Chapter 245 - 243: All Your Attacks... Are Just Useless...
(A/N):
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The duel stretched beyond what anyone had imagined possible.
One day became two. Two became five. Five became nine.
For five more consecutive days, beginning from the fourth day of the war,
Devaratha and Pushpasura remained locked in an unbroken contest of spear mastery.
Every evening...
As the final rays of the sun dipped below the western horizon, the sacred conches announced the end of battle.
Without fail...
Both kings lowered their weapons.
Neither attempted a final strike.
Neither sought to exploit the fading light.
The laws of Dharma were obeyed.
Then, with the arrival of the next dawn...
The conches sounded once more.
The two kings returned to the center of Malikavana.
Their duel resumed exactly where it had ended the previous evening.
It was as though the setting sun merely paused the battle...
Only for sunrise to press play once again.
As the days passed...
Something extraordinary happened across the battlefield.
The soldiers gradually stopped paying attention to their own struggles whenever the duel reached its fiercest moments.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Even amidst the chaos of war, countless eyes instinctively drifted toward the center of the fog.
Eventually...
Neither side could resist.
Entire divisions unconsciously slowed their own fighting whenever Devaratha and Pushpasura clashed.
Commanders called temporary halts around the isolated arena.
The battlefield itself grew strangely quiet.
Not because the war had ended...
But because everyone wished to witness the duel.
Thousands of allied warriors gathered behind Devaratha.
Across from them, endless Rakshasas assembled behind Pushpasura.
Neither army dared interfere.
This had become a battle between kings.
The soldiers merely watched.
Whenever Devaratha gained the advantage...
The allied army erupted.
"Maharaj Devaratha!"
"Victory to Trivenivrata!"
"Show him the might of Dharma!"
Their cheers thundered across Malikavana.
Moments later...
Pushpasura answered with a devastating combination that forced Devaratha onto the defensive.
Immediately, the Rakshasa legions roared.
"Our King!"
"Crush the human!"
"Pushpasura! Pushpasura! Pushpasura!"
The battlefield transformed into something unseen in history.
Not merely a war.
A colossal arena.
Two armies. Two kings.
Countless spectators.
Every exchange was answered by deafening cheers from one side or the other.
By the ninth day...
Pushpasura finally noticed something.
For the first time...
He wasn’t merely keeping pace.
His ever-growing strength, continuously amplified by his boon, had begun producing visible results.
Their spears collided.
CLANG!!
This time...
Devaratha’s feet slid backward half a step.
Pushpasura’s crimson eyes lit up.
"There!"
Another thrust. Another collision.
Again...
Devaratha yielded a fraction more ground than before.
It was small.
So small that almost no one else noticed.
But Pushpasura noticed. His grin slowly returned.
’I’m finally surpassing him...’
Every passing day strengthened him.
Every sunrise multiplied his power.
The gap...
Was slowly beginning to close.
He launched himself forward with renewed ferocity.
His spear blurred through the air in a relentless storm of thrusts.
One... Three... Seven... Twelve...
Each strike carried greater force than the previous one.
Devaratha continued answering every attack with flawless technique, but even he recognized the subtle difference.
Pushpasura’s strength had increased yet again.
Even after surrendering half of it through the Vali Boon...
The Rakshasa King continued growing.
Still...
Pushpasura’s satisfaction lasted only moments.
Despite finally pushing Devaratha back slightly...
He still couldn’t truly injure him.
Again and again, his spear found its mark.
Again and again...
The emerald brilliance of the Parvati Kavach bloomed around Devaratha.
The divine protection dispersed the fatal force before it could inflict meaningful harm.
Pushpasura’s expression darkened.
"So close..."
He had finally gained a slight upper hand in raw power.
Yet the Goddess’s blessing refused to let him capitalize upon it.
His frustration exploded into an even more savage assault.
The duel reached its climax.
Both warriors abandoned restraint.
Their spears became little more than streaks of light.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
The impacts became so rapid that individual collisions merged into one continuous metallic roar.
Neither weapon had been forged for ordinary warfare.
Each was a divine armament.
Yet...
Even divine weapons possessed limits.
For nine days they had endured countless impacts from warriors whose strength exceeded that of ordinary mortals.
Every collision accumulated.
Every vibration travelled deeper into the shafts.
Minute fractures spread unseen through the divine metal.
Until finally...
The limit was reached.
Both kings thrust simultaneously.
