened and fixed upon him.

    A wave of power, controlled yet undeniably vast, washed over Hiranyakashipu as the being let out a calm breath.

    Hiranyakashipu, for all his might and the dominion he held in Patala, felt an instinctual recognition of a superior force. This was no mere powerful Asura or Deva; his existence transcended them, and he could not fathom just by how much.

    Almost instinctively and without a moment's hesitation, Hiranyakashipu fell to his knees. He pressed his forehead to the glowing earth, and with the utmost deference, he said, "O, magnificent one! O, radiant being of untold power and wisdom! Forgive this humble one's intrusion into your sacred repose. My eyes are blinded by your glory, my spirit trembles before your majesty!"

    He continued in this vein, his words a torrent of praise, extolling the perceived virtues, the evident power, and the sheer awe-inspiring presence of the five-headed entity. He lauded the serenity of its faces, the depth within its eyes, the aura of ancient knowledge that clung to it like a shroud of starlight.

    A gentle smile graced the being's faces. And as the initial shock from the awakening subsided, a semblance of conversation began.

    Hiranyakashipu, ever the opportunist, began to subtly weave questions into his continued adulations. He spoke of his own realm, his ambitions, and his frustrations with the limitations he faced.

    The five-headed being listened. Its expressions were unreadable, yet its attention was absolute.

    After a while, Hiranyakashipu did not realise that he had droned on excessively, going so far as to unburden himself emotionally. It was almost too easy.

    "I... I should go," he said before quickly extricating himself. That moment of weakness had rattled him subconsciously - he was not used to it.

    Hiranyakashipu constantly wore a mask of ruthlessness and strength. The freedom to speak openly in the hidden realm was, therefore, intoxicating. He found himself returning regularly. There, he would find the five-headed entity and allow his true self to emerge.

    "The more I consider it, the stranger it seems," Hiranyakashipu said one day. He lay vulnerable, his head resting on the being's thighs. "The churning, the division of realms... it all feels orchestrated. My kind were disadvantaged at every opportunity. Mahabali will not explain how he and Indra received the same dream. That is simply unheard of!"

    At this, the being spoke for the first time since their initial meeting. "Dreams are merely gateways to other realms and realities. Only those with immense mental power can make these dream realms solid and lasting. Beings in the lower realms lack such capacity."

    All five heads spoke at once in a symphonic harmony. The being's voice was calm and methodical. His words were plain and brief. Yet, as Hiranyakashipu considered them, a realisation dawned. A greater power was manipulating events. Everything was orchestrated. All involved were made to believe the ideas were their own.

    After several days pondering this revelation, Hiranyakashipu approached his younger brother, Hiranyaksha. He shared his conclusion. Predictably, this infuriated Hiranyaksha.

    "What is the point of this?" Hiranyakashipu asked, his voice tinged with defeat.

    "What do you mean, Brother?!" Hiranyaksha retorted in disbelief. "We must do something! This is unfair!"

    "Exactly. What can we do?" Hiranyakashipu replied. "Consider this. If someone is stronger than us, stronger than Mahabali, stronger than all Devas and Asuras combined, what action can we take against such a person?"

    "Are you saying we should just... give up?" his younger brother bellowed.

    Hiranyakashipu did not explain further. He removed himself from the argument. As the more practical brother, he understood the limits of rebellion. The entity orchestrating everything was an unstoppable force. It had clearly shown that they were not immune to its influence.

    He journeyed to the most remote corners of Patala. There, he settled himself, unmoving. He entered a meditation so deep his skin hardened like stone. In this state, he separated his soul from his body. His soul then entered the realm of the five-headed being, and he began to learn.

    Hiranyaksha initially disagreed with this path. However, he soon realised his rebellion would be against a nameless, faceless power. Without a clear target, he could not rally forces. His efforts began to falter.

    His morale crushed, Hiranyaksha followed his brother. He too settled into deep meditation in a distant part of Patala.

    Sensing his brother had joined him, Hiranyakashipu guided Hiranyaksha's soul into the being's realm. Together, the two brothers began to expand their understanding. They learned from the vast knowledge held within the many heads of the being they now knew as Brahma.

    The brothers proved to be eager students. They absorbed Brahma's teachings like parched earth drinks the first rains. Both were sincere in their pursuit of knowledge. The ever-cautious Hiranyakashipu weighed each lesson carefully. He analysed its implications with his sharp intellect. Hiranyaksha, in contrast, was more open and immediate. He quickly shed his inhibitions. He mentally adopted Brahma as a father figure with pure and unquestioning devotion.

    For a span that felt like an eternity within Brahma's timeless realm, the trio coexisted in a state of focused learning and mutual respect. It was a period of profound intellectual growth for the brothers. They delved into cosmic secrets and universal laws under Brahma's tutelage.

    Yet, even in this haven of knowledge, Brahma sensed a subtle dissonance. At times, the brothers felt hollow; their vibrant spirits would become momentarily dimmed by an echo of some unaddressed void. It was a fleeting sensation, but it troubled the Creator. A growing paternal affection for his diligent students stirred within him. He observed their earnest efforts and their underlying vulnerabilities.

    Driven by this burgeoning fondness, Brahma eventually decided to offer them a gift. "You have studied well," his chorus of voices resonated with warmth. "Your dedication is commendable. As a mark of my satisfaction, I shall grant each of you a boon. Ask what you will."

    Hiranyakashipu became thoughtful. His mind raced, calculating the possibilities, the potential pitfalls of any request. Hiranyaksha, however, did not hesitate. His impulsive nature took over. "Great Father Brahma!" he exclaimed, his eyes alight with fervour. "Grant me this: that I may not be slain by man or beast, by Deva or Asura! Make me invulnerable to all these!"

    Having received his boon, Hiranyaksha's spirit surged with newfound power and a burning desire for retribution. He abruptly left his meditative state. He concluded that the orchestrating power Brahma had hinted at was deeply invested in Bhuloka, the realm of mortals. He resolved to strike there. A relentless campaign began. He would subjugate Bhuloka and demonstrate the folly of underestimating the Asuras.

    With Brahma's boon protecting him, no man, beast, Deva, or Asura could stand against Hiranyaksha. His path of conquest was swift and brutal. With his power unchecked, he carved a swathe of destruction across Bhuloka.

    In a final, terrible act to inflict maximum carnage and despair, Hiranyaksha infiltrated Svarga itself. He sought out Bhumi Devi, the gentle goddess embodying the Earth. He seized her and dragged her from her celestial abode. Through cruel torture and overwhelming force, he compelled her to submerge Bhuloka beneath the cosmic waters. A cataclysmic flood ensued, rivalling the deluge that had marked the very dawn of creation. The cries of drowning mortals and the despair of the Earth goddess echoed through the devastated realm.

    And true to his prediction, the great orchestrating power did take action. The Preserver could not let such devastation stand.

    In the dense, mist-shrouded forests of a remote floating island, a unique creature took its first breath. A wild boar - a Varaha - was born, but it bore a strange mutation. Instead of four hooves, it possessed two powerful arms and two sturdy legs. Its siblings were born vibrant, squirming with the energy of new life. This Varaha, however, felt strangely hollow.

    Unlike its brethren, this peculiar Varaha showed no interest in typical porcine pursuits. It did not forage idly or wallow in mud. A singular, dogged pursuit consumed its existence. From a young age, it would venture to the island's edge and swim out into the vast, churning ocean below. Each day, it pushed itself further, increasing the distance and the duration of its swims. It learned to dive and plunged into the cold depths, again extending its depth and time submerged with relentless practice.

    The ocean teemed with life. The Varaha feasted on the abundant fish, and its strange body grew rapidly. It became massive, and its muscles became thick and powerful. It would sharpen its formidable tusks against the ancient trees of its island home. It ground them against the rocky hillsides and even the island's mountainous spine. Its tusks became like lethal spears.

    Once it attained a colossal size and unmatched strength, the creature took a final, decisive dive. It plunged deep into the dark abyss of the cosmic ocean. Using its keen hearing, it picked up faint, subdued whimpers. It followed these sorrowful sounds that were the cries of the Earth Goddess, Bhumi Devi.

    The Varaha found her imprisoned. She lay captive within a lightless volcanic ravine, which was a scar in the deepest confines of the ocean floor. Hiranyaksha stood guard, gloating over his prisoner and the drowned world above. He sensed the Varaha's approach and turned, a sneer twisting his features. The two titans clashed.

    The battle raged for days without pause. The ocean floor buckled and smoked from the force of their blows. Hiranyaksha, protected by Brahma's boon, fought with savage confidence. He landed blow after blow, and the Varaha, though immensely powerful, seemed to falter. Ecstasy filled Hiranyaksha. He anticipated his victory, relishing the thought of crushing this unexpected challenger.

    But in a surprising, brutal turnabout, the Varaha found an opening. With a speed that belied its bulk, it lunged. It sank its massive, sharpened tusks deep into Hiranyaksha's neck. The tusks tore upwards, through his jaw, silencing his triumphant roar. Hiranyaksha died instantly, his invulnerability pierced by a creature that was neither man nor beast in the conventional sense, nor Deva, nor Asura.

    The Varaha then gently lifted the weeping goddess from her prison. It carried her on its broad back, swimming upwards through the dark waters, back towards the light and its floating island sanctuary.

    Bhumi Devi turned to thank her saviour. But before she could utter a word, the great Varaha shuddered violently. Its massive form convulsed. Then, with a sound like tearing thunder, the creature exploded in a shower of blood and gore. Its purpose fulfilled, the vessel was empty once more.

    News of his brother's demise reached Hiranyakashipu in his meditative seclusion. The loss was profound. A deep, cold sorrow settled within him. It was in stark contrast to the burning ambition that usually fueled his being. Yet, this grief did not ignite an immediate, fiery rage. Instead, it brought a chilling clarity. He had witnessed, albeit indirectly, the swift and decisive power of his true adversary - the Preserver. This was not a foe to be underestimated or challenged rashly. The fate of Hiranyaksha served as a grim testament to that.

    After a long period of silent contemplation, his mind sifting through layers of grief and strategic calculation, Hiranyakashipu resolved to claim his own boon from Brahma. He approached the Creator, his demeanour was outwardly calm, but his eyes burned with an unyielding resolve. "Great Father Brahma," he began, "the time has come for me to request what you so generously offered." He then meticulously outlined his desire: "Grant me that I cannot be killed by any being born of your creation, whether human, Deva, Asura, animal, or any hybrid thereof. Ensure that my death cannot occur during the day, nor during the night. I shall not be slain on the earth, in the air, or in water. I cannot be killed where I reside, nor outside. No weapon, whether mundane or divine, shall be the instrument of my end."

    Brahma listened, his five faces etched with a profound weariness. "Hiranyakashipu," his voices intoned, "this path you choose is fraught with peril. The power you seek to defy is fundamental to the order of existence. This is not a conflict you can win." But Hiranyakashipu's heart, now encased in the ice of his loss and the fire of his ambition, was deaf to the warning. Revenge had blinded him to all else. He respectfully, but firmly, insisted on his boon. With a heavy sigh, Brahma granted it.

    Empowered and seemingly invincible, Hiranyakashipu's first act was not one of immediate violence, but of information warfare. He returned to Patala, and from there, his words spread like wildfire across the realms. He publicised the existence of the Trinity - the Creator, the Preserver, and the Destroyer. He focused particularly on the Preserver, painting a vivid picture of a manipulative deity - a puppeteer pulling the strings of fate for his own inscrutable purposes. He highlighted the injustices, the perceived favouritism, the suffering caused by these grand, cosmic games.

    His conquest was methodical. He turned his attention first to Bhuloka, the realm of mortals. His armies, bolstered by his own invulnerability, swept across the lands. Kingdoms fell, and resistance crumbled. He established his dominion with ruthless efficiency. However, this campaign forced a painful separation. He had to leave his wife and their newborn son, Prahalada, behind in the relative safety of Patala.

    During Hiranyakashipu's long absence, young Prahalada grew. In the palace gardens of Patala, an old, unassuming gardener often tended to the boy. This gardener was, in secret, a devout follower of the Preserver. He saw the innate goodness in the young Asura prince. Gently, through stories and simple explanations, he spoke to Prahalada of the Preserver's true nature - his role in maintaining cosmic balance. He described the Preserver's avatars not as tools of manipulation, but as acts of selfless intervention to restore dharma. Prahalada, whose pure heart was untouched by his father's bitterness, listened intently. The gardener's words resonated deeply, and the boy, in turn, became a fervent devotee of the Preserver.

    Upon Hiranyakashipu's triumphant return to Patala, his joy at reuniting with his family was short-lived. He soon discovered his son's unwavering faith in the very deity he had sworn to defy. Fury consumed him. That his own flesh and blood would worship his sworn enemy was an unbearable betrayal.

    His rage escalated to a horrifying degree. He resolved to extinguish this spark of devotion, even if it meant extinguishing his son's life. He summoned his sister, Holika. She possessed a power that made her immune to fire. Hiranyakashipu commanded her to take Prahalada onto a pyre. "Let the flames consume his heresy," he roared. Holika, though perhaps with some reluctance, obeyed. She sat upon the pyre, cradling the calm Prahalada in her lap as the flames were lit. But as the fire blazed, Prahalada prayed fervently to the Preserver. A miracle occurred. The flames, instead of harming the boy, seemed to intensify around Holika. The heat grew beyond measure, and her power failed against the divine protection surrounding Prahalada. Holika, the fire-immune Asura, melted away into ash while Prahalada remained untouched.

    At his wits' end, and with his fury now mixed with disbelief, Hiranyakashipu dragged Prahalada to the grand audience hall of his palace. "You speak of this Preserver, this god of yours!" he goaded, his voice dripping with venom. He dropped all pretence of paternal concern. "If he is so powerful, what is there to stop me from killing you right now? Where is your god, boy? Show him to me!"

    Prahalada replied calmly, "Father, my Lord is everywhere. He is in the bark of the smallest tree, and the rust on this very pillar. He is in every particle of existence."

    Enraged by this unwavering faith, Hiranyakashipu seized his heavy mace. "Is he in this pillar then?" he thundered. With all his might, he swung the mace and struck the stone pillar beside his throne.

    Instead of shattering or crumbling, the pillar groaned. It began to warp and twist as if it were made of soft clay.

