CHAPTER 13: THE CURSE OF NARAKASURA
THE SKY WAS BLEEDING.
The storm overhead churned like a wound in reality, black-red clouds writhing like living things, flickering with corrupt lightning that slashed the heavens apart.
The city was dying.
The streets of Imphal—once bustling, once filled with life—were now a fractured graveyard of ruins, their skeletons swallowed by the abyss that had torn through the earth. Fires raged unchecked, turning the skyline into a jagged silhouette of collapsing steel and stone. A monstrous chasm stretched from the heart of the city outward, black-red veins pulsing along the cracks in the earth, like something beneath was breathing.
And from that abyss—
Narakasura rose.
Ajit stood on what remained of an overpass, his golden aura flickering against the storm, his entire body burning with the raw energy of the Nagamani. But even with its power, even with his heightened senses—
He felt small.
The being that had once been Laxman Patel was no more.
What stood in his place was a nightmare given form.
Narakasura was not just a monster.
He was the storm itself.
His body was a shifting mass of darkness and fire, constantly stretching, twisting, breaking the laws of nature itself. Where his arms should have ended, they instead coiled into endless tendrils, writhing, snapping like hungry serpents, their tips tipped with claws that could slice through reality. His chest still bore the vague outline of a human form, but it was warped, cracked with molten Halāhala, his flesh no longer flesh but living shadow.
But his face—
His face still held traces of Laxman.
Not in shape.
Not in features.
But in his eyes.
Twin orbs of molten crimson, bottomless pits of raw power.
And yet—
Deep inside those endless red voids—Ajit could still see something.
A flicker of recognition.
A ghost of the man who had once been his closest friend.
And then—
Narakasura spoke.
“You are too late, Ajit.”
The words weren’t just sound.
They were a vibration in the bones of the city.
A pulse through the air.
Ajit gritted his teeth, his fists tightening.
“I don’t care,” he shot back, golden tendrils snapping outward from his back, coiling around his arms like divine chains. “If I’m too late—then I’ll just make up for lost time.”
A slow grin stretched across Narakasura’s distorted face, his jagged teeth glinting like daggers.
“Then come, Naga Man.”
“Let me show you what true power looks like.”
And then—
The world exploded.
A CLASH OF GODS
Ajit moved first.
One second, he was standing atop the overpass.
The next, he was gone.
A golden blur, streaking through the wreckage, tearing through the storm, faster than thought. He launched himself forward, his first punch charged with enough force to shatter mountains—
But Narakasura was already there.
The demon caught his fist in mid-air, his clawed hand engulfing Ajit’s like a vice.
Ajit’s eyes widened.
Then—he was flung.
Narakasura barely moved, barely exerted force, and yet—
Ajit was sent flying, crashing through two crumbling buildings, tumbling through debris before skidding to a halt, carving a trench through the ruined street.
Pain exploded across his ribs, his vision momentarily blurring.
But he forced himself up.
Just in time—
To see Narakasura descending upon him.
The demon struck the ground like a meteor, shockwaves tearing through the ruins, fissures splitting outward in all directions. Ajit barely rolled aside before a massive clawed hand slammed into the earth where he had just been.
A heartbeat later, a tendril lashed out from Narakasura’s back.
Ajit dodged left— but too slow.
The tip of the tendril grazed his shoulder, and the pain was immediate.
Like acid poured directly into his veins.
Ajit gritted his teeth, twisting in mid-air, kicking off the tendril to launch himself upward.
He retaliated.
A burst of pure golden energy shot from his palm, slicing through the storm—
It struck Narakasura square in the chest.
A normal enemy would have been obliterated.
Narakasura did not even flinch.
Instead—he laughed.
A deep, resonating sound that made the air itself tremble.
Ajit’s heart pounded.
“He didn’t even—”
“Is that all, little god?”
Narakasura moved again.
Faster than should have been possible for something that vast, that monstrous.
Ajit barely got his arms up before a clawed fist slammed into him, sending him flying once more—
This time, into a crumbling skyscraper.
The entire building collapsed on impact.
A wall of smoke and dust erupted outward, swallowing the battlefield.
For a moment—
Silence.
BUT A HERO NEVER STAYS DOWN.
Then—
A golden light erupted from the rubble.
