Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys Action is back... Give me your power stones to power up...

-------------------------------------------------

The night in Gandhara did not dim. It sharpened with tight security.

Every corridor watched with vigilance. Every shadow questioned with suspicion.

Every stranger weighed.

An attack—On the groom who was going to marry their princess.

Inside Gandhara grounds, The royal palace.

That was not just danger.

It was insult. To the Gandhara kingdom.

To its pride. To its authority.

No one took it lightly especially the all the princes and the king Subala.

Orders spread like wildfire—Search everyone thoroughly.

Question everything done by the strangers they felt like needs to be investigated.

Trust no shadow.

And if anything seemed even slightly wrong—Arrest first. Ask later.

Because this was no longer about safety alone.

It was about face.

And show the world that no one can step on their face.

Meanwhile—Devara had already decided.

"I’m coming."

But before he could take even two steps—Bhishma stopped him.

"...."

Not harshly. But firmly.

"You are not."

Devara frowned slightly.

-Frown!

"This concerns me."

"It does."

Bhishma’s voice remained calm.

"And tomorrow concerns you more."

A pause.

"You are the groom."

Not a title. A responsibility for the event which will happen Tomorrow.

"You will rest."

No argument. No room for it.

Just decision he made as his elder brother.

For a moment—Devara looked like he might push back.

"...."

Then—He exhaled with a pout.

-Sigh!

"...Fine."

Not agreement. Not fully. But acceptance of what was laid before him.

Because Bhishma was not asking.

"....."

He turned and Left with a helpless look on his face.

Ashwatthama watched him go.

"...He won’t sleep."

Shakuni smirked faintly.

-Smirk!

"No ...but at least he won’t be in our way. To investigate..."

And with that—They left.

Toward the place where truth is rarely gentle.

Interrogation Chamber...

The three assassins were secured.

Bound tightly.

No room to move. No room to escape.

Even their own deaths—Had been denied to them.

Because silence—Would not be allowed.

Hours passed....

Every methods where tried on them to make them spit out the truth.

They asked every Questions which will be vital information in the upcoming battle.

Pressured with many beatings and pains inflicted on them.

Silence were the only answer received from the assassins.

Again. And again. And again.

Until—A crack.

One of them broke finally not able to handle any more.

His breathing uneven. Voice strained.

"...Twenty-six..."

The room stilled hearing the number.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Bhishma’s eyes sharpened but silently listened as the one who broke spoke.

"...There are twenty-six of us."

A pause.

"...inside the palace."

That—Changed everything the assassins as already .

Drona stepped forward slightly.

"Where?"

The assassin shook his head weakly.

"...Hidden ...waiting ...watching... For the right moment."

Mahamantri Vidura spoke next.

"Their objective?"

The answer came without hesitation now.

"...Kill the prince."

No name needed now everyone in the chamber understood.

"...The one who dares stand against our king ...the one protecting those he seeks..."

King Kamsa

"...will not be spared."

Silence deepened.

"...."

"...."

"...."

But the assassin wasn’t finished.

"...And this is only the beginning."

Bhishma’s gaze didn’t move.

"Explain?"

...The army is coming."

A whisper now as he explain the how big Kamsa’s armies were.

"...Rakshasas... warriors... everything ...Mathura will march. ...Gandhara will fall ...for standing with him."

The words lingered like poison.

Not threat. Promise. Of how serious King Kamsa.

The chamber fell silent again.

"...."

"...."

"...."

But this silence—Was different. Heavier. Then before.

Because now—This was no longer an attempt.

It was war.

Bhishma turned slightly.

His voice calm. But absolute.

"Lock down the palace. Double the guards. No one moves without verification."

Drona nodded with what Bhishma as said.

-Nod!

Already thinking ahead.

Vidura’s mind was racing. Calculating.

Shakuni’s smile returned—But colder than before.

"...Twenty-six."

He muttered as he eyed the assassins.

"Let’s see how many make it to sunrise."

Meanwhile...

Devara returned back to his chamber.

The chamber door closed.

-Click!

For a moment—It was quiet since no one was present insid.

Then—The air shifted.