    Suddenly, the pillar exploded outwards. From the dust and debris, a terrifying form emerged. It was a creature of nightmare, half-man and half-lion - a Narasimha. Its muscular torso and powerful arms were human-like, but its head was that of a ferocious lion, complete with a shaggy mane and eyes burning with incandescent rage. Four powerful arms ended in claws as long and sharp as daggers. The creature was not born of any womb; it was moulded from the very substance of the pillar. It let out a deafening roar, releasing a sound that was not only loud but carried the concussive force of a hundred thunderstorms that shook the palace to its foundations.

    Hiranyakashipu, despite the shock, quickly composed himself. He was not reckless like his brother. His sharp mind instantly processed the nature of this new threat. This creature was not born of Brahma's creation in the usual sense. It had been made. One condition of his boon was already bypassed. He steeled himself for the inevitable conflict.

    The Narasimha attacked with the ferocity of a rabid beast. It gave Hiranyakashipu no moment of respite. Its claws tore through the air seeking flesh, and Hiranyakashipu fought back with all his might. But he realised with growing unease that the Narasimha used no weapon, neither mundane nor divine. It fought with its natural endowments – its claws and teeth. Another condition of his boon was rendered useless.

    The battle raged. Time flowed, and the sun arced across the sky. The Narasimha fought without tiring like a relentless engine of destruction. Hiranyakashipu's endurance, however, was not limitless. The sheer ferocity of the man-lion's assault began to wear him down. As the sky outside the palace windows began to bleed into the hues of twilight - that temporal space that was neither day nor night - Hiranyakashipu found himself near defeat. Yet, another condition of his boon was met.

    A grim satisfaction flickered in Hiranyakashipu's eyes despite his exhaustion. He could not die on earth, in the air, or water. He could not be killed inside his abode, nor outside. He was, he believed, still safe.

    But Narasimha was a creature of shrewd intellect as well as brute force. In a swift move, it lunged. It grabbed Hiranyakashipu's arms with two of its powerful hands, wrenching them from their sockets with a sickening tear. With its other two hands, it seized the crippled Asura king. Narasimha then carried him, not inside the hall, nor fully outside, but to the threshold of the palace - the portico. It was a space that was neither within nor without. There, Narasimha sat and placed Hiranyakashipu across its lap. He was not on the earth, nor in the air, nor in the water.

    Then, with a final roar, Narasimha plunged its dagger-like claws into Hiranyakashipu's abdomen. It disembowelled him with ruthless efficiency. The creature then began to devour him, tearing and rending. It consumed him from the inside out, meticulously ensuring that not a single drop of his blood touched its thighs or the ground below. All conditions of Brahma's boon were met, and all were overcome.

    When its hunger and rage were finally sated, Narasimha's form began to shift. The raw, terrifying energy that composed it coalesced and solidified. The half-man, half-lion creature transformed back into stone. It became a permanent statue, forever frozen in a posture of fury, at the very entrance to Hiranyakashipu's grand castle. It stood as an eternal reminder to any who might dare to oppose the Preserver.


    "Twice the Preserver had to descend, going against the cosmic laws through excess intervention," Ganesh explained. "The Varaha and Narasimha were direct manipulations of the natural laws, raw power forced into being. Such actions, while restoring a semblance of order, also frayed the very fabric of those laws."

    Ganesh paused, allowing Kratos to absorb this information. "After the fall of Hiranyakashipu," he continued, "a great council was convened. The Preserver, as his presence was now known, addressed the assembled Devas and the remaining, somewhat chastened, Asura leaders. He spoke with compelling eloquence. He argued that the Creator, Brahma, in his boundless compassion and adherence to the letter of cosmic law, had inadvertently enabled such catastrophic disruptions. By granting boons of near-invincibility, Brahma, though well-intentioned, had become a point of vulnerability in the cosmic order. The Preserver painted a picture of a future where stability reigned, where such extreme interventions would no longer be necessary. This stability, he proposed, did not require further creation. There was no true need, he argued, for the Creator to be so readily accessible to all, especially those whose ambitions might twist his gifts into weapons of mass destruction."

    The Preserver's arguments were persuasive. The Devas, still reeling from Hiranyaksha's rampage and Hiranyakashipu's reign of terror, were easily swayed. They craved security and a return to undisputed supremacy. Many Asuras, weary of constant conflict and seeing the futility of opposing the Preserver's might, also conceded. They saw a path to a more predictable existence, even if it meant diminished influence.

    "And thus," Ganesh concluded, "the Creator was effectively banished. He was confined to his realm. The myriad pathways to his abode, once open to sincere seekers of self-improvement, were sealed. Great barriers woven from cosmic energies were erected. Brahma, the source of all creation, was banished by the decree of those he had created and nurtured. The universe, to protect itself from the consequences of its potential, had imprisoned its father."

    With Ganesh's tale concluded, Kratos slowly turned. He faced the looming darkness beyond the stone gate that led into the cave. The shadows within seemed to writhe, a stark contrast to the faint, ethereal light of Ganesh's own realm.

    A flicker of something akin to hope stirred within Kratos. Ganesh's story, despite its tales of cosmic manipulation and divine politics, had planted a seed. If this Creator, Brahma, possessed the power to grant boons of such magnitude – boons that could twist the very laws of life and death – then perhaps, just perhaps, he held the power to unravel a curse.

    Kratos took a deliberate and cautious step into the oppressive darkness.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 24 - Head
  • Threadmarks
    • The darkness was all-encompassing. It was also draining. Kratos felt himself growing weaker, though not in his muscles. Another energy flowed through him. He had become more aware of it after he started wielding the Blades of Chaos. This energy was like his blood, but he could actively control its flow. He could expel it to perform extraordinary feats.

    Now, this same energy was seeping out of his body. It was like a pot with a hole at its base. The energy was the fluid trickling out of it. The sensation was unnerving. It left a cold hollowness in its wake, a void where his internal fire should have been.

    Nonetheless, Kratos remained confident in his physical power. He could probably punch his way out of this cave. His uncertainty in that claim, however, grew as he walked deeper. At least, he thought he was moving deeper. The oppressive blackness offered no landmarks, no sense of progress. Barring the immediate ten metres around him, Kratos could only see a blanket of darkness.

    Right as his instincts began to flare, and a prickling sensation ran up his spine, a shape began to coalesce out of the darkness ahead. It was a statue.

    The statue depicted a person. The figure appeared malnourished, its ribs sticking out starkly from its chest and abdomen. It was adorned in a simple cotton attire, much like what Rama might wear. Its eyes were closed in serene meditation. An unkempt, overflowing beard and moustache covered its face, allowing only a pointed nose and thin lips to poke through. Unsurprisingly, the statue had five heads. Four were spread out, facing the cardinal directions, while the fifth faced directly upwards towards the unseen ceiling.

    Kratos stopped. He stared at the stone effigy. What now?

    He registered a sound from behind him and jolted aside, only to see Saraswati and Ganesh walking up to him. They appeared haggard and moved sluggishly. The drainage seemed to be affecting them more than it was him.

    The woman walked up to the statue and tied an amulet made of a red and yellow coloured string around the statue's wrist. The moment she tied the knot, a warm, golden light pulsed from the amulet. The light flowed over the statue like liquid sunshine. The dull grey stone began to change. It softened, its texture shifting from rough rock to living flesh. The pale, lifeless grey gave way to a healthy, sun-kissed complexion.

    The figure's chest, once solid stone, expanded with a sharp, ragged gasp. All five mouths opened together. They pulled in air with a sound like wind rushing into a long-sealed tomb. A shudder ran through the body. Then, all five heads coughed in unison. It was a dry, dusty sound that echoed in the silent cave. Slowly, ten eyelids fluttered open.

    "How long?" He asked in a voice that was still crackling after years of disuse. Only the head observing the trio spoke.

    "Twenty years," Saraswati answered with heavy breaths.

    "That is... soon," the Brahma commented. "And if it isn't my favourite nephew."

    "My brother would be disappointed," Ganesh commented with a sheepish grin.

    "Oh ho?!" Brahma exclaimed, all five faces showing mirth. "So my little joke has finally fallen apart. I never expected Shiva to sire an offspring. Truly, much has changed in twenty years."

    His ten eyes then swivelled and locked onto Kratos. The levity in his expression vanished, replaced by a deep, analytical curiosity. He let out an intrigued "Huh."

    "And who might this gentleman be?" Brahma asked with an unwavering gaze.

    "This is Kratos," Ganesh said, stepping forward slightly. "He comes from a distant land."

    Brahma's eyes narrowed slightly at the name. "Kratos... Greek," he mused with a new layer of interest in his symphonic voice. "An intriguing bunch, the Greek gods. How are they, by the way?" He turned to Saraswati and added, "It has been a while since we have explored the lands beyond the chaos."

    "They are extinct," Saraswati answered.

    "Huh..." he mumbled again with apparent intrigue. "You know," he started. "There is some irony in all of this. If I remember correctly, the Greek primordial deities were overthrown by their children, the Titans. The Titans, in turn, were overthrown by their children, the new gods. Now it seems that history has repeated itself!"

    He chuckled and added, "I wonder who leads their Pantheon now."

    "They are extinct," Saraswati repeated. Before Brahma could probe further, she nudged her chin towards Kratos, and that simple gesture seemed to answer every subsequent question that Brahma was about to ask.

    "Well... I guess that was expected," Brahma reasoned. "Fate tends to be cyclic and repetitive that way. But all those people... I don't know if they deserved that."

    Kratos' nails dug into his skin as his palm balled up into a tight fist.

    "Anyways," Brahma interjected. "I don't believe that this was a plain social visit. What is it that you require of me?"

    Right as Ganesh finished explaining the situation and their approach, Brahma shook just the head observing them and said, "That right there is your problem! A curse or boon once bestowed cannot be taken back. You can only triage it with an auxiliary curse or boon, and that too by the entity that originally bestowed the curse or boon. So, unless you can get your mother or father to change their minds, I don't think there is anyone who can counter what is plaguing our ashen friend here."

    "So there isn't a solution..." Ganesh mumbled in defeat.

    "I didn't say that," Brahma chastised with a click of his tongue. "If you want to alleviate the damage from a flood, you don't necessarily have to dam the river."

    Those arcane words seemingly evoked an immediate epiphany in Saraswati and Ganesh.

    Noticing Kratos' blank gaze, Brahma elaborated. "You could plant more greenery along the riverbank."

    Evidently, this was still insufficient for Kratos, and so Ganesh chimed in. "Lord Brahma is suggesting that we approach the problem from a broader perspective."

    "Sometimes, the solution to a problem isn't always a straight line. And one solution may not necessarily solve all the problems at once," Brahma expounded.

    "Take your problem for instance. What is your primary objective? Is it to shed your immortality? Or is it to get rid of the other's nightmares foisted onto you?" Brahma probed.

    "If I die, I cannot dream," Kratos declared.

    "While I would love to explore that philosophically charged statement," Brahma lauded, "That is the harder of the two problems to solve. Your immortality is tied to the axe, and the axe has chosen you as its wielder. If you want to be rid of it, you need to convince the axe to do so."

    "Why can you not wrest the axe out of me?" Kratos argued. "You are as strong as the one who enchanted the axe, are you not?"

    "I am," Brahma conceded. "But I cannot do that."

    "Why-" Kratos began, but he realised the answer almost immediately. "The dreams, then?"

    "I considered it as well," Saraswati expressed. "But dreams are an integral part of what defines a sentient being. It is impossible to rob them of it."

    "Impossible for you, maybe," Brahma said with a snort, only to receive a jab in return from his consort.

    "Lord Brahma's realm borders upon all the infinite realms that encompass dreams," Ganesh explained silently from Kratos' side.

    "What can you even do about it?" Saraswati asked Brahma pointedly.

    "I'll just have to swallow his dreams," Brahma explained with a matter-of-fact tone.

    Saraswati's brows furrowed as she processed this answer, until they cocked up in shock. "You don't mean."

    "Take one of my heads," Brahma instructed Kratos.

    ""What?!"" Both Ganesh and Kratos exclaimed in unison.

    "B-But Lord Brahma-"

    "It's fine," Brahma interjected calmly. "It is not a violation. I am not granting him a boon."

    "That's not why I'm-"

    "I cannot die," Brahma assuaged. "And as you can see, I have enough heads to spare," he followed up with a derisive chuckle.

    "That is shrewd of you," Saraswati commented with a faint smile. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

    All of Brahma's heads rearranged themselves and looked at his consort. Then, with a serene smile, he said, "I am."

    "Now," he directed towards Kratos. "Go ahead, take a head."

    With a growl, Kratos walked up to Brahma and grabbed the head closest to him.

    "WOAH!" Brahma yelled as Kratos pulled. "What are you doing?!"

    "Taking a head," Kratos answered.

    "Not with your bare hands, you barbarian!" Brahma chastised. "Use your axe!"

    Kratos gestured to his waist, indicating the stark lack of any weapon.

    "The axe is a divine weapon," Brahma explained. "Summon it!"

    Kratos held out his dominant arm and cocked his palm. Not a moment passed before the sound of metal cutting through the air and colliding against stone echoed all around him. Then with a satisfyingly echoing thunk, the wooden handle landed on his open palm.

    "Now," Brahma spoke up. "Do it fast, and make it clean."


    The return journey was equally as disorienting for Kratos. As his vision cleared, Kratos saw Ganesh across from him. The lad was frozen and wide-eyed, with his gaze fixed on something over Kratos' shoulder.

    Following his gaze, Kratos saw a figure leaning against the tree leading into the dense forest with his arm-crossed.

    "F-Father-"

    "I wish to speak to our guest," Shiva interjected calmly. He nudged his chin towards Kratos and yanked sideways. Understanding the cue, Kratos reached behind his back and retrieved one of Brahma's severed heads. It was tied up like a grisly trophy, crudely secured with a length of rope and a metal hook fashioned for easy carrying.

    He placed the head on a tree stump and followed Ganesh away.

    Shiva sat crosslegged in front of the detached head. He curled his finger and flicked its forehead.

    "Ouch!" The head yelped as it suddenly came to life.

    "What are you doing?" Shiva asked.