Ajit rose.
His aura flared, the markings of the Naga Kings burning across his skin, his veins pulsing with the raw might of the Nagamani.
He took a slow breath.
Then he smirked.
“You hit like a truck,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “But you know what?”
He kicked off the ground, launching himself forward.
“I hit back.”
His fist ignited with golden fire, and this time—
When he struck Narakasura—
The demon felt it.
For the first time, Narakasura staggered.
For the first time—
Ajit saw something other than amusement in his molten eyes.
A flicker of acknowledgment.
And then—
The real fight began.
A CITY ON THE EDGE OF OBLIVION.
The battlefield stretched for miles.
Where once stood the heart of Imphal, there was now only destruction, ruin, and fire. The streets had vanished beneath the ever-expanding abyss, Halāhala veins coiling like monstrous roots beneath the broken skeletons of buildings.
The air itself was thick with corruption, charged with an unnatural electricity that made reality flicker at the edges.
And at the center of it all—
Two titans clashed.
Ajit soared through the wreckage, his golden aura illuminating the blackened sky, tendrils of pure Nagamani energy spiraling around him like divine serpents. His movements were precise, fluid, unpredictable—a living storm, weaving through the chaos with speed beyond mortal comprehension.
Across from him—
Narakasura.
The colossal nightmare of shifting darkness and flame, his tendrils snapping through the air like chains of pure destruction, his molten eyes burning with something deeper than hatred—something ancient, something inevitable.
They had exchanged a hundred blows already.
Each one reshaping the battlefield.
A single punch from Narakasura had leveled an entire district.
A single strike from Ajit had torn through the storm itself.
But neither would fall.
And with every second, Narakasura only grew stronger.
Ajit felt it.
The longer this battle raged, the more the Halāhala fed on the destruction, twisting its vessel into something beyond comprehension.
If this kept going—
He wouldn’t be fighting Laxman anymore.
He would be fighting something else.
Something even worse.
Something that could never be stopped.
Ajit’s grip tightened.
He had to end this now.
But how do you defeat a god without killing the man inside it?
Was there even a man left inside it?
Ajit didn’t know.
But he was about to find out.
A HERO’S FINAL GAMBLE.
Ajit dodged low, rolling beneath a monstrous tendril that obliterated the crumbling remains of a once-great tower. He sprang forward, fists glowing with celestial power, and drove a crushing uppercut into Narakasura’s torso.
The impact split the air like a supernova.
Narakasura lurched backward, his body rippling from the force, but he didn’t fall.
Instead—
He laughed.
“More! Fight me, Ajit! Make this worth my time!”
Ajit gritted his teeth.
“That voice… it’s still him.”
The monster was still speaking with Laxman’s voice.
That meant there was still a chance.
There was still something left inside him.
Ajit took a slow breath.
Then, instead of attacking again—
He stopped.
He stood his ground, lowering his fists.
And he looked directly at the creature before him—not as a warrior, not as an enemy—but as his friend.
“Laxman,” Ajit said, his voice steady, unwavering.
Narakasura snarled.
“Do not speak that name.”
Ajit didn’t flinch.
“That’s your name. No matter what this thing has done to you, you are still Laxman.”
The air shook.
Narakasura’s massive form flickered, just for a second, his tendrils twisting unnaturally, like something inside him was resisting.
Ajit saw it.
And he pushed further.
“I know you can still hear me,” he said. “I know you’re still in there, fighting this thing. I’ve been there, Laxman. I know what it’s like. The power, the whispers, the feeling that you can never go back.”
The creature clenched its massive fists.
The storm above them roared.
“I AM NARAKASURA!”
Ajit took a step forward.
“No. You are my brother.”
For the first time—
Narakasura hesitated.
A flicker.
A pause.
Something struggling against the endless hunger.
Ajit’s heart pounded.
“Come on, Laxman. Don’t let it win.”
He took another step forward.
And then—
He lowered his guard completely.
His aura dimmed.
His golden flames retracted.
He was open.
Defenseless.
Exposed.
And Narakasura saw it.
The perfect opening.
A single, massive tendril of pure darkness lashed forward, aiming straight for Ajit’s chest—
And Ajit didn’t move.
Because he had already made his choice.
“Laxman,” he said, one last time.
