Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

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

Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...

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Next Day...

The twenty-sixth sunrise arrived beneath a sky painted in shades of crimson and gold.

As always...

The sacred conches of both armies echoed across Malikavana.

BWOOOOOOOOOOO!

The allied banners rose proudly.

BWOOOOOOOOOOO!

The Rakshasa legions answered with a roar that shook the plains.

Another day of war had begun.

The two armies surged forward, steel clashing against steel as thousands of warriors collided once more.

To the west, Bhagavan Parashurama once again carved a path through the Rakshasa ranks, his axe rising and falling with terrifying precision.

On the eastern front, Karna’s golden arrows streaked across the sky, supporting Shakuni and preventing the Rakshasas from exploiting the prince’s lingering injuries.

Yet, as had happened for nearly a month now...

The attention of both armies slowly drifted towards the centre of the battlefield.

Everyone knew.

That was where the fate of the war was truly being decided.

Pushpasura slowly walked forward, dragging his enormous black sword behind him.

The blade carved a long scar across the earth as sparks flew behind it.

Across from him...

Devaratha stood quietly with Amba Tejas resting in his hands.

For several moments, neither warrior spoke.

Then...

To everyone’s surprise...

Devaratha calmly drove both of his twin swords into the ground.

The divine blades stood upright between them.

Pushpasura raised an eyebrow.

"What is this?"

Devaratha looked directly at him.

"For twenty-five days... We have crossed arrows. We have crossed spears. We have crossed swords."

His voice carried calmly across the battlefield.

"Today... I wish to fight differently."

Pushpasura narrowed his eyes.

"Differently?"

Devaratha slowly stretched his shoulders before closing his fists.

"No weapons. No Astras. No tricks. No distance."

He took another step forward.

"You and I. With nothing but our bodies."

A faint smile appeared upon his face.

"I challenge you.. to Malla-Yuddha¹."

A wrestling match.

The battlefield immediately erupted into whispers.

"A wrestling match?"

"The King is challenging Pushpasura without weapons?"

Even the Rakshasas looked confused.

Pushpasura remained completely silent.

For the first time since the war had begun...

He did not answer immediately.

Every previous duel...

Had been his choice.

Archery.

Spears.

Swords.

He had dictated the form of every battle.

Now...

For the first time...

Devaratha had issued the challenge.

Pushpasura looked carefully at his opponent.

’A trap?’

His instincts searched for deception.

But he found none.

Only calm confidence.

His lips slowly curled upwards.

"Hahaha..."

A deep laugh escaped him.

"So..."

"You finally wish to test yourself against my greatest strength."

He lifted his sword and drove it into the ground.

The impact sent cracks racing across the earth.

"I accept."

Immediately, both warriors discarded their weapons.

The battlefield instinctively widened as soldiers from both armies stepped back, creating a massive circle around the two kings.

Even Parashurama watched silently from afar.

His expression revealed nothing.

Devaratha slowly approached.

Pushpasura did the same.

The two warriors stopped only an arm’s length apart.

Without speaking...

They extended their hands.

Their palms met.

Their fingers locked around each other’s wrists.

For one brief heartbeat...

Everything became silent.

Then...

Both kings pushed.

BOOOOOOM!!

The earth beneath their feet exploded.

Muscles tightened.

Veins bulged across Pushpasura’s enormous arms.

He poured every ounce of his monstrous physical strength into the contest.

His feet dug deep trenches into the battlefield.

He expected resistance.

Instead...

His eyes widened.

"...."

Devaratha didn’t move.

Not even an inch.

The Vali Boon had continuously absorbed half of Pushpasura’s physical strength for twenty-five days.

Combined with Devaratha’s own physique, cultivated through years of relentless training under Parashurama and blessed by the gods and the strength taken from his other enemies he had faced, the balance had shifted.

Pushpasura felt himself being pushed backwards.

"...Impossible!"

He gritted his teeth.