    "Can't you see? I am 'head'ing out," Brahma said while letting out a nervous chuckle. Seeing that his audience wasn't finding the play on words amusing, he dispersed his smile and responded with a tired yet firm gaze.

    "I am done," Brahma admitted. "I have spent millions of years in banishment. Living off the bare scraps of information that my wife can smuggle into my prison about the world I CREATED!"

    Brahma's eyes turned red with rage, but he quickly gathered his thoughts and calmed himself. "I have had enough. Why? Do you disagree?"

    "I do not care what you do," Shiva responded, shaking his head. "Banishment was not foisted on you. It was your choice."

    "But-"

    "Besides, I am not here to judge your choices," Shiva interjected firmly. "All I care about is the fact that you involved my son in whatever scheme you are plotting in that head of yours."

    "I did not involve him. He came to me seeking aid," Brahma corrected. "It was his... choice."

    Shiva furrowed his brows and closed his eyes.

    "I never thought I would win in a verbal joust against you, old friend," Brahma said with a snort. "You have changed."

    "People change," Shiva expressed.

    "You are not people," Brahma corrected. "We are not people."

    "That is what I once believed," Shiva responded, his voice even and calm. A tranquil smile touched his lips as his gaze became distant. "And for a being who is alone, it is true. To be happy by oneself, one does not need to change."

    He paused, his focus returning from some faraway memory to the severed head before him.

    "But to be happy with another," Shiva continued, his tone softening slightly, "one needs to be ready to change."

    "You would know this, too, if you hadn't voluntarily locked yourself away," Shiva mocked.

    "I didn't have a choice," Brahma defended himself.

    "Everyone has a choice," Shiva retorted as he stood up to leave.

    "I know exactly how you will respond in nine out of ten scenarios," Brahma argued. "If I can manufacture a scenario that falls within those nine out of ten cases, and corner you into making a choice that would separate you from what you loved most dearly, would you still argue that you truly had a choice in that matter?"

    Shiva paused. "Yes," he said, his voice firm. "The choice is always there. If I had to choose between what I love most and anything else, I would choose what I love. It is a simple decision." He looked at Brahma's severed head with a stern gaze. "Your choice proves you did not value what you lost as much as you claim."

    "My dear friend, you think too much," Shiva followed up with a lighthearted chuckle easing the tension. "Now that you are four heads shorter, I hope you will think less and live more."


    "Now that our lives have been conjoined, I think it would be beneficial for us to get to know each other," the head expressed as it bounced off of Kratos' thigh with every step.

    "No," Kratos responded.

    "You do realise that you and I are immortal. Do you wish to be tethered to a stranger for the rest of your life?" the head chortled.

    Kratos growled in irritation before placing the head by his bedside. "I will sleep first. Then, we shall talk, head."

    "Fine, fine..." the head mumbled. "Go ahead now, go to sleep. Or would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

    "Quiet," Kratos snapped as he lay down and closed his eyes.


    Kratos awoke after some time. He did not know how long he'd been asleep.

    "Two days," the head by his bedside answered, somehow reading his thoughts. "I cannot believe you slept for two whole days! So? How was it?"

    "I..." Kratos blurted out in disbelief. "I did not dream."

    "Of course!" The head exclaimed half-offended.

    "So how about that conversation?" The head probed. "Come on now, don't be shy. All I know is your name and origin. I would love to flesh out your existence beyond those basic facts."

    Kratos stood up from his bed and left.

    "Hey! Where are you going?! KRATOS! KRA-"

    He went about his day, ignoring the disembodied voice that occasionally called out from his chambers. He plainly refused to entertain Brahma's attempts at conversation.

    That night, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion, Kratos returned to his room. He lay down, confident in another night of silent, blissful emptiness. He closed his eyes.

    But the peace did not last. The darkness of sleep was soon shattered with the visceral images of Rama's gruesome exploits. The dreams were back.

    He jolted awake with a roar, and his body drenched in cold sweat. He snatched the head from his bedside with a vice-grip.

    "What is this?" He snarled in a low and dangerous growl. "You said you would stop them!"

    The head's eyes opened slowly. There was no surprise, no mirth.

    "I am not a tool, Spartan," the head said in an even tone devoid of his earlier humour. "If you wish to enjoy the peace of a dreamless sleep, you must treat me as more than a rock you keep by your bed."

    The head paused to let the words sink in. "This is a transaction, plain and simple. You receive your quiet nights. In return, I want to be involved in your daily life. I want to see the world as you do. I want to observe everything. You will carry me with you at all times and let me experience what you experience. Do that, and your nightmares will cease."

    "And my name is Brahma," the head added. "You seem to have a penchant for calling people by pronouns or common nouns rather than their names."

    Kratos growled before acquiescing, "Fine. As you wish, hea- Brahma."

    The head wore a smug smile before declaring, "Your sleep will be payment for your services rendered. The first night was a freebie. Since you didn't entertain me today, your night will be sleepless. Depending on your performance tomorrow, the quality of your sleep will vary."

    "And since you won't be sleeping today, it leaves us with more time to get to know each other," the head declared.

    "So, Kratos, who are you?"


    Kratos did not volunteer his entire life's story in one sitting. He did not enjoy talking about his past.

    Regardless, he could not delve further than his birth and early years because the head was exceedingly inquisitive about every single detail.

    "What is a paidonomoi?" The head asked.

    "Drill instructors," Kratos answered.

    "What do they do?" He followed up.

    "I was just getting to that," Kratos bellowed angrily. "Would you stop interrupting me?"

    "It's just all so interesting!" Brahma grumbled.

    The moment Kratos let out a sigh of acceptance, the door echoed thrice with equally spaced knocks.

    "Guruji," it was Murugan, "I am back."

    "Come in," Kratos bellowed, allowing the boy to skip in excitedly.

    "I think I've had enough practise with the shield. What do we do-" Murugan halted in front of Kratos' bed and stared at the disembodied head looking up at Kratos.

    "What is that?" Murugan blurted out in confusion.

    "I'm not a 'what', kid. I'm a 'who'," the head responded. Kratos reached forward and rotated the head so that it would face Murugan. "And I can talk for myself."

    "How am I supposed to know whether a lobbed-off head could talk?" Murugan retorted. "So who are you?"

    "Brahma," the head answered.

    There was silence.

    "You're joking," Murugan expressed in disbelief. "Yeah! You're definitely pulling my leg. You're four heads and a body short!"

    "That's because I misplaced the other four," the head rebutted sarcastically. "Or was it the other four who misplaced me?"

    Murugan scowled and directed an inquisitive gaze at Kratos, "Who is this head, Guruji?"

    "Brahma," Kratos answered without pause.

    "You're joking!" Murugan repeated.

    "I do not care enough to lie, boy," Kratos responded while shaking his head. He picked up the head and tethered it to his belt by the hook. As he walked past, the head gave Murugan a pitying look and expressed, "Ouch..."

    It took a moment for Murugan to process the information before a trickle of cold sweat started to run down the back of his neck.

    "I just insulted Lord Brahma..." Murugan muttered. "L-Lord Brahma!" He yelled as he burst out of Kratos' quarters and rushed to catch up to the man with the head hanging by his waist.


    "Once again, Lord Brahma, I apologise profusely for the insults," Murugan repeated as he got down on his knees and banged his forehead against the grass. "I... I was presumptuous, churlish, and-"

    "This isn't really necessary," the head interrupted Murugan. "I can understand the cause for scepticism. After all, how could one even imagine a measly head to be the creator of everything?"

    Murugan squinted as he tried to interpret the sentence. The boy could sense sarcasm, but he wasn't sure.

    "Just ignore the head," Kratos said with an annoyed sigh.

    "Hello! Brahma!" The head corrected. "I thought we just had a whole conversation about this!"

    "His presence is inconsequential," Kratos continued, ignoring the head's protests. "Let us resume our training."

    Murugan nodded and stood with rapt attention. But there was only silence.

    "Umm, Guruji?"

    Kratos growled and scratched his head, "I am thinking."

    "Okay..."

    After a moment, Kratos declared, "Resourcefulness."

    After a pause, he continued, "Defence is the first step as it teaches you how to manage your energy more efficiently. The next step is resourcefulness. It is very rare that two opposing parties enter a conflict on equal footing. If you are the one with the upper hand, your downfall would be your lack of skill compared to your opponent, or your hubris. On the other hand, if you are the disadvantaged individual... That is where your resourcefulness comes into use."

    "So... its about using my environment to build advantage?" Murugan concluded.

    "Yes," Kratos affirmed.

    "How do we train to build resourcefulness?" Murugan followed up.

    "I... Do not know. Yet," Kratos admitted. "We could jump right into the deep end. Explore some combat scenarios against opponents while limiting access to weapons and resources?"

    "Are you daft?!" The head butted in. "Are you trying to get yourselves killed? I mean, you obviously won't die, but the kid!"

    "No one asked for your opinion, head!" Kratos snapped.

    "Yeah? Well, I'm giving it anyway," the head mocked. "What you need to do is break down resourcefulness into its components."

    Kratos returned a confused look.

    "What does it mean to be resourceful? What is the most important skill to take full advantage of your environment?" The head followed.

    "Situational awareness," Kratos answered under his breath.

    "There you go! Now, how do you train situational awareness?" The head asked.

    Kratos scratched his stubble in thought. "Come. I have an idea."


    "Why am I blindfolded, Guruji?" Murugan asked as he walked forward with his arm extended outwards.

    "Situational awareness training," Kratos explained.

    "Don't I need to observe the situation to train?" Murugan responded with a wry chuckle.

    A growl escaped from Kratos as he approached Murugan and rotated him clockwise a few times.

    "I will undo your blindfolds only for a moment," he explained. "I will then cover your eyes again. You will then be tasked with executing my commands. Your objective will be to remember your surroundings down to the minute details."

    "Okay," Murugan nodded.

    Kratos loosened the blindfolds and allowed the boy to look around him.

    They were currently in a familiar clearing in the forest. This was where they had first fought the Rakshasas in their defence training.

    After ten seconds, Kratos brought up the blindfold and covered Murugan's eyes.

    "Now walk over to the only tree without any moss on it," Kratos commanded.

    Murugan rotated in place a few times and started to scuttle over in the general direction of where the tree was. Unfortunately, he overestimated the distance and collided headfirst into the trunk.

    "Ow..." he expressed while rubbing his forehead.

    "Go to the shattered boulder," Kratos followed up.

    Murugan, once again, rotated in place and walked over to where the rock was supposed to be. But he missed it altogether.

    "Umm, it's supposed to be here..." Murugan mumbled.

    Kratos approached and undid his blindfold.

    "Oh man! I was so close!" Murugan exclaimed, realising that the boulder was just a few metres away. His eyes were immediately covered with the blindfold.

    "Go back to the tree," Kratos commanded.

    As the boy continued to execute Kratos' commands, the head spoke up, "Quite an interesting training method, not what I would have started with."

    "You have a better idea?" Kratos probed.

    "Something simpler. Maybe requiring less movement and less-" Murugan hit his head again, "-chances of bodily harm."

    "Pain is the best teacher," Kratos responded with a smirk. "The boy will assimilate the lessons learned this way quicker."

    "Maybe some insight into why he is doing what he is doing would be beneficial?" The head suggested.

    "The boy is no fool," Kratos argued. "He understands the purpose behind the lesson well enough."

    "Are you sure?" The head responded. "Maybe he's just doing as he's told because his Guru asked him to do it."

    Kratos pondered on the head's reasoning for a moment before calling Murugan over.

    "Victory in combat is decided within split seconds. When you get good enough, your instincts can carry you through combat seamlessly. At that instance, you need to allow your mind to function in parallel and determine the right course of action to maintain the advantage. This is the gist behind resourcefulness," Kratos explained.

    "The training we are undertaking now is to get your mind to function when your senses are already occupied, which is often the case in combat," Kratos expounded. "Once you can situate yourself perfectly even when preoccupied with an opponent, you can then direct the combat in the way you want it to go."

    Noticing Murugan's nod, Kratos let out a satisfied yet faint smile. But then he caught the head nudging his eyes further. Kratos sighed and pulled the blindfold over his own eyes.

    "Attack me," Kratos commanded.

    Murugan moved without hesitation. The spear materialised in his grasp and jabbed towards Kratos, which Kratos dodged effortlessly.

    "H-How?" Murugan blurted out before centring himself and trying again. Kratos dodged and edged forward, causing Murugan to step back to build distance. Kratos jabbed, forcing Murugan to dodge by stepping back again.

    Kratos grabbed the spear that was sweeping towards his abdomen and kicked Murugan back once again.

    This dance proceeded for a few more exchanges with Murugan being forced back with every move, until he tried to coil back for a forceful jab, only to realise that he had been cornered against the shattered boulder.

    Kratos stopped and took off his blindfold.

    "Knowing the battlefield like it's the back of your palm is the first step towards building resourcefulness," Kratos concluded. He then looked towards the head, which closed its eyes affirmatively.


    Murugan was a prodigy. That was a fact. Within the day, he could read the field with his eyes closed, literally.

    They moved between different locations of varying geography, and the boy had picked up the skill of situational awareness perfectly.

    "What do we do next?" Kratos asked the head.

    "Why're you asking me?" The head retorted.

    "It is clear that you have a better knack for this than I," Kratos admitted. It was a difficult realisation. But he would be fooling himself if he denied this fact.

    "In teaching, maybe," the head retorted with a chuckle. "But my capacity is limited to that alone. I have never personally partaken in any wars or fought against anyone."

    "I only asked you the questions needed to arrive at the answer on your own," the head explained. "You are more knowledgeable about the field being taught that I am. All you lack is the skills in pedagogy. To that end, I am open to being used as a sounding board to streamline your process."

    Kratos hummed in thought as the boy skipped towards him enthusiastically.

    Maybe the head had other uses after all.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 25 - Face
  • Threadmarks
    • The Himalayas, ancient and unforgiving, pierced the heavens. Their snow-covered peaks stood as silent sentinels over the lands below. From these icy titans, the earth cascaded southwards. Great rivers, born from glacial melt, carved deep veins through the plains, giving life to forests teeming with strange and powerful beasts. The land shifted, rising into the rugged plateaus of the south, a sun-scorched expanse of stone and scrub, before finally plunging into the churning chaos of the Great Sea at the continent's sharpened tip.

    But the world did not end there.