The tendril stopped.
An inch from his heart.
Everything froze.
The storm.
The abyss.
The tendrils.
And inside those molten, infernal eyes—
Laxman’s soul screamed.
THE MAN WHO ALMOST DIED.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then—
A gasp.
A sound, buried beneath layers of shadow and fire.
A sound that did not belong to Narakasura.
A sound that belonged to Laxman.
Ajit’s breath caught.
And suddenly—the monster before him twitched violently, its entire form convulsing as if something inside was trying to break free.
The shadows rippled.
The crimson glow in its eyes flickered.
And for the first time—
The monster looked afraid.
“Ajit…”
The voice was Laxman’s.
Weakened. Broken.
But still his.
Ajit’s eyes hardened.
“I’ve got you, brother,” he whispered.
And then—
He struck.
His golden tendrils wrapped around Narakasura’s form, locking them together. The Nagamani flared, its divine power pulsing into the corrupted body of the demon.
Laxman’s form convulsed.
His voice rose in agony.
The Halāhala screamed.
The abyss recoiled.
The battle wasn’t over yet.
But for the first time—
Laxman was fighting back.
THE STORM STOOD STILL.
For the first time since the battle had begun, the world wasn’t collapsing.
For the first time, Ajit wasn’t fighting back.
Because Laxman was fighting himself.
The monster that loomed before him—the thing that had called itself Narakasura—was convulsing, shifting, writhing.
The air cracked as the black-red tendrils of Halāhala snapped violently, coiling and twisting like starving snakes caught in a death spiral.
The great abyss beneath them shrieked as if in protest.
And inside that storm of shadows and fire, Ajit saw him.
Laxman.
The man beneath the monster.
Buried deep inside the writhing darkness—his true form flickering like a dying flame.
For the first time, his face wasn’t twisted in rage.
For the first time, there was terror in his eyes.
Because now—Laxman understood.
Now he saw what Ajit had been trying to tell him from the beginning.
He was never in control.
He was never meant to wield this power.
The Halāhala had been using him, feeding off him, dragging him into oblivion.
And if he didn’t break free now—
It would consume him forever.
A BROTHER’S FINAL CHANCE.
Ajit stepped forward.
His golden aura flared against the abyss, tendrils of pure divine energy wrapping around his arms like molten chains. His breathing was ragged, his body still aching from the battle—but none of it mattered.
Because this was it.
This was the last chance to save Laxman.
“Laxman,” Ajit said, his voice steady, cutting through the chaos like a sword.
Laxman’s body twitched, spasming violently as the shadows around him pulsed and screamed.
Ajit’s jaw tightened.
“You are not Narakasura,” he said. “You are not this monster.”
The shadows fought against him.
A roar of pure rage—but it wasn’t Laxman’s.
It was the Halāhala itself.
And it was angry.
“He is mine,” it whispered.
“He chose me.”
Ajit’s heart slammed against his ribs.
And suddenly, the Halāhala attacked.
The black-red tendrils lashed out, snapping toward him like a hundred vipers, their tips seething with corruption.
Ajit moved.
He ducked, rolled, twisted through the onslaught, golden fire blazing from his fists as he slashed through the tendrils, severing them mid-air.
But they kept coming.
Endless. Relentless.
Because the Halāhala wasn’t just attacking.
It was trying to consume him, too.
“Join us, Ajit Singh,” the voice whispered.
“There is no hero. There is no villain. Only power.”
Ajit gritted his teeth.
His golden tendrils coiled around his fists, flaring like divine whips.
“You think I’m afraid of power?” he snarled. “You think I don’t know what it feels like?”
The air cracked as he surged forward, golden flames bursting from his back like wings, launching himself straight at Laxman’s trapped form.
The Halāhala screamed in fury.
Tendrils wrapped around Ajit’s legs, dragging him down—but he didn’t stop.
Another set latched onto his arms, burning through his skin—but he kept pushing.
Laxman was right there.
He could still be saved.
Ajit reached out—
Their fingers almost touched.
And then—
Laxman’s lips parted.
His voice was broken, choked, barely more than a whisper.
“Ajit… help me.”
And Ajit grabbed his hand.
THE WAR WITHIN.
The moment their hands connected, Ajit felt himself being dragged inside.
Reality collapsed.