The ground beneath his heels cracked as he desperately tried to hold his position.

Devaratha calmly took another step forward.

Then another.

Each step forced Pushpasura backwards.

The Rakshasa soldiers stared in disbelief.

"Our King... is losing a contest of strength?"

Devaratha suddenly shifted his footing.

Parashurama’s eyes gleamed faintly.

’Good. He remembered.’

Rather than continuing to overpower Pushpasura head-on,

Devaratha rotated his hips, pulled sharply with one arm and drove his shoulder beneath Pushpasura’s centre of balance.

It was a movement born not merely from strength...

But from technique.

Pushpasura’s footing vanished.

Before he could recover...

Devaratha completed the throw.

THOOOOOM!!

The Rakshasa King slammed violently into the earth.

The impact shattered the battlefield beneath him.

Before Pushpasura could react...

Devaratha flowed with the motion.

He dropped to one knee, trapped one of Pushpasura’s arms beneath his own, twisted his shoulder and pinned him against the ground.

It happened so quickly that many watching barely understood what they had seen.

Pushpasura struggled violently.

"What...!"

Devaratha shifted his weight.

Then...

With a sharp twist...

CRAAACK!!

Pushpasura’s arm bent in the wrong direction.

The sound of snapping bone echoed across the battlefield.

"AARRRGHHHH!!"

For the first time in many days...

A scream of pain escaped the Rakshasa King’s mouth.

His face contorted as the broken arm hung unnaturally.

The allied army erupted into thunderous cheers.

But Devaratha knew better.

’It won’t last.’

Sure enough...

Dark Yogic energy immediately surged through Pushpasura’s body.

The shattered bones began sliding back into place.

Muscles reattached.

Tendons reformed.

Within moments...

The arm straightened as though it had never been broken.

At the same instant...

Pushpasura’s crimson eyes flashed with fury.

"If I can’t break your hold... I’ll make you release it!"

The ground suddenly trembled.

From beneath Devaratha’s feet...

Several thorn-covered roots burst upward like living spears.

They shot towards his back with murderous speed.

Devaratha had been waiting for exactly this.

He released the lock an instant before the roots reached him, rolling sideways across the battlefield.

The roots tore through the empty space where he had been a heartbeat earlier.

Pushpasura immediately sprang to his feet.

His regenerated arm flexed once.

Not even the slightest trace of injury remained.

He looked at Devaratha.

Then slowly looked down at his own arm.

A grin slowly spread across his face.

"So..."

he said, rolling his shoulder as if testing it.

"You wanted wrestling..."

His crimson eyes gleamed with renewed excitement.

"Now I understand."

For the first time since the duel had begun...

Pushpasura realised something that Devara has found something about his body.

The moment Pushpasura stood back up...

Devaratha did not rush forward again.

Instead...

He simply watched.

His eyes were no longer looking at the Rakshasa King’s fists.

Nor at the roots writhing beneath the earth.

Nor even at the sword still embedded in the battlefield.

They were observing something far more subtle.

Pushpasura flexed his regenerated arm once.

His shoulder rotated normally.

The bones had completely healed.

His muscles responded perfectly.

To anyone watching...

It appeared as though nothing had happened.

But...

Devaratha had seen it.

That brief flicker.

That involuntary tightening of the jaw.

The slight contraction of the pupils.

The unconscious change in breathing that lasted only a fraction of a second before Pushpasura concealed it.

It was gone almost instantly.

But for someone who had spent twenty-five days studying a single opponent...

It was enough.

Inside his mind, countless exchanges from the previous battles began connecting together like pieces of a puzzle.

’Every time I severed one of his limbs...’

’He regenerated immediately.’

’Every broken bone... Every torn muscle... Every wound healed within moments.’

He remembered every scream.

Every grunt.

Every expression that Pushpasura had tried to suppress.

At first...

Devaratha had assumed the Rakshasa simply possessed an extraordinary tolerance for pain.