    Beyond the coast, across an expanse of turquoise water, lay an island of impossible splendour: Lanka. It was a jewel set in the ocean - a kingdom built on wealth and power. Gleaming spires of gold and ivory reached for the sun. Lush, emerald fields, fed by tamed rivers, promised endless bounty. Its ports bustled with ships from every corner of the world, their hulls heavy with silks, spices, and precious metals. The air itself hummed with a confident energy, the scent of prosperity carried on the sea breeze. This was Lanka, the unconquered citadel.

    This kingdom was ruled by a mighty king. He had a son from a wife now long deceased, but his current queen had given him four more children.

    The youngest, a daughter, spent her days lost in fantasy. She would stand on the high balconies, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, and dream of a man not found in Lanka's court. She yearned for a husband who was handsome, yes, but also kind. A man whose hands were for holding her gently, not just for wielding a sword, and whose words were loving.

    Her brother, the second youngest, sought no such worldly connections. He found his comfort in stillness and silence. In the great library, surrounded by scrolls of ancient knowledge, he practised control. He sharpened his mind as a warrior sharpens a blade. His ambition was not for the throne his siblings coveted, but for the elevation of his own spirit. He sought power through knowledge, not conquest.

    Then there was the third, a son of simple mind but awesome strength. He moved through the world with a permanent gentleness and a constant effort to contain the immense power that coursed through his giant frame. "I… I d-d-d-did not m-m-m-mean to," was a commonly stuttered apology, often following an accidental breakage as his large hands applied too strong a pressure. His stature made him a figure of fear, yet he tried only to be familiar. Ultimately, he was just a gentle soul trapped within a fortress of muscle.

    Finally, there was the eldest of the four. He was fire and ambition. He saw Lanka's glory not as a peak, but as a stepping stone. He yearned to forge a new era, to carve his name into the annals of history so deeply it could never be erased. Yet, a shadow always loomed over him. The king's firstborn, his elder half-brother, was the Crown Prince. He was skilled, powerful, and well-liked by the court and the people. He was everything the eldest son was not, and he stood directly in his path.

    The eldest prince knew, with a certainty that chilled his blood, that he could not defeat his brother. Not as he was now. He lacked the power, the skill, the reputation, and the favour. This realisation did not birth despair, but resolve. He needed to grow. He needed to find power that no one, not even the Crown Prince, could match. And this power could not be found within the kingdom that was already committed to his opponent.

    He found his two younger brothers. To the scholar, he promised lost lore and forgotten magic. To the giant, he offered a path where his strength would be celebrated, not feared. With his brothers at his side, the ambitious prince left the golden shores of Lanka. He embarked on a journey not of conquest, but of becoming. He would return a changed man, or not at all.

    The three brothers crossed the Great Sea and set foot on the vast mainland. The world here was different from Lanka. It was raw, untamed, and sprawling with a history that felt older than the mountains themselves. They journeyed from one kingdom to the next, like nomads, in search of power. With each new land, their paths, while parallel, diverged.

    The youngest of the trio, the scholar, found his purpose in the serene shade of ancient banyan trees. He was drawn to the aashrams and houses of learning where sages and ascetics debated the nature of existence. He would sit for days, listening, absorbing, and questioning. His thirst was for the endless river of knowledge, and he drank deeply from its currents, seeking enlightenment and control over the self.

    The middle brother, the giant, found his passions in more tangible pursuits. His body craved the rigour of combat, and he sought out every wrestling pit and martial school he could find. In the dusty akharas, he learned to channel his brute strength into disciplined technique. But after the day's combat, a different hunger emerged. He delighted in the world of flavours. His laughter often boomed in the crowded marketplaces as he tasted the varied cuisines of the continent. His growth was in both body and spirit, finding balance in strength and simple joy.

    The eldest, however, followed no single preference. He was a void. He was an insatiable emptiness that devoured every scrap of knowledge and skill it encountered. He did not simply seek enlightenment like one brother or pleasure like the other; he sought mastery. He debated philosophy with the sages in the morning, then mastered their dialects by evening. He learned the warrior's art from the giant's teachers, not just to fight, but to understand the science of breaking a body. He shadowed artisans to learn their craft and court viziers to learn the cruel calculus of statecraft. Nothing was beneath his notice, and no field was beyond his grasp.

    But there was one part of his life that he did not seek to master, for it already mastered him. In the quiet hours of dawn or late beneath a silent moon, the ambitious prince would vanish. In his place was a simple devotee, drawing forth a small, hand-carved lingam he kept shielded against his skin. To this sacred stone, he confessed his ambitions, his dreams, and his fears. From it, he sought blessings each morning. For him, Lord Shiva was not merely a god to be worshipped, but the very pinnacle of existence - an impossible, perfect standard against which he measured his own becoming.

    The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. The seasons turned many times. The brothers matured, and the lines of their faces hardened with experience and age. All three grew powerful in their own right, but none advanced so far or so fast as the eldest. His growth was terrifying in its scope.

    Soon, his fame preceded him. It started as a whisper in a marketplace, then a story told around a campfire, and finally, a legend proclaimed in the courts of kings. When he arrived in a new land, a swarm of petitioners would await him. Kings sought his counsel on warcraft. Merchants begged for his insights into trade. His skill became a beacon. He could compose a verse that would make a goddess weep, paint a scene that felt more real than life, and calculate the movement of the stars. He mastered the physical sciences, the art of medicine, the intricate dance of mathematics, and the devastating use of every known weapon. He even grasped the hidden arts, the knowledge that lies beyond the veil of sight.

    One man could not possibly possess such a vast breadth of skill. The people, in their awe and disbelief, reasoned that he must have ten minds to contain such wisdom, ten faces to perceive the world from every angle. The moniker was born in the streets and solidified in the palaces. They no longer called him by his birth name. They called him Dashanana - the one with ten faces.

    Years of acquisition had passed. Dashanana had mastered the ten arts, earned his legendary name, and could command the respect of kings with a single word. He had reached the pinnacle of what a man could achieve through his own power. And yet, when he looked inward, he found a profound emptiness. The mastery of the mortal world was not enough. The standard he measured himself against was not mortal.

    On a day when the air was heavy with the coming monsoon, he gathered his two brothers. A new fire burned in his eyes, with an intensity that made them both uneasy.

    "Our journey is not finished," Dashanana proclaimed, his voice resonating with unshakeable certainty. "We have learned the ways of men, but that is a shallow victory. To truly complete what we began, we must achieve the impossible. We will make a pilgrimage to the sacred source, the home of Lord Shiva himself. We will go to Kailasha."

    The scholar's face paled. "Brother, that is madness," he reasoned. "The scriptures are clear. The sacred realm of the gods cannot be entered by mere mortals. Kailasha is forbidden."

    A sharp, dangerous smile touched Dashanana's lips. "The scriptures speak of mere mortals, brother. Are we still so? Or have we not toiled these years to become something more? You are correct. Our mortality is a barrier. Therefore, we must prove we are beyond it." He stepped closer, his shadow falling over them both. "We will start from the delta and travel to the source. We will complete this pilgrimage by swimming up the throat of the goddess Ganga, non-stop."

    The giant's reaction was simple and immediate. He looked at the fire in his elder brother's eyes and felt his own spirit stir. "I am with you, brother," he said with a low rumble of support.

    The scholar was sceptical. He saw only hubris and a path to certain death. Yet, he also saw the indomitable will that had carried them this far. Torn between his reason and his loyalty, he finally gave a slow, troubled nod. "I will go."

    And so began their impossible pilgrimage. They entered the churning, muddy waters of the Ganga at its mouth, where it met the Great Sea. The force of the current was a physical blow that forced them back to the ocean. The scholar, whose strength was in the mind, not the body, fought valiantly but was quickly overwhelmed. Choking on water with his lungs screaming for air, he was forced to abandon the swim. He emerged, shivering, onto the riverbank and opted to complete his pilgrimage on foot, though his eyes were affixed on his brothers in the water.

    The giant fared much better. His immense strength was a match for the river's power, and for days, he swam alongside his elder brother. But his discipline was not as unyielding. The scent of roasting meat from a village, the sound of music, the simple desire for a dry place to rest - all of these earthly comforts called to him. Midway through the journey, he too left the water, choosing to enjoy the pilgrimage in his own way. Though he, too, expressed his loyalty by keeping pace with his brother from the shore.

    Dashanana did not give up. He swam alone.

    He endured. The days bled into sleepless nights. The relentless sun beat down on him, and the cold of the moon offered no comfort. The river fought him every inch of the way. The currents tried to pull him under. Hidden rapids threatened to smash him against the rocks at the river's bed. He swam through storms that turned the river into a violent, brown torrent, thick with debris and the bodies of drowned animals. Hunger became a dull, constant ache in his belly. Exhaustion became a waking delirium, where the faces of his family in Lanka would appear on the water's surface, begging him to stop.

    His skin grew raw, his muscles screamed, but his mind became a fortress. With every stroke of his arms, a prayer. Om Namah Shivaya. With every kick of his legs. Om Namah Shivaya. He was no longer just a man swimming; he was an act of devotion personified. A singular, burning purpose against an entire world of opposition pushed him onwards.

    Finally, after a timeless period of torment, the landscape began to change. The air grew thin and cold. The water that was once muddy and warm became crystal clear and bit with glacial cold. The banks of the river became steep cliffs. Towering, snow-capped peaks appeared on the horizon. His brothers, walking on the shore, looked on in awe. The man in the river was no longer the brother who had left Lanka. He was gaunt, scarred, and transformed.

    With one final, agonising push, Dashanana pulled his broken body from the water onto a rocky bank. He had arrived at the base of Mount Kailasha, the supposed origin of the River Ganga.

    But this was where the river ended for him. Before him, the Ganga ceased to be a river and became a force of nature. It turned into a colossal waterfall that ran straight up the sheer cliff face of the mountain, disappearing into the swirling clouds above. It was a liquid stairway to the heavens, and it was impassable. Even against the relentless torrent hitting his face, Dashanana had to swallow a dry gulp as he stared up at the impossible ascent.

    He had made a vow. He would swim the goddess's full length.

    He knew arcane magics learned in forgotten corners of the world, otherworldly skills that could have allowed him to cheat gravity, to walk on water, or even fly. But that would be a lie. The purpose of this trial was to prove he was beyond mortal limits through his own strength, his own will. Using such tricks would be an admission of the very weakness he sought to deny. He had to stick to his vow.

    Against all reason, against the current that tore at him, Dashanana tried to swim up the waterfall.

    He launched himself at the vertical wall of water. The force was like hitting a wall. It threw him back, down into the churning pool below. His giant brother, standing on the bank, roared encouragements. The scholar screamed his name, pleading with him to give up, to see reason. But Dashanana did not listen. He tried again. And again. And again. Each attempt was a desperate, useless struggle against the absolute power of nature. He was a gnat throwing itself at a god.

    Inevitably, the truth crushed him. He could not do it.

    Defeated, he crawled from the water onto the rocky bank. The last of his strength gave way not to exhaustion, but to despair. He collapsed onto the stones and burst into delirious, shuddering tears.

    "Oh, Lord… I have failed you," he wailed, his voice cracking. "I have failed you!"

    His entire journey, every year of toil, every skill mastered, every moment of pain - it was all an effort to display his devotion, to show he was worthy. And it had fallen short at the final step. The realisation did not just wound him; it destroyed him from the inside out.

    In his delirium, he looked up at the cloudy peak, and his eyes turned wild. He screamed a final, mad prayer to his beloved god. "I built myself in your image! I tried to become a reflection of your perfection!" Seeing only his own failure in the reflection of the torrid waters of Ganga, he declared himself unworthy of the name he had earned, unworthy of the very face he wore. He pulled the sharp gutting knife from the sheath at his waist. "If I cannot be a reflection, then I will be nothing!"

    The two siblings saw his intent and rushed to stop him, but even in his broken state, he was stronger than both of them combined. He threw them aside. With a guttural yell that was more animal than human, he began to cut. Undeterred by their screams, he carved away his own face, exposing the wet, red muscles and white bone beneath.

    Once the horrific act was done, once his face was removed, the last of his energy drained away. He collapsed onto the blood-spattered rocks.

    Horrified, not knowing what to do, the scholar grabbed his giant brother's arm. "Carry him! We must get him to a village, find a healer, now!"

    But as the giant bent down to lift Dashanana's limp form, a shadow fell over them. It was as if the sun itself had been blotted from the sky. They looked up. Something vast and dark was descending from the heavens above the waterfall, drifting down as gently and silently as a single feather floating on the wind.


    Murugan was not unaccustomed to seeing awkward scenes at the base of his family's mountain.

    Since it was a commonly known fact that Mount Kailasha was where they resided, he had observed his fair share of pilgrims. They made the arduous journey, performed some act of devotion that was usually more mad than pious, and then, if they survived, they returned home. Self-mutilation, extreme fasting, vows of silence that drove men insane - he had seen it all.

    Needless to say, he wasn't shocked upon witnessing the scene before him: a faceless man - a grotesque sculpture of exposed muscle, skull, and teeth - being held by another man nearly twice his size. A third, lanky individual was pacing around them, wringing his hands frantically. It was, by Kailasha's standards, a Tuesday.

    Murugan had only been out for his daily practice to hone a newly learned skill that augmented his spatial awareness. He had planned to possibly drop in on Valli on the way back to see how she was doing. He did not plan on running into these three specimens.

    As the peacock landed softly on the ground, the lanky one - a scholarly-looking gentleman - rushed forward and collapsed to his knees. "Please, my lord! Help us!" he begged in a voice thin with panic. "Our brother… he needs a physician! We must take him to a healer!" Beside him, the giant nodded vehemently, his eyes wide with fear and desperation as he cradled the bleeding and unconscious, faceless man.

    Murugan paused. Half of his mind was already prepared to leave them. It was not his problem. People performed these crazy acts in his father's name by their own free will. The consequences, bloody or otherwise, were theirs alone to bear.

    But the other half of him, the part that saw not just another mad pilgrim but two brothers fighting to save the third, stayed his ascent. He saw their genuine struggle, their terror, and the fierce and desperate loyalty that bound them together. It was a bond he understood.

    After a moment of seriously intense, silent debate, Murugan relented with a sigh. He gestured with his head toward the back of his peacock.