The battlefield vanished.
The storm dissolved into silence.
And suddenly, Ajit was standing inside Laxman’s mind.
It was a prison of shadows.
Endless black-red chains stretched in every direction, wrapping around Laxman’s true form, binding him in place. His body was frail, broken, barely holding together.
And standing behind him—
Towering over them both—
The Halāhala itself.
A vast, shapeless horror of shifting darkness, a void with too many arms, too many mouths. It had no form. It had every form.
“He is mine,” it whispered again.
“He made his choice.”
Ajit’s grip on Laxman’s wrist tightened.
“He made the wrong choice,” he growled. “But he’s still my brother.”
Laxman’s eyes flickered.
Ajit saw the pain in them. The regret.
He wasn’t just trapped here.
He was fighting.
Fighting to break free.
Ajit turned back to the Halāhala.
“You can’t have him,” he said. “Not today.”
The darkness screeched.
And then—
It attacked.
A thousand tendrils surged forward at once, aiming to consume them both.
Ajit’s golden aura erupted outward, forming a barrier of pure celestial energy—but it wouldn’t hold forever.
He had seconds.
One chance.
Ajit turned back to Laxman.
“You have to fight,” he said, his voice urgent.
Laxman shook his head weakly.
“I can’t,” he rasped. “It’s too strong.”
Ajit’s expression hardened.
“So are you,” he shot back.
Laxman winced.
The chains tightened.
The Halāhala’s laughter echoed through the void.
“You cannot save him.”
Ajit gritted his teeth.
“Maybe I can’t.”
His hands curled into fists.
“But he can save himself.”
And then—Ajit let go.
Laxman stared.
Ajit stepped back, arms open.
“I can’t pull you out of this, Laxman,” he said. “You have to do it yourself. But I believe in you.”
The chains shuddered.
The Halāhala’s laughter faltered.
Because now—
Laxman wasn’t just listening.
He was remembering.
The years they had spent together. The childhood fights. The friendship.
The moments before all of this.
The moments when he had been himself.
Laxman took a breath.
And then—
For the first time—
He fought back.
The chains snapped.
The darkness screamed.
And Laxman’s true form surged forward, golden light bursting from his core.
The Halāhala convulsed, recoiling, shrieking in fury—
Because its grip on him was breaking.
Ajit smiled.
“Welcome back, brother.”
THE WORLD WAS SPLITTING APART.
The Halāhala shrieked.
A sound too deep for ears, too vast for comprehension—a sound of something ancient, something primal, something that had never been defied before.
But now—
It was losing.
Chains of darkness snapped and writhed around Laxman’s form, their grasp weakening, their grip faltering as the golden glow inside him burned brighter, brighter, BRIGHTER.
Ajit could feel it—the weight of Laxman’s soul shifting.
He wasn’t just breaking free.
He was fighting back.
And the Halāhala—the thing that had controlled him, fed on him, used him—was finally afraid.
“This is impossible!” it howled.
“You are MINE!”
Laxman’s voice—his real voice, his human voice—rose above the abyss.
“I WAS NEVER YOURS!”
And then—
He burned.
A SACRIFICE IN FIRE.
Ajit saw it in slow motion.
Laxman threw his arms outward, and the golden light within him erupted, consuming everything.
The Halāhala screamed in agony, tendrils of shadow snapping backward, recoiling like a wounded beast. The abyss itself shrank, pulling away from him, as if terrified of what it had created.
Ajit felt the force of it surging outward, waves of golden fire tearing through the corruption, purging the darkness, cleansing the poison.
The storm broke apart.
The city trembled.
The abyss cracked.
And at the heart of it all—
Laxman was burning away.
Ajit’s eyes widened.
“No!”
He lunged forward, reaching for his friend—
But the moment their hands touched, Ajit felt it.
Laxman wasn’t just fighting the Halāhala.
He was tearing it out of himself.
Piece by piece.
And it was killing him.
Ajit’s breath hitched.
“Laxman—STOP!”
Laxman turned his head.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity—
He smiled.
“You’ve got this now, brother.”
Ajit shook his head violently.
“No, no—you can still fight! We can fix this—I can save you!”
Laxman exhaled, his body already breaking apart.
“You already did.”
Ajit’s heart shattered.