A soft breeze slipped through the white curtains, brushing past Devara’s face like a whisper that knew something he didn’t.

-Hisssss...

He turned towards the sound where he heard the hissing from.

There, gliding across the floor—A black cobra.

Which was pitch black with purple eyes.

The same one.

The one that had coiled around him on stage—Playing King Vasuki.

Devara’s expression softened.

"You came back."

He extended his arm.

The cobra rose slightly, then slid forward, wrapping around his forearm with quiet familiarity.

A living ornament.

A silent companion who came back to see him.

He patted its head lightly.

For a fleeting second—The world almost felt normal again.

Then—The curtain moved. Not by wind.

By presence.

A shadow slipped across the white fabric.

-SWISH!

Then another. Then many entered the chamber.

Devara’s smile faded. Just slightly. Looking at the uninvited guest.

"...."

The cobra stilled feeling the presence of the unknown hostile presences.

The room darkened—not in light, but in intent.

One by one—They stepped out.

Figures cloaked in shadow. Weapons in their hand.

Eyes fixed on him like they were some predators.

Among them—Something heavier.

Something wrong don’t look like humans.

Four of them. Were clearly Rakshasa

The air thickened.

Twenty-six. The number echoed in Devara’s mind.

"...So that’s where you were."

No fear. Only recognition by the same dress code they wear.

He gently lowered the cobra near a flower vase.

"Stay."

The snake obeyed. Coiling quietly.

Watching the uninvited guests with hostility.

Devara stepped forward calmly.

"Come then."

A flicker of light—Two blades appeared in his hands.

Amba–Tejas.

Steel that didn’t just cut—It answered.

The assassins moved first. All at once.

Like a collapsing wave. And Devara—Stepped into it.

The first strike was aimed at him—Was not blocked.

It ended forcefully.

A single swing of one of his duel sword—And a man’s arm separated from his body.

"Ahhhhh!!!..."

Before the scream finished—Another blade moved.

Clean. Precise.

Straight through the chest. Showing how calm and composed he was.

The second assassin lifted off his feet—Pinned in that final moment.

Devara pulled the blade free.

-Swish!

Blood followed with a trail. Warm. Immediate.

It splashed across his face.

"...."

And still—He smiled calmly looking at the remaining standing ones.

Not wide. But enough.

His green eyes gleamed. Not with madness.

With certainty as if the result of this ambush is already decided.

The room froze.

"...."

"...."

"...."

For just a second—The hunters remembered something.

They were not the predators here.

They had walked into something else entirely.

Something that did not panic. Did not rush. Did not falter.

They stepped back. Just slightly. Enough to show it.

Fear.

Devara tilted his head.

"...You came all this way."

A step forward as he spoke.

-Thud.

"...Don’t stop now."

Behind him—The cobra watched.

Still. Unblinking. As if it was watching a show.

And the blades in his hands—Seemed almost eager.

Because this—Was no longer an ambush.

It was a slaughter waiting to finish.

The hesitation lasted a heartbeat. Then it shattered.

They regained their composure.

The remaining twenty-four came at once.

Not as individuals—But as a storm which wants to devour its opponent.

Blades from every direction.

Shadows collapsing inward.

And just as steel was about to meet flesh—Light answered.

A golden radiance burst across Devara’s body.

-FLAAASHHHH!!!

Parvati Kavach.

Not worn. Not summoned.

Awakened after sensing the attacks.

It formed in a flicker—Like light remembering its purpose.

-Clangs! -Clink!

Every blade struck—And stopped as if it had met a unbreakable wall.

Not deflected. Not parried.

Stopped.

As if reality itself refused to let them pass.

A sword halted inches from his throat.

A dagger froze before his eye.

A spear trembled against his chest—Unable to move forward.

"...."

"...."

"...."

The assassins’ eyes widened.

Because they felt it.

They weren’t being blocked by armor.

They were being denied to touch him with their weapons.

Devara stepped forward. And the storm broke.

As he started his assaults on his enemies with his Amba-Tejas dual swords.

The first strike—Took a head.

-SPLASH!!!