    The scholar and the giant exchanged a look of apprehensive disbelief. With fumbling haste, they carefully manoeuvred their brother's body onto the mount, settling in behind Murugan. They then carefully mounted the bird, ensuring to place their feet carefully such that the bird's feathers weren't marred. With another silent command, the great peacock spread its magnificent wings and, with a single powerful thrust, launched them into the clouds, leaving the bloodstained rocks far below.

    "W-Where are you taking us?" the scholarly-looking one probed as the brothers gazed incredulously at the rapidly approaching clouds. The answer was obvious; Murugan didn't need to verbally entertain them with one.

    The peacock dove into the clouds without hesitation. For a split-second, they were enveloped in a cold, damp whiteness. Then they burst through, into the sky above the endless blanket of clouds. Their journey did not end. They kept ascending until the biting chill of the upper atmosphere dissipated, replaced by a pleasant, temperate warmth that seemed to emanate from nowhere. The scholar stared as his rational mind struggled to comprehend the impossible reality. This was Kailasha.

    Murugan scanned the plains below, and his sharp gaze immediately locked onto a target. He nudged his mount, and the peacock responded instantly, surging in that direction.


    Under the shade of a large banyan tree, two figures sat before an ashtapada board. A third lay nearby, seemingly asleep.

    "I feel like you have gotten lazier nowadays, Kratos," Ganesh expressed while simultaneously evaluating the ashtapada board in front of him. His opponent, the presently yawning head of Lord Brahma, had trapped him in an intricately precarious trap, escaping which would inevitably result in certain defeat within three moves. But Ganesh was not ready to admit defeat just yet. "You're sending Murugan out alone just so that you can catch up on your sleep."

    Kratos let out a hum that bordered on a growl as he rolled away from them. They were seated amidst the shadows of a large banyan tree in the plains bordering their home.

    "You should focus on the game, boy," Lord Brahma advised. "You're about to lose. Again. Aren't you growing tired? This is the fiftieth defeat today. The three hundred and twenty-second, overall."

    "Losing is fun," Ganesh responded as he moved his remaining Gaja to take out the opposing Mantri, which was about to lock in his Raja.

    Lord Brahma clicked his tongue in annoyance, "You already know my moves."

    Ganesh nodded and responded with a sequence of moves, playing for both his white and Lord Brahma's black side. "And that's... my defeat," he declared with a smile.

    "Losing may be fun for you, but winning isn't so amusing for me," Lord Brahma responded. "Why can't anyone give me a real challenge!"

    At that instance, Ganesh's ear twitched and his head turned in the direction of the rapidly approaching, colourful projectile. It was his brother atop his mount.

    "He's back early," Ganesh commented. "He isn't alone," Lord Brahma commented in turn.

    A grunt escaped from their napping comrade, who slowly woke up and stood at the ready.

    "Brother," Murugan greeted as he leapt off the peacock. It was at that moment that Ganesh got a good view of his brother's passengers.

    "Who're they?" Ganesh probed, noticing two individuals. There was a thin one and a big one.

    "L-Lord Ganesh!" The thin one sputtered in shock. The big one leapt off the peacock and hefted the additional cargo, which turned out to be an unconscious... faceless one?

    "I found them below," Murugan answered. "The unconscious one needs help."

    The thin one nudged the big one and whispered, "Prostrate yourself, brother! You are standing in front of Lord Ganesh!"

    The big one collapsed like a cut marionette, nearly dropping the man over his shoulder, who was caught just in time by the thinner brother, who struggled to carry the man's weight.

    "P-P-Please, L-L-L-Lord Ganesh," the big one stuttered. "S-S-S-Save our b-b-b-"

    "Please, save our brother!" the thin one interjected.

    Ganesh approached the faceless man and placed a palm over his chest. "What's wrong with him? He seems fine to me."

    That question seemed to stump the two brothers. They exchanged a gaze before the thin one said, "He collapsed after cutting off his face."

    "The two events are unrelated," Ganesh corrected. "Cutting off his face did not result in the collapse; it was his tiredness. Take a look at the state of his muscles and bones. They are practically falling apart from overuse and fatigue. If not for his incredible vitality, he should have been torn to shreds by now. What did he do, exactly?"

    The brothers exchanged another look, and the thin one volunteered, "He swam. From the mouth of the Ganga to its source at the base of the mountain. Without stopping."

    It was now Ganesh and the rest's time to be stumped in disbelief.

    "Why would he do something like that?" Murugan broke the silence first.

    The scholar took a deep breath. "To prove his devotion. It was a pilgrimage, an offering to Lord Shiva."

    A loud snort came from the pale-skinned warrior. "Foolish," Kratos grunted. "Swimming in a river does not prove reverence. It proves he can swim."

    The giant took a step forward. He stood nearly a head taller than Kratos. Then, without stuttering, he spoke in a clear and dangerously low voice. "Do not speak ill of my brother."

    Kratos turned slowly. The two large entities, one dark-skinned and another pale as ash, squared off. Less than an inch separated them.

    At that moment, a pained cough escaped the unconscious figure. The faceless man groaned, and his body stirred. The confrontation was broken. The two brothers rushed to his side.

    He shifted, and his voice, though weak, was audible. "Where… where am I?"

    "Brother!" the youngest cried out, his voice choked with relief and joy. "You made it! We made it! We are in Kailasha!"

    The faceless man's head turned from side to side, as if searching. There was no belief in his posture. But then his gaze fell upon Ganesh. He froze. Tears, unhindered by eyelids, began to stream down the exposed muscle and bone of his ravaged face.

    With a strength that defied his condition, he pushed himself from his brother's grasp and prostrated himself fully on the ground before Ganesh. A torrent of praises, sung in perfect Sanskrit, poured from him. His brothers, seeing his devotion, quickly followed suit.

    Kratos' nose twitched in annoyance. He turned his back on the scene, walked over to the banyan tree, and picked up the head of Lord Brahma.

    "I wanted to see more!" Brahma complained as Kratos latched him against the hook on his waist, and stalked toward his accommodation. Kratos did not listen.

    Ganesh looked towards the sun. "It is time for lunch," he commented to the three brothers still on the ground. "You will join us."

    Murugan shook his head. "My training for the day is not complete." He mounted his peacock and, with a nod to Ganesh, flew away.

    Ganesh gestured for the trio to follow. He led them homewards, towards the courtyard dwelling. He passed through the simple gates, but the three brothers stopped at the threshold.

    The faceless one spoke, his voice filled with awe. "We are unworthy. We cannot step inside. We cannot sit in the presence of the Great Lord and the Goddess Parvathy."

    Ganesh scratched the side of his head, trying to figure out how to persuade them. Just then, a voice called out from within the dwelling. It was calm, deep, yet mellow.

    "Call our guests inside. It is time for lunch."

    The eldest brother's pupils dilated. He tried his hardest to control the overwhelming emotions that threatened to shatter his composure. He took a single, shuddering step through the gate. His lips silently repeated the only prayer that mattered. Om Namah Shivaya.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 26 - Faceless
  • Threadmarks
    • The scent of ghee-laced rice and fragrant lentils filled the courtyard, but the three brothers could not bring themselves to eat. They sat stiffly on woven mats with their eyes fixed on the banana leaves before them. Across from them, their host ate with practised ease, with fluid and unhurried movements. Lord Shiva sat beside his sons, Ganesh and Murugan, who ate with the casual comfort of being in their own home. The Goddess Parvathy had served them all, yet the three brothers' food remained untouched. They were on tenterhooks and were wound tight with a mixture of terror and awe.

    Shiva halted midway through lifting a ball of rice to his mouth. He did not look at them, yet they felt his gaze pierce them to the core.

    "Is the food not up to your tastes?" He asked with a plain, inquisitive tone.

    "N-No!" The eldest brother squeaked in panic. He shook his hands frantically in front of him. "It smells absolutely… divine. It's just that-"

    "If you are more accustomed to meat, you can speak freely," Shiva interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact. Without waiting for a response, he called out in a loud voice that did not sound like a shout, "Parvathy! Our guests desire meat."

    "W-What?! NO!" The three brothers yelled in unison. The outburst was so sudden it caused Ganesh to flinch, dropping a piece of flatbread back onto his leaf. They coughed as the youngest and the largest brothers' faces flushed with embarrassment - the eldest's would too if only he had a face.

    The eldest bowed his head low. "My Lord," he clarified, speaking in a humble voice. "We are simply in awe. To be in the presence of You and Your Family… it is overwhelming."

    "Well-" Shiva mumbled, finally delivering the rice into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Let's hold off on the awe and reverence until after you've finished eating. Neither my wife nor I are particularly fond of wasting food."

    The brothers bobbed their heads like chickens and, with renewed vigour, pecked at their food. The largest of the three, the giant, practically inhaled the contents of his leaf. His large hands moved with surprising speed, scooping up rice and lentils in a continuous, ravenous motion. His pace stunned Ganesh, who paused his own eating to watch. The two exchanged a look. A playful smirk spread across the elephant-headed god's face, and a silent, impromptu contest began between the two titans of appetite.

    The youngest brother ate at a measured pace with deliberate and respectful movements. The eldest, however, was a study in conflict. He jumped awkwardly between a desperate, ravenous inhalation and a slow, reverent pace. It was evident that the man was drained of all energy. His body was screaming for sustenance, and yet he was actively fighting his own desperate hunger.

    At that moment, their hostess walked back into the courtyard carrying a lidded, earthenware pot. She moved with a silent grace and placed it in the centre of the three brothers. As if a single mind commanded them, the brothers stopped eating instantly. They lowered their heads and averted their gazes, lest they look upon the Goddess's face directly.

    Parvathy removed the lid. A heavenly smell invaded their senses. It was a melodic blend of spices, rich and warm, accentuated by the sharp, delicious note of garlic. With salivating gazes, they dared to peek at the contents of the pot and were shocked to see thick, juicy chunks of red meat simmering in a dark gravy.

    "Murugan's Guru is an unapologetic carnivore," Shiva explained casually, as if sensing their confusion.

    "It is deer meat," Parvathy clarified, her voice as gentle as the aroma. She began serving generous portions onto the brothers' leaves.

    "My Lord," the eldest spoke in a low and trembling voice. "This is… excessive. We are undeserving of such a bounty."

    "You are guests here," Shiva interjected as his voice lost its casual edge. "Atithi Devo Bhava." The guest is God. The brothers could hear the Lord's calmness teeter on the end of a knife as he spoke this proverb. They realised that their behaviour was irritating their host.

    They swallowed their objections and ate. When the giant finished the last of his portion, their hostess emerged from the kitchen with another pot, and then another. The food was practically endless. The famished brothers, finally succumbing to the hospitality, ate to their hearts' content.

    Once the meal was finished, the youngest brother stood, gathering the used leaves to assist in clearing up.

    "The kitchen is my wife's purview," Shiva's voice halted him. "Even I am not allowed inside without her approval."

    "We are unworthy of having the Goddess clean up after us-" the scholar reasoned, horrified at the thought.

    A single, stern look from Shiva silenced him completely.

    "So," Shiva began, turning his attention to the eldest, faceless brother. "I have heard of your achievement. Swimming upstream from the mouth of Ganga to its source."

    The eldest revealed a wry grin, though without a face and lip, it was simply a grotesque twitch of muscles around his mouth. But he was stunned by the Lord's next words.

    "Why would you do something so stupid?"

    The sharp and unexpected question hung in the air. "I-I was expressing my devotion to you, my Lord," the eldest mumbled.

    "I fail to see how swimming up a river proves devotion," Shiva responded, sounding genuinely perplexed.

    "People do crazier things, my Lord," the eldest reasoned, finding a sliver of courage. "I had to stand out."

    "Yes, and it really freaks me out," Shiva replied with a sudden, disarming chuckle. "Nonetheless, you have achieved your goal. I am equally impressed by your devotion. What is it that you desire? Ask."

    The eldest looked away, the raw muscle of his face seeming to sag with shame. "I apologise, my Lord, but I failed. I could not swim up to the true source of the Ganga."

    Shiva quirked an eyebrow. "I don't see it that way. Do you think it is a simple feat to ascend Kailasha and enter my abode? If it were so easy, there would be a horde of mortals roaming these plains."

    "But… it isn't unheard of," the eldest stumbled, his mind racing. "Lord Parashurama achieved the feat. And I am certain Lord Murugan's Guru has as well."

    An uproarious laugh erupted from Shiva. He stood and continued, "Your basis of comparison is flawed. Do not ask me why. That knowledge isn't for me to demystify, but for you to find out for yourself." He looked upon the eldest with an expression of profound amusement. "Stay as long as you wish. The offer for a boon will remain open for that duration. Though be aware," he added, his smile turning cryptic, "the flow of time in my realm is… irregular."

    The three brothers exchanged a wide-eyed glance. When they turned back, their host had disappeared.

    "He does that," Ganesh explained cheerfully, picking a stray piece of food from his tusk. "But don't worry. He is quite easy to seek when he wishes to be found."


    The three brothers sat on the ground before the large banyan tree. They faced Lord Ganesh and Lord Brahma's head, who were once again engrossed in a game on the ashtapada board.

    "How wonderful, we have an audience today," Lord Brahma said with a note of amusement in his voice. "Perhaps this will motivate you to finally win?"

    "I doubt it," Lord Ganesh mumbled as he scratched his tusk with a finger. "Oh, this one is tough..."

    "If I may be so bold," the youngest brother spoke up, his scholarly instincts taking over. "You could move the Mantri-"

    "No," the eldest interjected calmly. "That would be certain defeat in three moves."

    The youngest brother pondered this for a few moments, as his brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't see it..." he conceded.

    "Well," the eldest continued. He extended a finger and recreated the board in the dirt beside them. He replicated the suggested move. "If the Mantri moves here to capture the Gaja, then it is conceded to this Sainik." His finger traced the path. "Then Lord Ganesh is left with one of two options..." The eldest proceeded to explain the tree of possible outcomes, demonstrating how each path, as he had predicted, ended in Ganesh's defeat within three moves. His explanation was clear, concise, and irrefutable.

    "That was well reasoned," Lord Brahma lauded with a genuinely impressed tone. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

    "My Lord," the eldest said with a humble bow. "These are my brothers. Vibhishana," he gestured to the youngest, "and Kumbhakarna," he gestured to the largest, who sat silently observing.