Then—
The light consumed everything.
THE MONSTER DIES.
The moment Laxman’s energy detonated, the Halāhala collapsed.
Ajit felt it—the entire abyss shuddering, the corruption writhing in agony.
The tendrils that had once choked the city began to wither, disintegrating into dust. The sky, once drenched in unnatural black-red, broke open, revealing the first glimpses of dawn.
Narakasura—or what was left of him—let out one final, ear-splitting roar before his form imploded, sucked inward, vanishing into the void like a nightmare at sunrise.
And just like that—
The war was over.
The Halāhala was gone.
But so was Laxman.
A HERO FALLS.
The battlefield was silent.
The once-roaring storm had dissipated, replaced only by the faint crackling of dying embers, the sound of rubble settling, the slow, quiet groans of a broken city trying to hold itself together.
And in the center of it all—
Ajit knelt on the ground, holding what was left of Laxman in his arms.
His body—fragile, human again—was barely breathing. The golden light that had burned within him had faded, leaving only a battered, broken shell.
Ajit’s hands trembled.
“You idiot,” he muttered. “You were supposed to let me save you.”
Laxman’s lips curved slightly.
“That’s what I did,” he murmured.
His voice was weak.
Too weak.
Ajit’s heart pounded.
“No, no—stay with me!”
Laxman coughed—a horrible, wet sound. His body was giving out, his energy completely spent.
Ajit could see it.
He could feel it.
And he could do nothing.
Laxman blinked up at him.
For the first time since this nightmare began, his eyes were clear.
And he whispered—
“Did I do something good… in the end?”
Ajit’s throat clenched.
“You were always good,” he said, voice shaking. “You just forgot for a while.”
Laxman’s breath hitched.
His gaze flickered.
And then—
He smiled.
“That’s… enough for me.”
His eyes closed.
His body went still.
And in Ajit’s arms—
Laxman died.
THE AFTERMATH.
The sun rose over Imphal.
The city—battered, broken, but still standing—slowly came back to life.
People emerged from hiding, stepping out into the light, their faces streaked with dust, with tears, with relief.
The nightmare was over.
Naga Man had won.
But Ajit couldn’t move.
He knelt there, Laxman’s lifeless body cradled against his chest, his golden aura flickering weakly around them both.
He should have felt victorious.
But all he felt was empty.
A single, soft voice broke the silence.
“Ajit?”
He looked up.
Padmini stood before him, her eyes red from crying.
She had been watching.
She had seen everything.
And as she took another step forward, her voice cracked.
“He’s gone… isn’t he?”
Ajit couldn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
The way he held Laxman said everything.
Padmini knelt beside him, tears slipping down her face.
For a long, long time, neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
Because in the end—
Ajit had saved the city.
But he couldn’t save his brother.
And that—
That was the only thing that mattered.
THE AIR TURNED TO ICE.
Ajit felt it before he saw it.
The battle had ended. The Halāhala was gone. The storm had passed.
And yet—
Something wasn’t right.
The light of dawn had barely touched the ruins when the shadows began shifting again, curling like unseen fingers around the wreckage, stretching toward the fallen body in Ajit’s arms.
The wind died.
The world held its breath.
And then—
A voice.
Soft. Amused. Cold.
“How touching.”
Ajit’s blood ran cold.
Slowly, he looked up.
And there—standing at the edge of the crumbling temple ruins—
Was Ravana.
THE FINAL THREAT.
He stood in the center of the destruction, his gold-and-black robes barely stained, his face unreadable beneath the flickering embers of the dying battle.
He did not look like a man who had lost.
He looked like a man who had just begun.
Ajit’s fingers clenched.
His body screamed with exhaustion, his golden aura weak and flickering. The fight with Narakasura had drained him more than anything before.
And yet—
Here Ravana stood.
Untouched. Unbroken. Smiling.
Ajit’s voice was low, dangerous.
“You lost.”
Ravana’s eyebrow arched.
“Did I?”
His gaze flicked downward—to Laxman’s lifeless form.
And he smirked.
Ajit’s jaw tightened.
“Say his name,” he said, his voice shaking with fury.
Ravana chuckled.
“Laxman,” he said. “The fool who thought he could control the Halāhala.”
Ajit’s vision blurred with rage.