The second—Split through bone like it had no memory of resistance.

-SWISH!

The third—Did not even allow a scream of the one who had received it.

There was no hesitation in each strike.

No wasted motion.

Every swing—Ended something called as life.

Every step—Closed a life gate for someone.

The rakshasas roared—Their forms shifting, swelling, trying to overwhelm—They fell the same.

One pierced through the chest.

Another cleaved through the neck.

Strength. Numbers. Ferocity.

None of it mattered before the one who was killing them like this.

Because Devara wasn’t fighting to survive.

He was fighting to end.

Blood splashed all across. Walls caught it. Floor drank it like some water.

The chamber—Turned red like some one has painted it.

And in its center—Stood the artist who had made it.

Calm. Precise.

Painting with motion as his swords were acting as his brushes.

With silence. With inevitability.

"...."

"...."

"...."

By the time the guards arrived—It was over.

They stopped at the door.

Because what they saw—Was not a fight.

It was a conclusion.

Bodies lay scattered. Weapons fallen.

Silence heavy.

"...."

"...."

"...."

And in the middle—Devara stood like a death.

Blood traced across his face.

Across his armor. Across his blades.

His eyes—Still. Clear.

The golden glow of the kavach slowly dimmed.

As it once again gone like it was never present in the first place.

A guard swallowed looking around.

-Gulp!

"...My lord..."

No response. Not immediately.

Because Devara was still—In it.

Then—He exhaled. The blades lowered slightly.

-Sigh!

"...Secure the palace."

Calm. Unshaken.

"Search every corner."

A pause.

"...None must remain."

The guards moved instantly.

Because now—They understood. This was not an attack.

This was war—Already inside their walls.

And the man they were meant to protect—Did not need protection.

He was the one—They would stand behind while he leads the war dictating its course of direction.

The chamber no longer looked like a place meant for rest.

It looked like something that had ended.

The guards moved carefully now.

Not out of fear of enemies—But out of respect for what had just happened.

Whispers spread among them.

"He fought all of them..."

"...alone..."

"...not even a moment of hesitation..."

Awe. Disbelief. And something else—Relief.

Because whatever had entered Gandhara that night—Had been answered.

Devara did not stay. He bent slightly.

Picked up the black cobra.

The serpent coiled around his arm again, calm... as if none of this surprised it.

Devara glanced once at the room.

Then turned. And walked out.

No drama. No pause.

Just a man leaving behind something already finished.

His steps echoed faintly through the corridor—Heading toward the bathhouse.

Because blood—Needed to be washed away.

But what had happened—Would not leave so easily.

Just then—Two figures arrived.

Devaki and her husband Vasudeva they stopped at the entrance.

And froze.

The sight before them—Was not something they were prepared for.

Not battle. Not defense. But aftermath.

Devaki instinctively tightened her hold on the child.

Her breath caught.

"...This..."

She couldn’t finish.

Vasudeva’s eyes scanned the chamber slowly.

Not with fear. With understanding.

"...."

Because he had seen cruelty. War. Death.

But this—Was something else. Precision. Finality.

A message carved in silence.

Behind them—The guards spoke in hushed tones.

"...He didn’t even let them get close..."

"...those weren’t normal men..."

"...rakshasas too..."

"...and still..."

The words drifted as they began cleaning things out at the chamber.

Devaki listened to them.

And something shifted inside her.

Fear—Did not vanish. But it... changed.

Because for the first time—She saw not just protection—But power.

Which will protect her child and them.

The kind that could stand against what hunted her.

Vasudeva exhaled slowly.

-Sigh!

"...Perhaps..."

He said quietly choosing his words carefully,

"...the sage was right."

His gaze moved toward the direction Devara had gone.

"...we have reached where we needed to."

Devaki looked down at her child.

Then once more at the chamber.

Still shaken. Still uneasy.

But beneath it—Something fragile had taken root.

Hope.

Not loud. Not certain. But real.

Because the man they had placed their trust in—Had just proven something.

Not with words. But with action painting his chamber with red.

*******************************

(Author note:)

I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea’s.

-->

Don’t forget to review guys...