Their spearheads met at the exact center of the battlefield.
For a brief instant... Everything stood still.
Then...
KRAAAAAAAAAANG!!
A thunderous crack echoed across Malikavana.
Tiny fractures raced across both weapons.
The cracks multiplied in the blink of an eye.
Neither spear could withstand another exchange.
With an explosive burst of divine energy...
Both shattered.
Thousands of glittering fragments erupted into the sky like showers of stars, scattering across the battlefield before fading into motes of light.
Silence followed.
"...."
"...."
"...."
For the first time in nine days...
Neither warrior held a weapon.
Both instinctively leaped backward, creating distance between themselves.
The cheers from both armies ceased.
Everyone watched in anticipation.
Pushpasura slowly exhaled.
Then...
Dark Yogic energy gathered around his right hand.
From the swirling darkness emerged a massive sword, its broad black blade resembling a slab of midnight.
Crimson veins pulsed beneath its surface, and the edge radiated such murderous intent that the surrounding air itself seemed to recoil.
He rested the weapon upon his shoulder.
A savage smile spread across his face.
"So..."
he growled in victory.
"Another weapon."
Across from him...
Devaratha quietly opened both hands.
Golden light blossomed around each palm.
The battlefield suddenly felt warmer.
From the radiant brilliance emerged two identical divine blades.
The legendary twin swords.
Amba Tejas.
Each sword possessed a slightly curved blade forged from celestial metal, their edges glowing with a golden radiance that seemed capable of cleaving through darkness itself.
Ancient runes awakened along both blades simultaneously, humming with eager anticipation after lying dormant throughout the long spear duel.
Devaratha wrapped one sword in each hand.
The twin blades crossed briefly before separating into their natural guard.
Unlike Pushpasura’s overwhelming greatsword...
His stance became lighter.
More fluid. More adaptable.
Watching him, Lord Shiva smiled faintly.
Watching him, Goddess Parvati leaned forward.
Watching him, Lord Kartikeya folded his arms with quiet interest.
The spear duel... Had finally come to an end.
Now...
The battlefield would witness the clash between one overwhelming blade...
And the legendary Twin Swords of Amba Tejas.
The instant both weapons manifested...
Neither king uttered another word.
"...."
"...."
They simply vanished from where they stood.
BOOOM!
The earth beneath their feet exploded as both launched themselves forward with such terrifying force that the battlefield caved inward.
A heartbeat later...
KRAANG!!
Pushpasura’s colossal black sword descended like a mountain collapsing from the heavens.
Devaratha crossed one of the Amba Tejas twin swords above his head.
The collision released a thunderous shockwave that flattened everything within several hundred meters.
The ground beneath Devaratha’s feet shattered.
Cracks spread outward like a spider’s web as his legs sank several inches into the earth.
Even with half of Pushpasura’s strength flowing into him through the Vali Boon...
The Rakshasa King’s ever-growing physical might had become monstrous after nine days.
For the first time...
Devaratha’s blocking arm was forced downward.
His muscles tensed.
The sword pressing against him carried enough force to crush mountains.
Pushpasura’s grin widened.
"I’ve got you!"
He poured even more strength into the strike.
Devaratha’s right arm continued to descend inch by inch.
Then...
His left hand moved.
Not hurriedly. Not desperately.
Simply...
At the perfect moment.
The second blade flashed.
A streak of golden light swept horizontally across the battlefield.
Pushpasura’s grin froze.
"...."
His sword arm suddenly felt...
Light.
He instinctively looked down.
His entire right forearm...
Still clutching the black sword...
Was no longer attached to his body.
It spun through the air before crashing onto the battlefield.
Before surprise could even register...
Devaratha had already continued the movement.
The momentum from the upward block naturally flowed into the next strike.
His body rotated.
His feet pivoted with flawless balance.
The second sword completed a graceful circular arc.
SHING!
The golden blade sliced cleanly through Pushpasura’s neck.
For a single heartbeat...
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
The Rakshasa King’s head slowly separated from his shoulders before tumbling through the air.
His massive body remained standing.
Then...
Both halves began glowing with dark Yogic energy.
The severed hand lying upon the battlefield dissolved into countless crimson strands before flying back toward Pushpasura.
Fresh muscles formed.
Bones extended.
Veins intertwined.
Skin closed.
Within a single breath...
An entirely new arm had already regenerated.
At the same time...