“You did this to him.”
Ravana sighed, shrugging.
“I gave him a choice,” he said. “He made it.”
Ajit stood slowly.
His golden tendrils flared, the markings of the Nagamani burning across his arms and chest. His body was exhausted, broken, shattered—
But none of that mattered now.
Because Ravana was still breathing.
And Ajit was going to fix that.
THE LAST FIGHT BEGINS.
The ruins shook as Ajit moved.
One second—he was standing still.
The next—he was already in front of Ravana, his fist screaming through the air, burning with the last embers of his power.
A punch that could break mountains.
A punch that could end this in one blow.
And then—
Ravana caught it.
With one hand.
Ajit’s eyes widened.
Because Ravana didn’t just stop the attack.
He didn’t just block it.
He absorbed it.
The golden energy bled into Ravana’s palm, disappearing like water into dry earth.
And when Ajit tried to pull back—
He couldn’t.
His hand was stuck.
Trapped in Ravana’s grip.
Ravana’s smile widened.
“Oh, Naga Man,” he whispered.
“Did you really think this was over?”
And then—
Ajit’s world exploded.
RAVANA ASCENDS.
A shockwave erupted from Ravana’s palm, blasting Ajit backwards through the ruins, through the debris, through the air.
Ajit crashed through a fallen skyscraper, his body bouncing off the crumbling steel and shattered glass before smashing into the remains of a temple wall.
Pain exploded through his ribs.
Blood filled his mouth.
But before he could recover—
Ravana was already there.
He moved like a phantom, stepping forward without urgency, his presence alone warping the air, making reality itself seem heavier.
And now—
Ajit saw it.
Saw what had been hiding beneath the surface all along.
Ravana was stronger.
Faster.
More than he had been before.
Because while Ajit had been fighting Laxman—
Ravana had been feeding.
The Halāhala wasn’t gone.
It had changed hosts.
And Ravana—
Ravana was now something else entirely.
THE FINAL MONSTER.
Ravana rolled his shoulders, his gold-and-black robes shifting like liquid metal. The markings along his skin—once subtle, once hidden—were now pulsing with dark, unnatural power.
His eyes—
They were no longer human.
Not like Laxman’s had been, twisted in suffering.
No.
Ravana’s eyes were calm.
Controlled.
And that was what made it worse.
“The problem with Laxman,” he said, flexing his fingers, watching as raw energy crackled between them,
“Was that he resisted.”
He looked at Ajit.
“I will not make that mistake.”
Ajit’s body screamed for rest.
But he forced himself to his feet.
“I don’t care how much power you’ve stolen, Ravana,” he growled, his golden flames flickering back to life.
“I’m still going to end this.”
Ravana tilted his head.
And then—
He smiled.
“Try.”
And then—
He struck.
THE LAST NIGHT OF IMPHAL.
The city was barely standing.
The streets had collapsed into an abyss of Halāhala corruption, black-red veins pulsing beneath the ruined skyline. The storm had broken, revealing a sky torn apart—light and shadow warring above, as if the heavens themselves were unsure which side would win.
And in the center of it all—
Two gods prepared to kill each other.
On one side—Ajit Singh, the last hope of Imphal. His golden aura flickered like the final embers of a dying fire, the power of the Nagamani coursing through his veins, keeping him upright when every part of his body screamed for rest.
On the other—Ravana, the architect of the apocalypse. The Halāhala had fully fused with him, his body glowing with an unnatural radiance, veins of pure void writhing beneath his golden-black skin. He stood perfectly still, the world itself bending around his presence, as if even reality was hesitant to defy him.
Ajit wiped the blood from his mouth.
“One last round?” he muttered.
Ravana smirked.
“No, Ajit.”
“This is checkmate.”
Then—
The world shattered.
THE ULTIMATE FIGHT BEGINS!
Ajit moved first.
A golden comet streaking through the wreckage, his body a blur of speed as he closed the distance, spectral tendrils snapping forward like divine whips.
Ravana didn’t flinch.
He vanished.
Not dodging—disappearing.
Ajit’s attack slammed into nothing, the tendrils cracking the earth where Ravana had stood.
Then—pain.
A blow from nowhere.