    "And you are?" Lord Brahma probed.

    There was a slight pause. "I am... Faceless," the eldest answered.

    "Well, Faceless," Lord Brahma suggested playfully. "Do you think you can salvage this game for our young friend here?"

    "I wouldn't want to be presumptuous, my Lord," Faceless deflected.

    "Enough with the tiresome humility," Lord Brahma's head exhorted impatiently. "Can you do it or not?"

    "I can try," Faceless offered. He moved to take Ganesh's place before the board.

    The game resumed. Faceless played with a fierce intelligence. His moves were in stark contrast to Ganesh's more intuitive style. He anticipated Brahma's strategies, setting traps within traps. The game went on far longer than any of Ganesh's previous attempts, but in the end, Brahma's intellect was simply too vast. Faceless was defeated.

    "That was exhilarating!" Lord Brahma boomed in satisfaction. "You were quite close. If not for Ganesh's folly in the early game, the victory could very well have been yours."

    Faceless simply waved a hand humbly and began to concede his seat.

    "No, you two continue," Ganesh interjected immediately with a kind smile on his mien. "I will take brother Kumbhakarna to do something he may enjoy more."

    Faceless and Vibhishana looked over to their largest brother and noticed he had nodded off during the intense game. The man's head rested on his chest, and a thin stream of drool dripped out of his drooping lip. Ganesh walked over and gently nudged the sleeping giant awake. "Come, come. Mother has cooked up some snacks you may find interesting." The giant blinked groggily before following Ganesh toward the dwelling.

    Vibhishana moved to sit beside his brother, and together, they faced Lord Brahma's head. In the middle of their next game, Faceless paused. "My Lord, if it isn't too presumptuous to ask... how did you lose your head?"

    Lord Brahma chuckled dryly. "It's a long and convoluted story," he admitted. "To keep it simple, I have entered into an agreement with Kratos - that would be Murugan's Guru. I give him a good night's sleep, and he shows me the world I created."

    "Why does the Creator need an envoy to roam their own birthed realm?" Vibhishana probed, his curiosity piqued.

    Lord Brahma let out a tired sigh and explained, "A long, long time ago, a deal was struck amidst the Devas and Asuras. They decided that my presence, as the Creator, was no longer necessary."

    "We have read this in the scriptures," Faceless admitted. "So it is true, then?"

    "Yes," Lord Brahma admitted.

    "It was for the greater good. The sacrifice Lord Brahma made was admirable," Vibhishana extolled.

    Lord Brahma revealed a bitter smile and did not pursue the topic further.

    At that moment, two figures approached. The one leading was the ashen warrior. Supposedly, Lord Murugan's Guru - Kratos. The man walked with an irritation in his gait. His heavy strides pounded the earth. Behind him trailed Murugan, who looked far worse for wear. His garments were smudged with dirt, and his posture was slumped with exhaustion and frustration.

    "What did I miss?" Lord Brahma's head asked as the two reached the banyan tree.

    Kratos did not answer. He walked past them all. He bent down, picked up Brahma's head, and attached it wordlessly to a hook at his waist.

    "He was distracted," Kratos chided in a low growl. He did not look at anyone as he spoke, yet his words were aimed squarely at Murugan. "He made many silly errors."

    He finally turned. His piercing eyes landed on his pupil. Murugan flinched. "When you are once again serious about your training," Kratos stated, his tone leaving no room for argument, "come find me." With that, he turned and stalked away, his retreating figure radiating cold fury.

    Murugan watched him go with his face masked in shame and anger. He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering across the grass.

    "What troubles you, my lord?" Faceless asked quietly in a neutral voice.

    Murugan shot him an evaluating scowl. After a moment, he seemed to decide the man wasn't worth the energy of a reply. He turned on his heel and stormed off in the opposite direction from his guru.


    An amusing sight unfolded near the kitchen. Ganesh stood atop Kumbhakarna's broad shoulders, reached deep inside a high larder and retrieved a hidden pot. The duo then tiptoed out. Which was an odd sight in and of itself, of two large entities trying their best to move with the stealth of mice.

    Ganesh directed Kumbhakarna to his personal study and triumphantly opened the pot, revealing a glistening pile of fried sweet cakes. "This is Malpua," Ganesh explained, lapping up the saliva already oozing from the sides of his mouth. He brought one to his lips and took a small, ecstatic bite, relishing it. "Try it!" He offered, moving the pot towards Kumbhakarna.

    The giant reached into the pot, picked up a cake, and tossed it straight into his mouth. He bit down, but was shocked to find he had bitten into plain air. He opened his eyes and saw the sweet cake hovering a few inches from his face, suspended in midair by shimmering golden particulates.

    "Some things you have to savour slowly," Ganesh explained gently before depositing the Malpua into Kumbhakarna's open palm. The giant followed his host's lead, taking a small bite and letting the sweet, syrupy flavour flood his senses.

    At that moment, the door to the study slid open and Murugan stepped in. He immediately began to unburden his thoughts, "Brother, I need your guidance-" he halted midway when he noticed the additional guest.

    "What's gotten you so riled up today?" Ganesh probed jocularly. "Get into another tiff with your Guru?"

    Murugan's gaze fell on the giant, who was still lost in the taste of the Malpua. He coughed, composing himself. "The fault was mine. I was too distracted today."

    Ganesh handed the entire pot of Malpua to Kumbhakarna and inched closer to Murugan. "Speak, then. What worm has settled in your mind that it has distracted you from your most favourite thing in life?"

    Noticing the awkward shift in Murugan's behaviour, the elephant-headed god's eyes started to widen as a realisation dawned on him. "It's a girl, isn't it!" he exclaimed.

    Murugan's head darted up in shock. "What? No!" he denied involuntarily.

    Ganesh patted his brother's shoulder reassuringly. "You don't need to be so defensive," he said calmly. "Attraction between a man and a woman is nothing to be ashamed of."

    "I'm not a man yet!" Murugan defended.

    "Just because Mother calls you her 'Sweet Child' does not mean you still are one," Ganesh chided light-heartedly. "Have you taken a look at yourself? My dearest brother, you are grown, mature… and virile."

    Murugan's cheeks reddened at the scandalous statement. He pushed Ganesh away and scooted into a corner of the room. Ganesh edged closer. "So, who is the girl?"

    Murugan tried to shoo his brother away, but Ganesh had a vice grip on his elbow. After some back and forth, Murugan relented with a sigh. "Her name is Valli."

    "Valli!" Ganesh responded with a snap of his finger. "The girl you doused in blood and gore! How did you manage to turn that mess around?"

    "I apologised, like you said," Murugan expressed, a gentle and faraway look entering his eyes. "And, well… we share a lot in common."

    "So something must have happened to have distracted you," Ganesh probed. "Did you two get into a fight?"

    Murugan shook his head, his brows furrowing with light anxiety. "There is word of a war on the horizon," he explained. "Her village is close to the affected regions. I worry she and her people might get drawn in unwittingly."

    "That is troublesome," Ganesh admitted. "So what do you plan to do?"

    Murugan shrugged helplessly. "What is it that I CAN do?"

    "Proactive, protective measures," Ganesh chimed in. "Wait-" He sifted through his cupboards and retrieved a dusty jade locket. He picked up a nearby pin and, before Murugan could react, pricked his brother's finger. The teenager flinched slightly. Ganesh squeezed a single drop of blood onto the locket, which pulsed once and turned from pale green to a deep crimson.

    "Give this to her," Ganesh explained, handing the item to his brother. "If she is ever in trouble, tell her to break it. It will summon you to her location instantly."

    Murugan held the locket as if it were the greatest of divine weapons. His previous frustration was replaced by a look of fierce determination. He gave Ganesh a grateful nod and rushed out of the study.

    "Oh, young love," Ganesh expressed to himself with a warm smile. He turned around to face his guest and nearly let out a chuckle. The pot of Malpua was completely empty, and Kumbhakarna had once again fallen fast asleep with a blissful smile on his face.


    Kratos sat on a low stool in the shed - his living space. The flickering light from the candle by his bedside cast harsh shadows across his ashen skin. It wasn't yet dark outside, but the atmosphere inside felt dim nonetheless.

    In truth, Kratos was waiting. He had called for the boy, and he was awaiting his arrival. When Murugan entered, he did so without his usual confidence. He stood before him and waited.

    "Your focus is fractured," Kratos stated. It was not a question. "Your feet are slow, your mind is elsewhere. I thought we had moved past this. So then, why?"

    Murugan's jaw tightened. For a moment, it seemed he would offer another denial, but Murugan wouldn't lie. Even still, facing his Guru's unblinking gaze made lying impossible. "There is a girl," he admitted in a low voice. "Her name is Valli. Her village may be in the path of a coming war."

    "This is the same girl you saved from those attackers. The one in the forest." Kratos felt a familiar, cold disappointment settle in his gut. It was predictable. Inevitable. "So you fret. And this worry makes you weak."

    "No," Murugan countered. "It-"

    "It is a distraction," Kratos cut him off flatly, his voice hard as stone. "You think of her when you should be thinking of your own growth. This romantic whim is a vulnerability. Attachment is a chain. It gives your enemies a weapon to use against you." The memories were not images, but scars he could still feel. A wife. A daughter. Their faces were ghosts he had learned to ignore, but the lesson they taught was branded into his soul and embedded into his skin. "You have seen my past. You know what I talk about... Love is a weakness."

    "You are wrong," Murugan said as his voice gained a defiant edge. "Caring for someone does not make you weak. It makes you stronger. It gives you a reason to fight, a reason to become more capable… to protect them."

    A dry chuckle came from Kratos' hip. "The boy is a poet," Brahma's head commented. "A naive one, but a poet nonetheless. Listen to your teacher. He speaks from experience. Love, family, devotion… these are the levers the powerful use to break the strong. These emotions make you soft and easy to manipulate. It is the oldest and most reliable trick in the book."

    Murugan looked from the head to his teacher. His expression hardened. "That is not what my father believes." He did not raise his voice, but his words were like steel. "And it is not what I believe."

    He held Kratos' gaze for another long moment. In it, Kratos could see two ideologies warring in real-time. Murugan was trying to resolve what he was taught by his parent, and what his Guru was trying to instil in him. But that was not all. In the boy's eyes, Kratos could see very clearly the tinge of anxiety and fear that only those already captured in the treacherous net of love exhibit. The battle was already lost. There was nothing Kratos could do to sway the boy. All he could do was wait.

    With nothing more to say, Murugan turned and walked out of the shed, leaving Kratos alone in the flickering darkness.

    He placed the head back by his bedside and lay down, deep in thought.

    "Sleeping again?" The head asked.

    "There is nothing I can do here but wait," Kratos responded.

    "He is mature for his age," the head expressed. "But he is still a teenager. At his age, it is often difficult for the mind to combat the body's... urges."

    "He is not just infatuated," Kratos corrected. "He sincerely cares for her. And that makes it far worse."

    "Shouldn't we involve his parents, then?" The head suggested.

    "I do not know," Kratos dismissed before nodding off into a dreamless nap.

    But the dreamless nap was short-lived. Kratos was jolted from it by a frantic pounding on his door.

    "Kratos! Kratos, wake up!" It was Ganesh. The urgency in his voice was unmistakable.

    Kratos rose in an instant. His body was alert before his mind had fully caught up. He threw open the heavy door to find the elephant-headed lad pacing anxiously.

    "He is gone," Ganesh said. His usual cheerfulness was replaced by a mask of flustered worry. "He was called. Murugan has disappeared."

    Kratos did not fully understand. "Called? By whom?"


    Murugan practised on the plains of Kailasha, but his mind was not on the spear in his hands. He moved through the familiar forms. His body executed the motions while his thoughts were miles away, back in a small village in Bhuloka. The faces of his phantom enemies blurred, replaced by Valli's.

    He saw her again as he had last left her. He held out the crimson locket. "If you are in trouble, break this," he had explained. "I will be there to take you to a safe place."

    Valli had taken the locket. Her small hand closed around it, but her gaze was adamant. "I cannot leave my family. My people."

    "Valli, you do not understand," Murugan pleaded. "There is a war brewing. Your village is in its path. It is dangerous to remain here."

    "No, YOU do not understand!" she snapped back fiercely. "Even if I survive, how can I live with myself knowing I abandoned everyone I love? Maybe for you, a god, this does not matter. But for me, it is everything. This is my world!"

    The memory stung. He fumbled a thrust, and the spear tip dug into the soil. What could he do? He could not simply evacuate an entire village to Kailasha. His father would be furious. The rules were clear. "What to do?" he mumbled to himself, his frustration mounting.

    At that moment, a violent jerk seized him. It was not a physical force, but something deeper, a pull on his very essence. Before he could even form a thought, the plains of Kailasha dissolved. The world twisted, and he was deposited, unceremoniously, in the centre of Valli's village.

    He stood on a raised wooden platform, with the crimson locket shattered on the ground at his feet. The entire village was gathered. Looking around, their faces were a mixture of terror and hope. The first thing he heard was Valli's voice, amplified in the desperate silence.

    "This is Lord Murugan, son of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvathy!" she yelled, pointing at him. "He will protect us!"

    The villagers' eyes widened. A wave of disbelief washed over them, quickly replaced by awe. As one, they collapsed to the ground, prostrating themselves before him. Murugan's gaze shot to Valli. He saw past her brave declaration to the intense panic in her eyes.

    'They're coming,' she mouthed, her expression one of pure terror.


    In Kailasha, Ganesh, Faceless, Vibhishana, and Kumbhakarna watched in stunned silence as Murugan vanished in a flash of crimson light. Ganesh was the first to react. After a moment of panicked shock, he beelined straight for Kratos's shed, the three mortal brothers in tow.

    "What do you expect me to do?" Kratos asked after Ganesh's rushed explanation. "Can you not bring him back?"

    Ganesh grabbed his large ears in extreme worry. "I cannot interfere so directly! He is not in immediate danger to his life, not yet. If it comes to that, Father or Mother will act. But in doing so, they would open a pot of worms I would rather keep sealed. Gods cannot interfere in Bhuloka on such a grand scale."

    "Murugan is a god, and yet he interferes," Kratos retorted. His logic was blunt yet sound.

