The neon skyline of Tokyo flickered like a dying ember.
Arjun stood on the edge of a high-rise building, his eyes locked on the city below. What he saw made his chest tighten.
Something was wrong.
The streets—normally filled with life—were eerily empty. The towering billboards glitched, their screens flickering with unreadable symbols. The air was thick with unnatural energy, a suffocating pressure that made his fingers twitch toward his bow.
Emi stood beside him, gripping a Shinto charm tightly. “It’s already started.”
Arjun exhaled. “Where’s Takeshi?”
Before Emi could answer, a distant explosion shook the skyline.
They turned—just in time to see an entire skyscraper collapse.
A massive plume of fire and debris erupted into the night sky.
Then came the screams.
Not of people—but of something else.
Shadows spilled from the wreckage, twisting and morphing into beasts with glowing red eyes. Some had Oni horns, others moved like phantoms, flickering between the material world and something darker.
Emi’s face paled. “The veil between realms is breaking.”
Arjun’s jaw tightened. He had seen enough. He leapt off the rooftop.
Wind roared past his ears as he dropped toward the street below. Halfway down, he willed it—his Chakra Dhanush flared into existence.
Before he hit the ground, he fired a Vajra Astra downward—the blast of lightning reversed his fall, allowing him to land smoothly in a crouch.
The streets were worse than he expected.
Buildings scorched with demonic symbols, cars flipped and burning, and in the center of it all—civilians trapped, running, screaming.
Arjun didn’t hesitate.
He pulled back his bowstring—the Agni Astra ignited in his grip.
One arrow.
One breath.
Fire roared to life.
The arrow struck the horde of demons, exploding in a wave of golden flames. The creatures shrieked as divine fire tore through their bodies.
But more emerged.
And then—a voice echoed through the city.
Deep. Cold. Familiar.
“Dhanurvaan.”
Arjun’s breath slowed. He turned—and saw him.
Ryojin Sugimura.
Standing atop the rubble of the fallen skyscraper, clad in black ceremonial robes, his arms outstretched. Behind him, the Blood Moon pulsed like a beating heart.
And in his hands?
A twisted, blackened bow—an Astra corrupted beyond recognition.
Ryojin’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Welcome home.”
The Blood Moon loomed overhead, casting a crimson glow across the ruined city.
Arjun stood in the middle of the burning street, his Chakra Dhanush pulsing with divine energy. Opposite him, atop the rubble of a fallen skyscraper, Ryojin Sugimura watched with cold amusement.
And in his hands—a bow of pure darkness.
An Astra. But corrupted.
Arjun’s fingers tightened around his own bow. “You’ve defiled a weapon of the gods.”
Ryojin chuckled. “Defiled? No, Dhanurvaan.” He lifted the black bow, and its form twisted, shadows writhing like living serpents. “I have perfected it.”
Then—the chanting began.
Arjun turned sharply.
Emerging from the alleys, from the shattered buildings, from the very shadows of the city itself—they came.
Men and women in red ceremonial robes, their faces painted with black sigils, their hands dripping with fresh blood.
Their eyes—black and endless.
Emi inhaled sharply. “The Cult of Kali.”
Arjun’s stomach tightened. He had heard whispers of them before—a secret sect that worshipped not the goddess of time and destruction in balance, but the aspect of chaos.
They did not seek liberation. They sought annihilation.
One of them, a priest with a skull necklace, stepped forward. “We offer this city as sacrifice.” His voice echoed unnaturally. “Through blood, we summon the Great King.”
Arjun’s blood ran cold. They weren’t just working for Ryojin.
They were trying to bring back Ravana.
Ryojin raised his corrupted bow. “And you, Arjun Rao, are the final piece.”
Before Arjun could move—Ryojin fired.
A black arrow streaked toward him, its form twisting, reality warping around it.
It was not just an attack.
It was a curse.
Arjun barely had time to react before it struck him in the chest.
The world exploded into darkness.
Darkness. Cold. Silence.
Arjun couldn’t breathe. The moment Ryojin’s black arrow struck his chest, the world had collapsed around him.
His body felt weightless. Like he was sinking into something endless.
Then—a voice.
Deep. Ancient. Hungry.
“You are not yet broken.”
Arjun gasped as a sudden force gripped him, pulling him deeper into the void.
And then—light.
He wasn’t in Tokyo anymore.
He stood in an empty battlefield, stretching forever in all directions. The sky above was blood-red, cracked with dark lightning.
At the center of it all, sitting upon a throne of blackened skulls, was Ryojin.
But he was… different.
His body was shifting, his features no longer human. His skin was darkening, his limbs lengthening. A second face was forming on his shoulder, a third on his chest.
He was changing.
Becoming something more.
“The ritual is complete,” Ryojin said, his voice layered with something inhuman. He spread his arms, the Blood Moon glowing behind him. “I have become the first of the new Asura Kings.”
Arjun clenched his fists, his breath slow. He could feel it. The curse from the black arrow—it was trying to bind him, weaken him.
He forced himself to stay upright.
Not yet.
Not like this.
Ryojin tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “You feel it, don’t you? The power shifting. The cycle completing.”
Arjun gritted his teeth. “You think you’re Ravana?”