The severed head stopped falling.
Dark energy wrapped around both the neck and the detached head before pulling them together as though drawn by invisible threads.
The flesh knitted itself together.
The spine reconnected.
The wound vanished completely.
A heartbeat later...
Pushpasura opened his crimson eyes again.
Not a scar remained.
He rolled his neck once.
Crack.
Then flexed the fingers of his newly regenerated hand.
"...Impressive."
His grin slowly returned.
"Very impressive."
He pointed his regenerated hand toward Devaratha.
"You’ve cut off my arm."
"You’ve taken my head."
"And yet..."
He laughed loudly.
"I still stand before you. Because it’s the most useless thing to do."
Across from him...
Devaratha lowered neither of his swords.
His expression remained as calm as it had been on the first day of their duel.
There wasn’t the slightest hint of frustration.
Because everything that had just happened...
Had merely confirmed another calculation.
’The regeneration hasn’t slowed. The reconnection time remains nearly instantaneous.’
’Complete decapitation still isn’t enough.’
Every exchange wasn’t simply combat.
It was information.
Every wound he inflicted taught him another detail about Pushpasura’s immortal body.
Every regeneration revealed another piece of the puzzle.
High above, Lord Shiva’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
He alone understood what his son was doing.
Devaratha wasn’t trying random methods in hope that one would succeed.
He was studying.
Observing.
Eliminating possibilities one by one.
Each strike that failed was not a setback.
It was another answer.
Another piece moving into place.
Another step toward discovering the one method that would finally accomplish what no ordinary weapon ever could.
To everyone else, it appeared as though Devaratha was fighting endlessly against an immortal enemy.
But to Devaratha...
The duel had already become an investigation.
And sooner or later...
Every mystery had a solution.
As the ninth day slowly approached its end, the sun descended toward the western horizon, painting the skies of Malikavana in deep shades of crimson and gold.
The duel between Devaratha and Pushpasura still raged.
Twin swords and a colossal black blade collided without pause, each impact shaking the battlefield like thunder.
Neither warrior spared even a glance for the armies surrounding them.
Their entire focus remained fixed upon the opponent standing before them.
Behind the Rakshasa lines...
One of Pushpasura’s remaining Battle Generals silently watched.
"...."
Shonitaksha.
The Blood-Eyed Slayer.
His crimson eyes never left Devaratha.
Unlike the brute force of Ugrashira or the disciplined archery of Nishithanetra, Shonitaksha was infamous for something entirely different.
He believed victory belonged to whoever survived.
Honor...
Was merely a luxury.
In each hand rested a vicious crescent-shaped blade, their inward-curving edges forged for relentless close-quarters slaughter.
Dark bloodstains permanently coated their surfaces despite the countless times they had been cleaned.
He narrowed his eyes.
"...Enough."
Standing beside him was an ordinary Rakshasa archer awaiting orders.
Without taking his eyes off the battlefield, Shonitaksha spoke in a cold whisper.
"When the conch announces the end of today’s battle... aim for the back of Devaratha’s head."
The archer blinked.
"...My Lord?"
Shonitaksha finally turned toward him.
There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in his blood-red gaze.
"You heard me."
"The very instant the signal is sounded... release the arrow."
The Rakshasa immediately understood.
His breathing quickened.
The general...
Intended to assassinate the enemy king the moment the battle officially ended.
A strike delivered after the conch.
A strike when every warrior lowered their guard in accordance with the laws of Dharma.
It was a blatant violation of every ancient code of warfare.
The archer looked uneasy for only a heartbeat.
Then a cruel smile spread across his face.
"We’re Rakshasas..."
he thought.
"Honor has never won wars."
He bowed his head.
"As you command, General."
Quietly, he moved through the ranks until he found a clear line of sight behind Devaratha.
He knelt. Placed an arrow upon the string.
But did not draw it.
Not yet.
His entire attention shifted toward the horizon.
Toward the descending sun.
He only needed to wait for one sound.
The sacred conch.
The moment it echoed across Malikavana...
He would loose the arrow directly into the back of Devaratha’s skull.
Not a heartbeat sooner.
Not a heartbeat later.
Hidden among the Rakshasa ranks, Shonitaksha folded his arms and continued watching the duel, his blood-red eyes devoid of remorse.
"If Pushpasura cannot kill him before sunset..."
he murmured to himself,
"...then I shall ensure that
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(Author note:)
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