Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

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The wind died. The lightning faded.

Along with the death of Trinavarta.

And from the sky—Garutraaksha hurriedly. Descended.

Pulling—Meghavarna along with him.

Not in pride. But in fear of the attack Devara unleashed to kill Trinavarta in a single astra.

They landed. And kneeled.

Not forced. Not commanded.

But because—They understood.

Garutraaksha trembled just thinking about it.

His wings—No longer symbols of dominance.

But of escape.

Because he knew—If he stayed in the sky any longer—The next thing falling—Would be his head or his wife’s head.

Meghavarna stared at Devara.

"...."

Not with hatred. Not anymore. His power is more than she can achieve. She understood with the single attack he demonstrated to take down her mighty brother.

But something far more unsettling took root in her mind—Fear. And confusion.

How their situation become like this.

Devara’s voice came calm.

"Why should I spare you... if you won’t change?"

Meghavarna clenched her fists.

Hearing his voice as if he knew about them.

"...."

Her voice cracked—Not from weakness.

But from years of being told what she was.

-Snort!

"Change? How? From birth... We are called evil. We are expected to do evil. Our worth... is measured by it."

Silence.

"...."

"...."

"...."

For a moment—Devara didn’t reply to her silently listening to her complaint.

Not because he had no answer. But because he understood the weight of the question.

Which was suddenly directed at him.

Her Rakshasa race is considered as evil by all the other races.

One might find it odd since it was the only point all of them would accept.

Even many gods hate them. And disgusted by their presence.

Or they were not allowed to enter the area they gave their protection.

And there is Indra who would repeatedly would cause troubles all around in the name of preventing imbalance.

Would make moves to kill them indirectly or make them get cursed especially those he considered as threat.

He will be 100 percent involved if the other parties race is a Rakshasa or Asuras.

They were kept at the bottom trampled over repeatedly.

Then—Devara finally spoke. Calm. Steady. Absolute.

"Karma ...is not decided by your race. Not by what others expect of you. But by what you choose to do."

His eyes met theirs.

"...."

Not as prey. Not as enemies.

But as beings—Standing at a crossroads.

"You still have time. Turn back. Or your end..."

A slight pause.

"...will be like his."

No anger. No threat. Just truth. He pointed at the direction were Trinavarta has fallen.

Meanwhile...

Devara’s thoughts flickered to system’s task which asked him to kill Trinavarta not these two.

No system task. No elimination order.

Which meant—They were not beyond redemption. Yet.

Both lowered their heads.

Not in defeat. But in acceptance.

Because for the first time—Someone had given them—A choice. No second choice.

Devara turned. Not even waiting for thanks.

Simply—Walking away. A silent message.

"Decide your path."

Garutraaksha spoke this time in his voice one could see respect.

Carefully.

"Your name..."

Devara paused hearing his question.

Just slightly. Then answered—

"Devaratha. Call me Devara."

They both nodded in respect.

-Nod!

Burning it into memory.

Not as fear. But as something else.

Respect. And they left. Fast. Not chased. Not hunted.

Just—Gone.

Mathura Kingdom...

Royal Court...

In the royal court of Mathura sat Kamsa on his throne.

A king surrounded by luxury. Music flowed.

Dancers moved like flame.

Guests filled the hall—Laughter echoing against golden pillars.

For a moment—Everything was perfect.

As it should be. Because this was his day. His court. His power.

Then—A sound. Sharp. Unnatural.

-FWOOSH!!!

From the window—It Entered like it owns the place.

A green construct—Shaped like a serpent.

Fast. Ferocious. It didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate.

It struck the floor—Right before the throne.

All this happened in a second.

The music stopped by the sudden intrusion. The dancers froze in shock.

The court—Silent.

"...."

"...."

"...."

No body had the guts to break it now.

The construct dissolved as it has acknowledged.

And what remained—Made the air heavier. A head. Green.

Frozen in its final moment.

Eyes wide. Mouth open.

As if still trying—To understand death.

Some gasped. Some stepped back. Because they knew that face.

Trinavarta. A general. A weapon of the king.

Reduced—To a message.

For a second—Kamsa

Did not move at all. Looking at the face and the frozen experssion of shock on it.

Then—His eyes widened in realization. Veins tightened.

And without hesitation—He crushed the head beneath his foot.

-CRUSH!!!

His voice thundered through the court—

"WHO DARES—TO TOUCH MY MEN?!"

The pillars seemed to tremble.

-Trembles!

Not from power—But from fury of humiliation he has suffered before his guest.

But beneath the anger—Something else stirred.

For some reason he remembered.

A memory. A dream. A boy. Green eyes. Golden armor.

Everything flashed before his eyes.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t war.

This—Was a warning he could see. Not sent with words. But with precision.

"Your time is coming."

No one spoke. No one moved.

Because they could feel it—The shift.

A celebration had turned into silence.

"...."

"...."

"...."

A king had been challenged—Without a name. Without a face.

Silence ruled the court.

Heavy. Uncomfortable.

Then—A sound. Soft. Familiar.

"Narayana... Narayana..."

From the entrance—Walking as if he owned neither fear nor urgency—Came Sage Narada.

Veena in hand. Smile in place.

Kamsa

Turned slowly. His anger—Still burning. Now focused. Sharp.

"You..."

The word alone carried threat.

Because this was not a moment for visitors.

Sage Narada didn’t care about it.

Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even acknowledge the tension.

He simply walked—To the center of the court. As if this chaos—Was expected.

His eyes gleamed. Not with fear.

But with something far more dangerous—Amusement.

"Why such anger, King?"

A pause.

Then—The twist.