Ryojin smiled. “Not yet. But soon.”
The battlefield shuddered. Around them, shapes began to emerge—monstrous, grotesque figures. Oni twisted into new forms, their bodies fusing with blackened steel and sorcery.
Demonic Fusion.
They weren’t just Oni or Asuras anymore.
They were something worse.
Arjun’s heart pounded. If Ryojin completed his transformation—if Ravana’s spirit fully awakened in him—Tokyo would fall.
No. The entire world would fall.
Arjun exhaled. Then I have to stop it now.
His fingers twitched. The Chakra Dhanush formed in his hands, glowing bright against the void.
Ryojin’s laughter shook the battlefield. “Come then, Dhanurvaan. Let us see if you are worthy to fight a god.”
Then the war began.
The battlefield shifted.
One moment, Arjun was drowning in darkness. The next—he was standing in Kyoto.
But not the Kyoto he knew.
The ancient city was in ruins. The once-proud temples and shrines lay shattered, their sacred grounds now tainted by the Blood Moon’s unholy glow. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood, ash, and something unnatural—corruption.
Ryojin stood on the steps of the Fushimi Inari Shrine, now twisted into a temple of death. His body had fully changed.
No longer just human. No longer just Ryojin.
The demonic fusion was complete.
His four arms stretched wide, each holding a different weapon—a bow of shadows, a flaming sword, a blackened trident, and a bloodstained dagger. His face was still his, but his skin was darkened, his pupils slit like a serpent’s.
And behind him, looming in the sky—a spectral image of Ravana, his ten heads watching, his ghostly arms crossed.
Arjun exhaled. “You’re insane.”
Ryojin smiled. “No, Dhanurvaan. I am inevitable.”
With a flick of his hand, the ground exploded.
Arjun barely dodged as massive demonic constructs rose from the earth—Oni and Asura fused into war machines. Their bodies were part flesh, part steel, their arms covered in burning sigils.
The entire city was now a battleground.
Takeshi landed beside Arjun, his own bow crackling with lightning. “This is bad.”
Arjun pulled back his bowstring, a Vajra Astra forming in his grip. “Yeah. No kidding.”
The first Asura-Oni hybrid lunged.
Arjun and Takeshi moved as one.
Takeshi fired three lightning arrows, each piercing through the creature’s joints, forcing it to stagger. Arjun leapt forward, twisting midair as he fired his own shot—a golden arrow of pure celestial energy.
The hybrid howled as the divine Astra tore through its core, disintegrating it into nothing.
One down. Hundreds more to go.
Ryojin watched from his throne of ruins, amused. “Is that the best you can do?”
Arjun gritted his teeth. No. Not yet.
He glanced at Takeshi. “Cover me.”
Takeshi’s expression darkened. “What are you doing?”
Arjun stepped forward.
He had trained for this moment. The trials in the Himalayas, the visions, the tests—they all led here.
His hands moved on instinct.
He let go.
The Chakra Dhanush flickered, shifting. It was no longer gold, no longer bound by its old form.
It became something greater.
A weapon of pure destruction and rebirth.
The Pashupatastra.
The sky shuddered. The ground trembled. Even Ryojin’s smirk faltered for the first time.
Arjun exhaled. “Now, let’s finish this.”
The world held its breath.
Arjun stood at the heart of ruined Kyoto, the Pashupatastra crackling in his grip.
It was unlike anything he had ever wielded.
Not fire. Not lightning. Not just destruction.
It was everything. Creation and annihilation. The will of Shiva himself.
And it was alive.
The bow whispered to him, its energy pulsing in rhythm with his own heartbeat. It was not just a weapon—it was a force of nature, a fragment of the universe itself.
Takeshi stepped back, his voice tense. “Arjun—can you even control that?”
Arjun didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure.
But there was no other choice.
Ryojin Sugimura—now fully merged with the dark energy of Ravana—stood atop his corrupted temple, his monstrous form outlined against the Blood Moon.
He watched Arjun with something between curiosity and amusement. “You dare use that power against me?”
Arjun pulled back the bowstring. The air around him cracked. The ground split beneath his feet.
The Pashupatastra manifested.
Not an arrow. Not even light. Something greater.
A spiral of cosmic energy, flickering between time itself—past, present, and future woven into a single, uncontainable force.
If he released this, there was no taking it back.
Ryojin’s eyes darkened. He knew.
If the Pashupatastra was fired, Kyoto would be wiped from existence.
Arjun’s arms trembled. Not from weakness, but from realization.
This was the price.
Power without control meant he was no different from Ryojin.
And then—he saw it.
A flicker of something deep within the Pashupatastra’s swirling energy.
A choice.
Destruction? Or balance?
His breath steadied.
He didn’t have to destroy Kyoto. He didn’t have to burn everything away.
He had to break the cycle.
Ryojin saw the shift in his eyes and snarled. “DO IT, ARCHER! SHOW ME YOUR TRUE STRENGTH!”
Arjun exhaled.
And then—he let go.
The Pashupatastra fired.
But not at Ryojin.
Not at Kyoto.
At the Blood Moon itself.
The sky erupted.
The world shattered.
And the war was rewritten.