Ajit’s ribs exploded in agony as Ravana reappeared behind him, striking with the precision of a scalpel. The force sent him flying, his body tumbling through collapsing buildings, stone and steel crumbling around him like paper.
Ajit barely had time to breathe before Ravana followed.
Not running—gliding.
His movements were inhuman, unnatural, like a phantom stepping between dimensions.
Ajit rolled, barely avoiding a second strike—but the air itself buckled, a shockwave tearing apart the ruins where he had just stood.
“You still don’t understand, do you?” Ravana’s voice was calm, almost disappointed.
Ajit gritted his teeth, flipping midair, golden tendrils wrapping around a crumbling skyscraper to swing himself back into position.
“You talk too much.”
He retaliated—
Both hands forward, Nagamani energy bursting outward like a divine explosion!
The blast ripped through the battlefield, a golden tidal wave of raw celestial force—
But Ravana raised a single hand.
And stopped it.
Not blocked.
Stopped.
Ajit’s eyes widened.
The energy dissipated into nothing—as if it had never existed.
Ravana sighed.
“I absorbed Laxman’s power, Ajit.”
“Your attacks no longer matter.”
Then—
He struck back.
A single palm thrust.
Ajit barely had time to react before he was hit full-force, the impact sending shockwaves across the ruins, air itself exploding outward in a sonic boom.
Ajit’s vision blurred.
The world tilted.
He was flying again—no, falling.
Through the wreckage. Through the abyss. Into the dark.
For the first time in his life—
Ajit felt powerless.
THE FINAL FORM REVEALED!
Ajit slammed into the ruins, gasping for breath.
His vision swam—his body screaming, the Nagamani’s power barely holding him together.
And above him—
Ravana began to change.
The ground cracked beneath his feet. The air shook.
Then—
The Halāhala surged outward, engulfing him, reshaping him, warping him into something more.
His form expanded, growing beyond human proportions, his body shifting between physical and spectral, his golden-black robes burning away to reveal something inhuman beneath.
His limbs stretched, his spine cracked, his voice deepened into something monstrous.
And then—
His true form emerged.
A colossal serpent of shadow and fire, its coils stretching through the ruins, its molten eyes burning like dying suns.
His voice rumbled, shaking the battlefield itself.
“I AM BEYOND GODS, BEYOND DEMONS—BEYOND YOU!”
Ajit forced himself to stand.
Blood dripped from his mouth, his muscles barely holding together—but he wasn’t done.
Not yet.
He clenched his fists.
The golden light inside him flickered—then surged.
One last chance.
One final power.
If Ravana had evolved—
Then Ajit would too.
The Nagamani roared in his veins.
And suddenly—
His body shifted.
The markings of the ancient Nagas burned across his skin, his eyes blazing with golden fire, his tendrils growing longer, sharper, stronger.
Then—
His final transformation began.
Ajit rose from the rubble, his aura flaring brighter than ever, his form glowing with the wrath of the Naga Kings.
Ravana’s massive serpent form coiled around the ruins, watching, waiting.
And Ajit smirked.
“Alright, Ravana,” he growled.
“Let’s finish this.”
A CITY ON THE EDGE OF EXISTENCE.
The last battlefield of Imphal stretched before them like the final page of a dying world.
The ruins, the shattered skyline, the abyss below—it was all collapsing, dragged into the vortex of raw destruction left behind by the war of gods. The air hummed with unstable energy, tendrils of corrupted Halāhala twisting like black-red lightning across the broken sky.
And in the center of it all—
Two titans prepared for the end.
Ravana loomed over the wreckage, his new form fully realized. His body was no longer human, no longer bound by mortal constraints. He had become a colossal serpent of living darkness, his coils stretching for miles, his obsidian-black scales shifting between solid and ethereal, warping the space around him.
His eyes burned like miniature suns, molten gold and crimson swirling inside them.
He was no longer just a man.
He was the vessel of Narakasura’s will.
And before him, standing at the edge of the abyss—
Ajit Singh, Naga Man.
His golden aura flickered like a candle in a hurricane. His body was bruised, his strength drained, his energy nearly spent.
And yet—
He stood.
Defiant.
Unbroken.
THE FINAL POWER UNLOCKED!
Ravana’s voice rumbled, shaking the battlefield itself.
“You are outmatched, Ajit Singh.”