Now...

He realised the truth was entirely different.

His eyes narrowed.

’No... His body isn’t becoming immune to pain.’

’It’s becoming more sensitive.’

Another thought followed immediately.

’Every single day... His body is forcing itself to regenerate. Every day his muscles grow stronger.’

’His bones become denser.’

’His nerves continuously adapt to contain that increasing strength.’

’His entire body is changing without rest.’

To sustain such endless growth...

The nervous system itself had to remain in a constant state of transformation.

Which meant...

The body never truly relaxed.

Never truly recovered.

It was like reforging the same sword inside a furnace every single day.

Eventually...

Even the strongest steel became vulnerable while it was being reshaped.

A faint smile appeared on Devaratha’s face.

’I understand now...’

Across the battlefield, Pushpasura frowned.

-Frown!

"What are you smiling at?"

Devaratha did not answer immediately.

Instead, he slowly closed his hands into fists.

His thoughts became clearer with every passing moment.

’I have been approaching this battle incorrectly. From the very beginning...’

’I believed I had to overpower him.’

’To defeat him through strength. To search for a decisive blow.’

He slowly shook his head.

’No... That was never the answer.’

He looked directly into Pushpasura’s burning crimson eyes.

’His regeneration makes decisive injuries meaningless. Break an arm... It heals. Sever a limb... It returns.’

’Pierce his heart... He survives. Trying to win through damage alone is futile.’

His breathing slowed.

Then...

One final realization settled into place.

’Pain... Pain remains.’

Regeneration restored flesh.

It restored bone. It restored muscle.

But it could not erase the experience of suffering.

Every broken joint.

Every torn ligament.

Every crushed nerve.

The injury disappeared.

The agony did not vanish with it.

The body remembered it.

And if his theory was correct...

Pushpasura’s continuously evolving body was making that agony even sharper.

Not weaker.

Stronger.

Devaratha remembered Parashurama’s words from the previous night.

’A wrestler understands through touch rather than sight.’

Now he finally understood why his Guru had sent him into a wrestling match.

Only at such close quarters could he truly feel how Pushpasura’s body reacted.

A calm smile spread across his face.

’Guru... This was the lesson you wanted me to discover.’

Far away...

Parashurama watched quietly.

The immortal sage saw the change in his disciple’s eyes.

He smiled faintly.

’He has found it. Good.’

Devaratha looked back at Pushpasura.

For the first time since the war had begun...

He no longer saw an enemy who needed to be overwhelmed.

He saw a fortress.

One that could not be broken down by force.

So...

He would attack something else. Not the body.

The will.

He remembered every lesson Parashurama had ever taught him.

’Every warrior possesses two limits. The first belongs to the body. The second belongs to the mind.’

’Destroy the body... The warrior falls. Destroy the will... The warrior falls even while still standing.’

Pushpasura laughed loudly.

"What now?"

"Have you already accepted that you cannot defeat me?"

Devaratha slowly raised his guard.

His voice was calm.

"No."

"I’ve simply realised... I’ve been trying to defeat the wrong part of you."

Pushpasura frowned hearing it.

Before he could ask what those words meant...

Devaratha stepped forward once more.

But this time...

There was no intention of seeking a perfect finishing move.

No desperate search for a killing blow.

Every lock. Every throw. Every joint manipulation.

Every strike would now have a different purpose.

Not to end the battle.

But to inflict the greatest possible pain.

Not out of cruelty... Nor vengeance...

But because he had discovered a truth every seasoned warrior understood.

Steel could break bones.

Divine weapons could destroy flesh.

But relentless pain...

Repeated day after day...

Could wear down even the strongest resolve.

If Pushpasura’s body truly healed everything...

Then Devaratha would make that miraculous regeneration his greatest burden.

He would force the Rakshasa King to heal again...

And again... And again.

Until the body obeyed...

But the spirit beneath it began to falter.

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(Author note:)

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