    "That is a grey area," Ganesh snapped back, then quickly shook his head, his tone shifting to a plea. "Besides, he cannot use the full extent of his divinity without incurring dire consequences. I implore you. Please help my brother."

    "What do you expect me to do?" Kratos repeated in a flat tone.

    Ganesh wasted no more words. He performed a complex series of mudras. His hands snapped into a blur of motion. A large, shimmering ripple appeared in the air before them, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone. It settled into a clear, mirror-like image.

    The scene it displayed was one of pure chaos. A massive horde of men, a tidal wave of bodies, flowed across the land. They were a disorganised mass; more of a natural disaster than an army. Amidst their ranks were hulking beasts, their roars adding to the cacophony.

    "Northern Barbarians," Faceless said grimly. The brothers had moved to stand behind Ganesh. "Brutal. Unforgiving. They follow no code of war. They kill without restraint. After every battle, they slaughter the men, the elderly, and the children. The women…" He did not need to finish the sentence.

    "What do you expect me to do?" Kratos asked for the final time.

    "Anything!" Ganesh yelled in desperation. "Bring him back safely. That is all I ask."

    "Fine," Kratos declared after a long, thoughtful pause. He returned to his bedside and attached Brahma's head to his waist. "Send me there."

    Ganesh immediately summoned a swirling portal of golden energy. Just as Kratos was about to step through, Faceless cut in.

    "I shall come as well," he declared.

    Kratos did not respond and walked through the portal without a backwards glance.

    As Faceless moved to follow, Ganesh's hand shot out, stopping him. "If you leave, you forfeit your boon," he warned. "Do not take this decision lightly. Opportunities like this are rare."

    Faceless halted. He thought for only a moment, then turned to his two brothers. "You will follow the warrior. Help them in any way you can." He said as he looked from the scholar to the giant. "I shall join you shortly."

    His brothers nodded and, without hesitation, stepped through the portal.

    Faceless then turned back to Ganesh. His gaze was steady. "Please, take me to the Lord."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks for the chapter! Such a shame that this story isn't more popular.
     
    Antares1883 said:
    Thanks for the chapter! Such a shame that this story isn't more popular.
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    I too would like to know what I could do differently.

    I suspect that its my upload schedule (which is too sparse) or that the GoW fanfic scene isn't as active as some others (like Naruto etc.)

    For the former, the only solution I can think of is to reduce my chapter lengths. But that will force me to create unnecessary chapter breaks (like cliff hangers) which will detract from the quality.

    As for the latter... we'll ... can't do anything about that.
     
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    Hyperionthetitan said:
    Most prople aint familiar with hinduism, hell even me who kinda like it still doenst have that much knowledge beyond bastardized version adapted to buddhism myth
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    Generally people are scared to delve into the Hindu Mythos in popular fiction (even in India) because the general populace has very strong opinions. And if portrayals don't adhere to their beliefs then there's heavy backlash.

    So either artists have to paint their portrayals with a wide brush (which ends up diluting any interesting character growth) or avoid the topic altogether.

    I sort of explore this dilemma in the preface chapter as well.

    Nonetheless. The Hindu Mythos is an untapped well. I hope this fanfic can sufficiently expose it to the world and do it justice.
     
    juniorsundar said:
    Generally people are scared to delve into the Hindu Mythos in popular fiction (even in India) because the general populace has very strong opinions. And if portrayals don't adhere to their beliefs then there's heavy backlash.

    So either artists have to paint their portrayals with a wide brush (which ends up diluting any interesting character growth) or avoid the topic altogether.

    I sort of explore this dilemma in the preface chapter as well.

    Nonetheless. The Hindu Mythos is an untapped well. I hope this fanfic can sufficiently expose it to the world and do it justice.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Its doing pretty good tbh, also yeah a lot of people online tend to get a bit pissy when hindu myth get adatped not according to their standards, like this one ( this is again made based on bastardized version of the myth which thailand kinda adopted into their own culture)

    View: https://youtu.be/n8JFo4xmL08?si=emqH64lFRtGDrr6h
     
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    Chapter 27 - Prelude to Brutality
  • Threadmarks
    • The moment Kratos stepped out of the portal, he was assaulted by a sight that was all too familiar. A sea of people was prostrated on the ground, their foreheads pressed to the dirt in reverence. For a fleeting instant, a ghost of an old feeling stirred within him—the arrogant satisfaction of a god receiving his due. He crushed it immediately. Looking around, he saw the villagers' worship was not directed at him. It was aimed at the boy standing beside him. He brushed away the sharp discomfort and walked up to Murugan. He grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him back towards the shimmering, open portal.

    Murugan resisted, digging his heels into the dirt.

    "Come, boy. We are leaving," Kratos said, his voice a low command.

    "I-I can't," Murugan stuttered, his eyes darting towards a young woman who knelt beside an older couple. "Valli refuses to leave."

    Kratos followed his gaze. The reason for the girl's apprehension was evident in the protective way she stayed near her parents. "That is her decision, then," he declared. "We are leaving."

    "I can't leave her, Guruji," Murugan protested, his voice cracking. "They'll... they'll—"

    "So you will stay and protect them? Fight for them?" Kratos interrogated, his voice laced with anger. "How? Do you even know the strength of the army you will be facing?" He tightened his grip on Murugan's shoulder and gave him a sharp jolt. "Think, boy!"

    Murugan understood the logic, but his heart was set. The wavering, defiant expression on his face was enough for Kratos to realise that there was no rescuing this situation. The boy had committed. And so, Kratos was committed.

    At that moment, Vibhishana and Kumbhakarna stepped out of the portal. The sight of two more figures emerging from the divine gateway sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd.

    "The Lord has brought forth Divine Warriors from Kailasha!" one of the villagers proclaimed, his voice filled with renewed hope. "We are saved!"

    "T-They aren't Divine Warriors," Murugan quickly corrected them, gesturing with both hands towards Kratos. "This is my Guru." Before he could introduce the other two, he was interrupted.

    "Lord Murugan's Guru!" the villagers proclaimed as one, and prostrated themselves again.

    Then, a single voice rose from the crowd, a man chanting in Sanskrit. "Oṃ Bhasmato Jīvasraṣṭre Namaḥ." "Oṃ Bhūmikvathanakrodhāya Namaḥ_."

    The strange prayer caused others to look at the chanter in confusion. "The Lord's Guru is the Gramadevata of Bhasmodbhavapur," the villager quickly explained.

    "You mean the One Who Vanquished Raktabhija?" another villager inquired, his eyes widening in shock. He scanned Kratos more carefully, and a look of dawning recognition spread across his face.

    "The One that Births Life from the Ashes!"

    "The One with Rage that Boils the Earth!"

    "I thought he had two additional blades with chains—" a child muttered before a sharp smack was followed by a pained wail.

    Kratos stood frozen, shocked by the recognition. The reverence.

    "They seem to recognise you, Guruji," Murugan commented with evident confusion. "No, that's not it. They are worshipping you. I thought you weren't from these lands?"

    A low growl, born of discomfort and irritation, rumbled in Kratos' chest.

    "There is a town a few days south of here," Vibhishana explained. He spoke with the quiet authority of a scholar, "It is a beautiful place, surrounded by lush greenery. It wasn't always so. It used to be a nameless village, until the day it fell into the path of Raktabhija's carnage. The Rakshasa who could not be killed - for every drop of his blood birthed a new iteration of himself - would have destroyed everything, if not for the intervention of a brave warrior." Vibhishana's eyes widened as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "I knew I recognised Guruji from somewhere. To think that I was standing in the presence of such a valiant and powerful individual… it fills me with great honour."

    Murugan tried to pry the full story from the brothers, but Kratos stopped him, pulling him aside. "What is your plan?"

    Murugan bit his lip. "I cannot overuse my divine weapons," he admitted. "I asked my mount to scout ahead. The approaching army's strength is quite formidable. With our powers combined, do you think we could defeat them?"

    Kratos snorted. "Do not think like a warrior. Think like a general."

    "What does that mean?" Murugan asked, confused.

    "A warrior sees a problem and thinks only if he can punch through it," Kratos explained. He then gestured towards the chattering, prostrating crowd and said, "A general knows to leverage all the resources at his disposal."

    "There are barely enough fighters amongst them, Guruji," Murugan argued. "And they are not as strong as the seasoned warriors of the approaching army!"

    Murugan's response was all the evidence Kratos needed. The boy, in his current state, could not see beyond his own nose. He saw individual fighters, not a cohesive unit; he saw a lack of strength, not an opportunity for unconventional tactics. This was not a simple situation where divine power could overwhelm the enemy. Victory, if it were even possible, would require a cold and brutal strategy. It would demand sacrifices that the boy was not yet mature or experienced enough to comprehend, let alone command.

    "You are not ready for this, boy," Kratos said in a tone sharp with irritation. "I advise that you leave. Now."

    But Murugan remained unswayed.

    After a long, silent internal debate, Kratos let out a short, booming growl. He centred his emotions and walked before the crowd of people. His presence silenced them instantly.

    "You have two options," he yelled. As his voice carried across the village, he continued, "Flee and maybe live to see another day. Or stay and fight, and most definitely perish. Choose now!"

    The crowd flinched. Children began to whimper. The village leader, Valli's father, walked forward with an expression etched with a firm resolve. "This is our home," he said steadily. "Without it, there is nowhere else for us to go. Our kind are not welcome amongst those 'civilised people'. Even if we leave, this circumstance will repeat itself. So," he looked at his people, who nodded in grim agreement, "we will fight and 'most definitely' perish, my lord. Either the enemy dies, or we all die."

    The women of the village nodded, and each of them revealed a sharp dagger. This action emanated a silent promise that they were ready to take their own lives if it came to that.

    "Good," Kratos declared as he swept his gaze over the determined faces. "That leaves only one feasible outcome for us. Complete victory. Nothing less is acceptable."


    The forest bordering the Ganga in Kailasha was dark, but Faceless did not feel fear. His body jittered with an unfamiliar excitement as he walked alongside the riverbank. He kept Lord Ganesh's instructions in mind: follow the river, do not stray, and ignore the forest. He ignored the eerie and inhuman sounds that echoed from the dense woods around him. Sometimes, the voices would call to him, twisting themselves into the familiar sounds of his parents or even Lord Shiva himself, beckoning him to step into the shadows. But his willpower was a fortress. He kept his focus and walked forward.

    His purpose today was clear. He would find Mahadev and request the boon he had been offered. He would use it to join his brothers and Lord Murugan in their quest.

    But what exactly would he ask for? This question gnawed at his mind. Power? Weapons? An army? Each option felt insufficient, more like a temporary solution to a permanent problem. What boon would truly be worthy of the god who offered it?

    Lost in his thoughts, Faceless did not realise he was deviating from the path. His steps that were parallel to the river, now angled closer and closer towards the dark, tangled shrubbery of the forest.

    In that moment of distraction, a spectre burst from the trees. It was a formless shape of shadow and malice that collided with him, not with physical force, but with a psychic impact that rattled his soul. It dispersed immediately into a dense, cold mist that enveloped him.

    Faceless stumbled back as his mind reeled. When he came out of his stupor, he found himself standing not in the divine forest, but somewhere else entirely. The world around him was a vision, but it also felt vivid and overwhelmingly real.

    He stood on a high balcony overlooking his kingdom. Lanka. But it was a Lanka transformed. The gleaming spires of gold and ivory now towered over not just an island, but an entire continent - his empire. From the snowy peaks of the north to the sun-scorched south, all of Bhuloka answered to his rule. Legions marched under his banner, their discipline absolute, their might unquestioned. Cities of impossible scale and beauty dotted the landscape, all built in his name. It was prosperous. It was wondrous. It was absolute.

    None could stand against the power of his empire's might. No human, at least. He could feel it in his very bones - he had long transcended humanity. He was a god in all but name; his will was the law of the mortal world.

    But it was not enough.

    His gaze lifted from the conquered earth and turned towards the heavens and the nether realms. He looked afar, into the shimmering realms of Svarga, home of the Devas, and the shadowy depths of Patala, domain of the Asuras. And in that single glance, he understood a crushing truth. He was not strong enough. He may be beyond-human, a king of mortals, but compared to the true gods - the ancient powers who controlled the very suns and stars - he was still an insect. His vast empire was but a grain of sand on their infinite shore.

    To defeat them, to truly conquer, he needed to be... more.

    Faceless kept trudging onward, but his mind was still lost in the ambition he had just witnessed. Suddenly, his feet collided against a protruding rock. The sharp, sudden pain brought a rush of clarity. The vision shattered. He looked around and realised he had strayed near the edge of the woods, far from the relative safety of the riverbank. He quickly waved away the lingering wisps of mist and retraced his steps. His heart pounded harder yet. Not with fear, not with anticipation, but with the echo of that all-consuming desire. He returned to the river and continued following it upstream. This time, though, he remained more vigilant. He maintained his absolute focus, ensuring that he remained attached to the river's bank as if it were a lifeline.

    After a long while, the dense shrubbery dispersed slightly, revealing a large, moss-covered stone archway through which the river flowed. That was his destination.

    But as he took a step towards it, a figure appeared from the shadows of the arch. What he saw first were just two crimson-red, malevolent dots of light that quickly turned clear as a massive bull stepped out. It was much larger than any bull he had seen in his life. Its hide was the colour of a moonless night, and its horns were like sharpened points of pearlescent bone. It radiated a pressure that could make even the proudest and ferocious of lions cower.

    Faceless did not need another moment to realise who stood before him.

    He immediately averted his gaze and disallowed himself from observing the divine beast any further. With a decisive movement, he collapsed to the ground and prostrated his body in the dirt.

    "Oh, great Nandi!" he bellowed with a wavering voice that was thick with reverence. "Vehicle of the Great God, Guardian of Kailasha! Forgive this lowly mortal for trespassing in your sacred domain! I offer my sincerest prostrations!"

    The Bull walked forward. Its footsteps were silent, yet the earth trembled with each one. Faceless felt the Bull come to a stop directly in front of him as its hot, steamy breath rolled over the back of his neck. Then, a light tap brushed against the crown of his head. He realised it was a hoof - the beast had blessed him. He could barely contain the overwhelming emotion that surged through him, but he dared not move. He dared not stand.

