Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

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

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As time passed...

The sun climbed high—As if it wanted to witness what men were about to do.

Across the vast stretch of land—Two sides now stood facing each other.

On one side—The combined forces of Gandhara and Hastinapura stood.

Disciplined. Structured.

Waiting for the commend from their general for the signal for the start of the war.

On the other—The army of Madhura which belongs to King Kamsa

Larger. Heavier.

And laced with Rakshasas who were standing deeper in the army to arrive at the better position

The air between them—Was not empty.

It trembled as few moments the very land was about to drink blood of many.

Then—The sound came which echoed all around the battle field.

BOOOOOOM—

The conches.

From both sides as one after another. Not music.

But the Declaration to their armies and allies on each side that.

War had begun.

The first step forward—Was not rushed.

But it did not remain slow.

Because the next moment—Both sides surged.

Like two tides refusing to retreat. Running at each other wanted to be the one to strike first and take the life.

Steel met steel.

-Clang! -Clang!

-Slash!...

The first clash—Was thunder.

Shields shattered as the impact echoed around.

Swords rang as each strike reached its target and took life or blocked by a another one.

Spears pierced through the enemies rank.

Cries rose—Some of fury. Some of fear of death.

The ground trembled under the weight of men, beasts, and destiny colliding.

Devara stood at the front line.

Not behind. Not observing.

At the edge where life ended.

His eyes scanned the chaos.

Not lost in it. Reading it.

Because this—Was where Sarpa-Jaal Vyuha began to breathe.

Not in stillness. But in motion to counter the overwhelming numbers of Kamsa’s army.

Units began to split one after the another.

Not retreating—Repositioning.

Like coils loosening—Before tightening.

Kamsa’s forces pushed forward—Confident. Overwhelming. Not knowing they were entering a trap.

But already—Small fractures began to appear.

Because the serpent—Had begun to move.

And in the center of one of it—Devara stepped forward.

Not into battle. Into inevitability.

Because from this moment—There would be no turning back.

Only forward—Through the blood pf his enemy—Through steel—Only could be stopped till they win or lose.

The battlefield no longer had shape.

It had motion. Dust rose by all the movement around.

Steel screamed.

Several Men fell each seconds.

And through that chaos—A line began to cut forward.

Devara. Not waiting. Not holding position. Since it was his turn to take the lead.

Started advancing to where he had intended to attack.

His chariot which he took from the camp since he don’t have one surged ahead—Wheels crushing earth.

Horse breathing fire through its lungs as it charged forward with its full power.

Behind him—A compact force which has been entrusted to his pincer.

Selected by Bhishma himself contains very capable soliders. Sharp.

The fang of the Sarpa-Jaal Vyuha.

In his hands—The Pinakodanda bow was roaring to go.

Not just as a bow.

But a promise to end this adharma.¹

He pulled the Pinakodanda’s string back.

As he summoned a arrow using his yogic energy which spiralled around and formed a blue arrow.

-THUNG!

He released at the enemies charging at them.

-SWISH!!!

Once.... Twice....

And then—It did not stop.

Arrows flew.

Not randomly. Not wildly.

Each one—Chosen its target as if it was destined to them and their name was written in it.

Each one—of the arrows hits its target and most of them even don’t know how they died.

His yogic energy flowed through them powering them up.

Because wherever those arrows landed—Life ended no matter how much those infantry soldiers.

Clean. And Precise.

A Rakshasa lunged—Its roar cut short mid-air as an arrow pierced through its skull.

Another charged—Two arrows was the response it received.

Which hit its Eyes.

And died as its head was blasted away.

Three soldiers rushed—Three arrows split mid-flight—Three bodies fell before they even understood death had arrived.

Behind him—His unit followed closer as he had opened the opening in the enemies defence.

Not clashing blindly.

They struck where he created openings taking lives as their way following closely behind.

Focused. Relentless.

They can’t afford to lag behind. Because this was not a battle line.

This was a breach.

Devara didn’t slow. Didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate.

"Faster."

One word was the one he commended to his unit. And the chariot surged.

Because he knew—This wasn’t about winning the front.

This was about reaching the heart.

The deeper he went—The more unstable Kamsa’s formation would become.

The serpent was tightening.

And he—Was the first coil.

Ahead—More enemies gathered.

Heavier units. Denser resistance. To slow down his advances

Good.

Because that meant—He was getting closer.

The bow sang again. Arrows rained.

And with every step forward—The battlefield began to change shape around him.

Devara’s spearhead carved deep—But he was not alone in motion.

The rest of the serpent... began to coil.

At the flanks—Bhishma moved like a mountain in motion.

No wasted strikes. No wasted steps.

Every swing—Created space.

Every command—Held the line firm.

Kamsa’s forces tried to push—They met something that did not yield.

On another front—Drona advanced with surgical precision.

His formations shifted mid-battle. Showing his acknowledge he carries in him.

What looked like retreat—Turned into entrapment.

Units that chased him—Found themselves surrounded and within few minutes they were killed by the encircled enemies.

Beside him his son—Ashwatthama

Not restrained. Not measured.

He cut through ranks like a storm given direction.

Where Drona created openings—Ashwatthama ended them.

Who were just about to breath that they escaped Drona.

On another axis—Karna stood like a blazing pillar.

His arrows did not just strike—They dominated through the enemies rank.

Entire sections of Kamsa’s army slowed under his barrage.

Every advance toward him—Turned costly as they were burned alive by his arrows.

Near the center-left—King Subala and his sons led disciplined charges.