"After all... This is only the beginning."

The court stiffened hearing what Sage Narada’s words.

Kamsa’s eyes narrowed.

"...."

Narada tilted his head slightly. Voice casual—But each word landed like a blade.

"With the fall of Trinavarta ...your countdown has begun. One by one... Your men will fall. And with each death... Your end..."

A faint smile.

"...draws closer."

Some gasped hearing the death sentence to King Kamsa.

Some lowered their heads.

Because unlike threats—This sounded like certainty.

For a brief second—Fear flickered. Then—Anger swallowed it whole.

But the seed—Had been planted.

Sage Narada turned. As casually as he entered.

Walking away—Without waiting. Without permission.

And as he vanished—His voice lingered.

"Narayana... Narayana..."

The court remained frozen.

Not because of the head. Not because of the threat.

But because now—And when a sage like Narada names something—It rarely fails to arrive.

Meanwhile...

Mahendragiri Mountain...

Just as silence settled—The heavens shifted again.

Clouds gathered. But not violently. Not chaotically.

Lightning didn’t strike randomly. It circled.

Forming a path. A throne in the sky.

And from it—Descended Indra. The King of Gods...

The air grew heavy. Not with danger. But authority.

The kind that demanded recognition.

Karna froze for a brief second.

"...."

Because this—Was no rakshasa. No enemy. This—Was a god.

Who decided to appear before them.

Indra’s voice echoed through the sky.

Calm. Measured. Yet filled with command.

"You have done well. Dealing with the rakshasas..."

A slight pause.

"...was commendable."

His gaze sharpened slightly.

"But sparing them ...was questionable."

The words weren’t advice. They were judgment.

His eyes dropped—To the bow.

Pinakodanda.

And for a moment—Even the lightning dimmed.

Then came the truth.

"That bow ...should not remain in the mortal realm."

Silence followed.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Because this—Was not concern. It was intent.

Indra extended his hand.

"Hand it over."

As if it were obvious. As if it were natural.

"In return... I will grant you the Indrastra¹."

Lightning flickered behind him—As if agreeing.

Devara blinked once. Not in fear. Not in confusion.

-Blink!

"...."

But disbelief by how serious this god was.

Meanwhile in his mind.

’He’s serious... This god ...is actually serious.’

The mountain changed again.

Not because of power. But because of tension.

On one side—A king of gods.

On the other—A boy with a bow that even gods noticed and couldn’t help but greedy about it.

Silence held the mountain.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Until—Karna. Stepped forward. Not out of impulse.

But conviction.

His voice cut through the charged air—

"That is unfair."

A simple sentence.

Yet heavy enough—To disturb a god.

Indra when he heard Karna. Didn’t like that. At all.

His gaze shifted—Cold.

"This is beyond you. It concerns cosmic balance."

The tone wasn’t explanation. It was dismissal.

To Indra—This was order that’s what he said.

To Karna—This was wrong. And he didn’t step back.

"...."

"...."

Between them—Devara. Still. Quiet. Watching.

Watching all these events unfolding.

Then. Suddenly—He broke into. A laugh. Loud. Unrestrained.

Not mocking—But disbelieving of what he had witnessed.

-HAHAHAHA!!!

Both Karna and Indra turned. Toward Devara who suddenly started to laugh.

Indra looked closer. Really looked at the boy who was laughing.

At the boy. At his eyes. At his presence.

And then—It Hit Him as if he was suddenly remembering something very important.

"This child..."

His eyes widened.

"He’s the one..."

The incident which happened years ago. The curse. The humiliation.

By Sage Durvasa

Triggered—Because of him.

’The son of Ganga ...and Bhudevi...’

But something didn’t add up at all.

’He was with Durvasa... Then why—’

His gaze shifted—Toward the mountain.

’—is he here? With Parashurama?’

A feeling crept in. Subtle. But sharp. Confusion.

’Something... is wrong.’

His eyes moved. To Karna. And his expression darkened.

Through his divine sight—Karna

"...."

Was no ordinary boy. A charioteer’s son.

Yet—Standing before him. Questioning him.

That—Stung his pride more than anything.

"A mortal ...dares to oppose me?"

The air tightened. Lightning flickered—Sharper now.

Responding to the anger of Indra with his each move and words.

Indra Spoke again this time not directed at Devara but at Karna.

And the words—Were not just sharp. They were cruel.

"A boy of questionable birth ...dares question me?"

Karna. Paused for a second. Not in anger. But in confusion.

Because in his world—He had parents.

A mother. A father. A home.

So why—Did those words feel wrong?

Were his thought as his chest undefined.

But Devara—Did not miss it.

Not the insult. Not the implication. Not the truth hidden beneath it.

His eyes narrowed as Indra insulted Karna’s birth.

And without a word—He placed his hand on Karna’s shoulder.

"...."

Firm. Grounding. Stopping him.

Then—He stepped ahead.

Between Karna—And a god. Who just insulted Karna.

His gaze locked onto Indra. Calm. But dangerous.

"You want to know who he is?"

A pause. The wind stilled.

In the sky lightning flickered.

Not randomly. But in rhythm. As if waiting for the revelation. Listening.

The curse which was preventing and restraint between the father and son is about to be broken.

A silence.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Devara voice dropped. Heavy. Each word—Measured.

"Then listen carefully."

Lightning cracked sensing the moment.

The mountain echoed his words.

As if the heavens themselves—Acknowledged what was coming.

"He is not what you think. Not what the world sees. Not what he was told."

Another bolt tore through the sky.

Closer. Sharper.

Devara’s eyes gleamed.

"He is the son of—"

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(Author note:)

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