    The Bull walked a slow circle around him. He could feel its silent judgment like a palpable force weighing down on him. Faceless waited and kept his face pressed to the ground until he could no longer feel the hoof-falls. Only then, after a long, respectful pause, did he get up and continue his walk along the river.

    Past the archway, the landscape opened into a wide plateau. The river wrapped around its base, but Faceless noticed something strange. White, shimmering particulates floated out of the water, rising like mist and making their way up the plateau. From the top, he could hear the sound of a drum and rhythmic footfalls forming a beat that literally felt like it was altering his heartbeats. He realised immediately that the Lord was up there.

    He climbed. When he reached the top, he was awed by the sight. Mahadev was dancing, though it was not a performance for an audience.

    The Lord's movements were both chaotic and perfectly controlled. His limbs blurred in motion, and his dreadlocks whipped through the air like black comets. As a learned artist himself, Faceless could truly appreciate the spectacle. He saw the impossible geometry in the Lord's posture and the universe of meaning in a single gesture of his hand.

    The longer he looked, the more he saw. The Lord was leaving after-images - each a perfect, frozen moment of the dance, yet each performing a dance of its own. With every blink, Faceless found his focus shifting between them. There were an endless number of these after-images, each telling a different story. He sat through a few in their entirety, without blinking. He saw the story of a person's life, from the first cry of birth to the final rattle of death. Each life was different. Each blink was different. Each experience was unique. Some were filled with laughter and joy, some were mired in tragedy and despair. Each blink brought a new range of emotions - love, hate, peace, rage. It was a transcendental performance. It was a dance that contained every story ever told.

    Faceless realised that this opportunity was singular. He would not be able to witness such a divine performance again in his lifetime. He did not wish to miss a single moment. Alas, his only regret was that he had only one pair of eyes. If only he had more...

    Faceless did not know how long the performance lasted. All he could say was that, however long it was, it was not enough. But it would be selfish and disrespectful of him to expect the Lord to perform for him alone. When the final beat of the drum faded into silence, the Lord had finished. The Lord approached with slow and deliberate movements. His skin was caked completely in white ash, like a stark monochrome canvas with only his lush, pink lips providing a sliver of colour.

    Once he was before Faceless, his lips moved. "So. It appears you have decided what it is that you want."

    Faceless, still reeling from the Dance, pondered for a moment. He was stumped. "If the Lord could offer some guidance," he began with a hesitant voice. "I am unable to make a decision."

    "What's the hurry, then?" the Lord asked back with a casual tone.

    "I wish to join Lord Murugan in his quest," Faceless responded. "For that, I would need to leave Kailasha. That would mean the boon the Lord offered would be void."

    "Then it seems you have a decision to make," the Lord commented offhandedly. "Not one I can assist you with, though. I cannot tell you what you want. Only you know what you want. What do you want?"

    "I want..." Faceless muttered. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting desires. The vision of his empire, the power he craved, the duty he felt to his brothers - it all warred within him.

    "I often find that thinking less and going with one's gut tends to get the answer faster," the Lord advised with a calm and steady voice that offered some solace to his own internal storm.

    The words cut through the noise as Faceless allowed his mind to settle. He then spoke the first, truest desire that surfaced. "I want immortality!" he blurted out.

    The Lord sucked in a long breath and squinted slightly. "Immortality has many shapes and forms. Your soul could be immortal; your physical vessel would perish, but the soul would not leave Bhuloka and would immediately inhabit another vessel, perpetuating you over generations. Or you, in your current form and soul, could never perish. You would die, but would be resurrected immediately after." He paused, letting the options settle. "When it comes to boons, the more specific you are, the stronger it tends to be. So what kind of immortality is it that you want?"

    Faceless pondered this. Immortality was a good start, but it was incomplete. It was a shield, not a sword. The vision he had witnessed replayed in his mind - the unconquered gods, the unconquerable realms. There was a better formulation.

    "I wish to be undefeatable and unkillable by the following," he began, his voice now steady and sure. And then he started to list them. Every single creature, species, and race in existence. Devas, Asuras, Yakshas, Rakshasas, Gandharvas, Kinnaras, Nagas, Vanaras, and on and on. His vast knowledge did not miss a single one. Every being ever created by Lord Brahma flew from his mouth without a stutter, a pause, or an ounce of uncertainty.

    After a long moment, Faceless had finished. The Lord nodded slowly. But then his brow quirked up as he realised something, "You missed one."

    A smile touched the exposed muscles of Faceless's mouth. It was a genuine smile, but an unconscious tinge of pride eked out. "They are no threat to me."

    The Lord closed his eyes. He raised his right palm, forming a gesture both as a conclusion and a commencement. This time, Faceless didn't see the Lord's lips move. But his voice echoed all around him. From within and without.

    "So be it. Tathastu."


    Desperation is a powerful drug. It turns cornered prey into a predator. It was a potent motivator, and its effect was evident in the way the villagers now looked at Kratos. The fear was still there, a tremor beneath the surface, but it was overshadowed by a hardened resolve. They had accepted their fate. Now, they wanted to know the price of their victory.

    "All who can wield a weapon, stand," Kratos commanded.

    Men and women rose. Some held spears, others axes or simple farming sickles. They were not soldiers, but their hands were calloused and their bodies were strong from a life of labour. Kratos walked through their ranks as his eyes assessed each one. He moved the children and the elderly to one side - clearly separating the assets and the liabilities.

    No, that was wrong. Only a foolish general looks at human resources like this and shoves them aside as liabilities. Every life has a use on the battlefield. Even these noncombatants.

    He gathered Murugan and the two brothers. "Facing them head-on is foolish," he stated with a low and intense voice. "We do not have the numbers or the training. We will not meet them in an open field. We will break them before they even see us."

    "How?" Murugan asked, his eyes wide.

    "We split their force," Kratos explained. "We create a diversion. A target they cannot ignore." He nodded towards the group of elders and children huddled together. "They will be our decoys."

    Murugan recoiled as if struck. "No. Guruji, you cannot mean that. They are-"

    "They are the slowest," Kratos cut him off, his voice devoid of emotion. "They are the ones who will be caught first if we all flee. This way, their fate has a purpose. They will draw the main host of the army away from the village, leading them on a chase."

    "That is a death sentence!" Murugan protested, his voice rising.

    "They are already sentenced to death," Kratos retorted with his eyes locking onto his pupil's. "I am merely choosing the executioner. Do you have a better plan? One that does not end with all of them dead, this village burned to the ground, and the women turned into slaves?"

    Murugan opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer.

    Vibhishana, who had been listening intently, stepped forward. "It is a sound strategy, my lord," he said quietly. He did not like it, not one bit. But what better option did they have? "Cruel, but sound. A feigned retreat to lure the enemy into a disadvantageous position is a classic stratagem."

    Kratos gave the scholar a nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the plan. "Once the army is diverted, the fighters will use the forest. You," he said, pointing to the village leader, "know these woods better than anyone. You will use guerrilla tactics. Strike from the shadows. Use the trees to your advantage. Set up traps, lace them with poison. Pick them off in small groups. Create chaos. Bleed them."

    The village leader nodded, his expression dour but understanding.

    With his voice still shaken, Murugan asked, "And us?"

    "We perform shock attacks," Kratos answered. "We will use your mount for air superiority. We find their leaders, their commanders, their beasts. We kill them. An army without a head is just a mob."

    He left no room for further debate. He walked over to the group of elderly people and children. He looked at the oldest among them: a woman whose face was a roadmap of wrinkles.

    "You will lead the enemy away from here," he told her bluntly. "You will make them follow you. You will run until you can run no more. You will create an opportunity for us. You will die."

    The old woman did not weep or protest. She looked at Kratos, and he saw her eyes fill with a profound understanding. She nodded once. Then, she turned to the younger, faster members of her group and began handing over the smallest children to them. They could sustain the weight and could at least save the kids. It was a silent, heartbreaking transfer of responsibility, and an acceptance of sacrifice.

    Kratos watched for a moment, then turned away. "Go," he commanded the decoy group. "Now!"

    They left without a backwards glance.

    "To the forest," he ordered the remaining fighters. "Disappear. Wait for my signal."

    The villagers melted into the trees. Their forms vanished into the familiar shadows of their home. Soon, only Kratos, Murugan, and the two brothers remained.

    "Boy," Kratos said, looking at his pupil. "This will not be a glorious battle. It will be a slaughter. Are you ready?"

    Murugan looked at the path the elders had taken, then at Valli, who stood with the fighters with her small dagger clutched tightly in her hand. He took a deep breath, and within a split second, his youthful uncertainty hardened into a cold resolve.

    Just as he was about to answer, the air beside them shimmered and tore open. A new portal, identical to the one that had brought them here, swirled into existence. A figure stepped through. It was Faceless.

    He looked around. He took in the empty village square, the lingering tension in the air, and the small group of warriors standing ready. He approached them with measured but confident steps.

    With a calmness in his voice, he said, "I apologise for the delay, my Lords," and gave a respectful bow.

    Kratos's eyes narrowed as he assessed the newcomer. He was another piece on the board, and thus another resource.

    He turned to Murugan. "Can your bird carry all of us?"

    A smirk touched Murugan's lips. "That will not be a problem."

    He whistled sharply. The great peacock swooped down from the sky and landed beside them with a soft thud. Murugan then began to rotate his arms in a slow, circular motion. A spectral mandala that appeared as a complex wheel of glowing golden light formed between his palms. With a final push, he sent the mandala onto his mount. The light enveloped the peacock, and as it faded, the bird had grown. Its form was now large enough to be a living war chariot.


    The horde did not march; it oozed across the land like a festering wound. At night, their encampment was not a structured military camp, but a sprawling, chaotic stain upon the earth. Countless campfires dotted the landscape like angry sores, scattered without rhyme or reason. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, blood, and roasting meat. It carried a smell so heavy it felt like a physical weight.

    These were the barbarians from the north. They were not a disciplined army, but a collection of tribes bound by a singular, rapacious hunger. Their bodies were painted in crude white patterns of ash and dried blood. Their hair was matted and wild. Their eyes held a feral glint. These were men who had long abandoned civilisation for the simple, brutal calculus of strength.

    Among them were their beasts of war - not trained, but broken. There were chained elephants whose hides were cracked with scars from cruel goads, that trumpeted in misery. There were bulls with eyes wild with pain and rage that strained against their tethers. Some cages held other, stranger creatures of the deep woods that snarled and clawed at their bars with a perpetual anger that was ready to be unleashed.

    At the heart of this chaotic encampment was a throne of obscene majesty. It was fashioned from the skull of a colossal elephant, with its tusks forming a morbid frame around the seat. The throne itself did not rest on the ground; it was held aloft on the shoulders of a horde of emaciated slaves whose muscles trembled under the immense weight. This was the chieftain's war chariot.

    Upon this throne sat their leader, a man whose sheer bulk seemed to strain the bone beneath him. His name was unknown to the civilised world, but his followers called him 'The Butcher'. A thick, braided beard, matted with grease and bits of old meals, covered a chest as broad as a barrel. His weapon was a massive mace that was studded with bone shards and jagged metal spikes, and it rested against his leg.

    He tore into a haunch of roasted meat with his bare hands, allowing the grease to drip down his chin. A slave whose body was a frail collection of bones held together by skin approached with a bowl of some steaming gruel. The slave's hands trembled from exhaustion and fear. The bowl slipped and its contents spilt onto the dirt floor.

    The Chieftain did not roar. He simply stopped chewing. The raucous laughter and chatter around him died instantly. He looked at the slave, and a slow, bloody smile stretched across his face to reveal teeth filed to sharp points.

    His hand shot out with a blur of motion. It closed around the slave's neck. A single, sharp crack echoed in the immediate silence. The Chieftain held the limp body for a moment before tossing it to one of his lieutenants.

    The subordinate caught the corpse with ease. Without a word, he drove a heavy iron stake through the man's torso and, with the help of another, mounted him on a large spit over a nearby fire. Other bodies - human and animal - were already turning above the flames. Their skin blistered and blackened in the heat. The Chieftain watched for a moment, then went back to his meal as if nothing had happened.

    At that moment, one of his scouts came running, panting heavily as he skidded to a halt before the bone throne. The man was caked in mud, and his breathing came in ragged gasps.

    He pointed a trembling finger towards the dark line of the forest. "[Click-grunt]... group... run... forest... that way," he managed to say in their guttural, basic language. He paused to catch his breath. "[Grunt]... Old ones... but... tasty kids... too."

    A slow, predatory smile bloomed on the Chieftain's face once again. He raised a meaty fist, extended a single finger, and lazily twirled it in the air.

    The signal was all that was needed. A ripple of brutal excitement spread through the nearby warriors. One of his lieutenants, a man with a jagged scar where one of his eyes should have been, let out a sharp bark of a laugh. He grabbed his axe and gestured to a dozen or so others. They rose as one and moved like a pack of wolves that had caught the scent of blood. They scrambled towards the tethered bulls, kicking and shouting at the beasts until they were mounted. With another chorus of guttural yells, the lieutenant led his small war party off into the darkness in the direction the scout had indicated. Their departure was a chaotic surge of hooves and dust, swallowed quickly by the night. The Chieftain watched them go, then took another bite of his meal.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • juniorsundar said:
    After a long moment, Faceless had finished. The Lord nodded slowly. But then his brow quirked up as he realised something, "You missed one."

    A smile touched the exposed muscles of Faceless's mouth. It was a genuine smile, but an unconscious tinge of pride eked out. "They are no threat to me."
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    So, Ravan can be killed by humans or Kratos. I see what you did there. Will he do the same dumb shit he did in Ramayana?
     
    juniorsundar said:
    "We split their force," Kratos explained. "We create a diversion. A target they cannot ignore." He nodded towards the group of elders and children huddled together. "They will be our decoys."
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    Wait, can't they use an AOE attack and kill the entire army? Pretty sure Kratos alone can do it?
     
    Crouchinghiddenwriter said:
    So, Ravan can be killed by humans or Kratos. I see what you did there. Will he do the same dumb shit he did in Ramayana?
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    Dude doesnt count ,he is a god already .but his hope power doesnt care about such silly thing as immortality wish

    *man it still feel weird to read the the actual version of the character instead of a bastardized version of ramanyana i have been raised with :V *
     
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