Not reckless.

They hit—Pulled back when they sensed a ambush—Repositioned immediately as they need to move forward—Then struck again.

Like controlled waves.

And behind all this—Mahamantri Vidura

Not swinging a weapon wildly—But directing. But one shouldn’t underestimate him he too was very strong.

Adjusting. Sending reinforcements where cracks appeared.

Pulling units before they broke.

Holding the invisible threads together.

And slowly—Very slowly—The effect showed.

Kamsa’s army—Become Restless.

Not defeated. But disturbed. Because their strength relied on momentum.

On overwhelming force to force the opponent in a difficult situation.

And now—That force was being divided.

Pulled. Stretched. Suddenly feeling like there is more gap in the middle of the Kamsa’s army.

Like a beast surrounded by unseen chains.

Commands began to overlap.

Units collided with their own.

Rakshasas, meant to charge freely—Found themselves blocked, redirected, isolated by the powerful warriors who were paying close attention to them.

The battlefield—Was no longer theirs.

It was becoming something else.

Something controlled. Something tightening.

And at its center—Devara continued to push forward.

Because the serpent had not yet closed.

The battlefield was no longer noise alone.

It had begun to reveal intent.

Meanwhile...

At the heart of it—Kamsa stood atop his war chariot, surrounded by his gaja army—massive war elephants armored in iron and fury.

Messengers rushed in.

Breathless.

"Attacks from multiple directions—! Flanks collapsing—! They’re advancing toward you My King—!"

Kamsa didn’t react immediately.

"...."

He observed. Slowly turning his gaze across the battlefield.

Noticing the pattern.

"...So."

His eyes narrowed as he thought.

-Frown!

"Not chaos. Design. A Good one indeed."

Then—His gaze fixed. On a single point.

Where King Subala And his sons.

Charging from one side.

Disciplined—But not as overwhelmingly powerful as Bhishma’s line...

Not as devastating as Karna’s front...

A necessary piece. Which he could use them.

And therefore—A vulnerable one.

A smirk crept onto Kamsa’s face.

-Smirk!

"There."

His voice dropped.

"The hinge of their formation."

If that broke—The whole battle formation would lose its coil.

He raised his hand slightly.

And called.

From behind his lines—A figure stepped forward.

A Rakshasa.

Not ordinary and weak one.

Winged. Bat-like. Skin stretched tight over a powerful humanoid frame.

Eyes burning red.

Twin blades gleaming like hunger made steel.

Rakshasa

This one did not roar. It simply waited.

For the order from its king who he had sworn loyalty to.

Kamsa’s voice cut through the air.

"Go."

A pause for a moment.

"Break their flank. And bring me—"

His eyes sharpened.

"—the king."

No embellishment. No threat.

Just purpose which he needs to serve now.

The Rakshasa bowed slightly—Not out of respect.

"...."

Out of acknowledgment and respect.

Then—It leapt.

Wings tore open the air—And in a single beat—It rose above the battlefield.

Vanishing into the chaos below.

-SWISH!!!

Toward King Subala’s advancing line.

Kamsa watched it go. The smirk remained.

-Smirk!

"...."

The sky tore as the bat Rakshasa flew.

-SWISHHH!!!

A shadow dropped—Not like a bird. Not like a warrior.

Like a weapon which had reached its target.

It struck.

-THUD!

King Subala was thrown from his chariot—Armor scraping earth.

"...."

-BAM!!!

Dust erupting around him as he fell to the ground.

The pincer—Stopped as its momentum as been stopped.

Just for a moment. And that moment—Was enough.

The Rakshasa rose slowly. A grin split its face.

-Grin!

"...."

A sound escaped it—Half laughter. Half hunger.

-KUKUKUKU!!!

Rakshasa looked mockingly at the king who had fell down.

King Subala’s few sons charged.

Brave. Furious. Since they were the one who is very close

Blades swung—Fast. Precise. Useless. Trying desperately to save their father.

The Rakshasa moved like smoke with bones.

One strike—A sword flew from a prince’s hand as soon as it touched its hard skin.

Second—Another was thrown back heavily.

Third—A blade came down—To kill. Destroy the evil who had stopped them.

But—

-CLANG!

Steel met flesh.

King Subala stood. He had risen.

And his sword carved across the creature’s back.

Just when it was about to kill one of his son.

A deep slash. Dark blood spilled.

"-GRAAAAAAAA!!!"

The Rakshasa screamed in pain by the sudden attack.

Not in pain alone—In fury.

Its head snapped toward him.

"...."

Eyes blazing red. The laughter vanished.

Replaced by something far worse.

Focus. It spread its wings wider.

Twin blades raised in its hand.

No longer playing. No longer testing its opponent’s strength.

Only one intent remained.

Kill him.

King Subala steadied himself.

His breath controlled. His grip tightened.

"...."

Because he understood now—This was not an opponent to overpower.

This was something faster. Stronger. Unpredictable.

And behind him—His sons struggled to recover.

The line wavered.

The pincer—On this side—Was breaking.

But King Subala did not step back.

Even with tension in his chest. Even with danger pressing close.

His eyes sharpened.

Searching. Calculating. Trying to find a way out.

Because if he fell—This entire flank would collapse.

And somewhere in the chaos—Their formation would lose its grip.

The Rakshasa lunged again.

And this time—It meant to end King Shubala’s life.

The battlefield shifted—Right at that point.

Where one king stood—Between a win... And collapse option which would determined this war direction.

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(Author note:)

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

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