“You cannot stop me.”
Ajit exhaled.
Then—
He smiled.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I don’t need to stop you.”
He took a step forward.
“I just need to beat you to death.”
His aura roared to life, golden flames igniting along his body, surging outward like wildfire. The Nagamani screamed inside him, resonating with the energy of the cosmos itself.
This was it.
The moment of truth.
If he failed here—there would be no second chance.
Ravana’s massive serpent form uncoiled, rising higher, blotting out the shattered sky.
“You refuse to bow?” he mused. “So be it.”
Then—
He struck.
A titanic shadow-clad tail lashed downward, moving at impossible speed—a single blow strong enough to level entire cities.
Ajit moved.
But not to dodge.
Not to run.
He met the attack head-on.
His golden aura expanded violently, his body pulsing with divine light, his spectral tendrils stretching outward like living flames.
He reached up—
And caught the tail.
The impact shattered the air itself, shockwaves ripping outward, tearing apart the ruins.
The earth cracked beneath Ajit’s feet, the force enough to crush steel—but he did not fall.
Instead—
He pushed back.
And for the first time—
Ravana staggered.
The golden markings on Ajit’s body began to shift, expand, the energy inside him reaching its final peak.
And then—
He transformed.
The flames of the Naga Kings engulfed him, his body twisting into something beyond human. His arms stretched, his form expanded—
And from his back—
A colossal spectral cobra emerged, its scales woven from raw golden energy, its fangs glinting with cosmic fire.
His final form.
His Naga King Ascension.
The serpent roared, its voice thunder and fury incarnate.
And when Ajit spoke—
His voice was no longer just his own.
“Ravana,” he growled.
“You wanted a god?”
His golden tendrils snapped forward, wrapping around Ravana’s massive coils like chains of light.
“Now you’ve got one.”
And then—
The final battle truly began.
THE FINAL CLASH!
Ravana lunged forward, his fanged maw stretching wide, ready to consume Ajit whole.
Ajit didn’t move.
Instead—
He let the attack come.
And at the last possible second—
He vanished.
Ravana’s bite snapped closed on empty air, his massive form twisting in confusion—
And then—
Ajit reappeared behind him.
His entire body burned with celestial fire, the spectral cobra above him mimicking his movements, its divine fangs descending in unison with his own.
Ajit struck.
His fist tore through Ravana’s scales, piercing the Halāhala-infested flesh, sending shockwaves of golden energy bursting outward.
Ravana shrieked in pain—for the first time.
Ajit’s eyes burned.
“Not so invincible now, are you?”
Ravana whirled, his massive coils whipping across the battlefield, collapsing skyscrapers as they moved.
Ajit leapt, twisted, flipped through the air, dodging every strike with inhuman precision.
Then—
He countered.
A flurry of golden tendrils lashed out, binding Ravana’s limbs, forcing him downward.
Ajit lunged, golden claws forming over his fists—
And he tore into the monster.
Blow after devastating blow, each impact ringing like a celestial gong, golden energy searing through Ravana’s corrupted form.
And as the Halāhala weakened, as its control over Ravana wavered—
Ajit saw it.
A single, glowing point—the core of Ravana’s power.
The heart of the Halāhala.
Ajit’s eyes narrowed.
“Found you.”
He dove.
Ravana screamed in fury, but it was too late.
Ajit’s final strike hit home.
His fist punched through Ravana’s chest, seizing the Halāhala’s core in his grasp.
The power burned, roared, fought against him—
But Ajit held on.
He looked into Ravana’s fading, disbelieving eyes.
“This is where it ends.”
And then—
He crushed the core.
THE END OF RAVANA.
The explosion consumed everything.
A blinding golden inferno, burning away the last remnants of Halāhala’s corruption, purging the darkness, unmaking the monster.
Ravana let out one final, agonized cry.
And then—
He was gone.
The storm vanished.
The city stilled.
And the last echoes of battle faded into silence.
Ajit stood alone in the ruins.
Victorious.
Exhausted.
And finally—
At peace.
DAWN OVER IMPHAL.
The storm was gone.
The Halāhala was gone.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the sun rose over Imphal.
It wasn’t the same city.
It would never be the same.
Buildings lay in ruin, the streets were cracked and broken, the echoes of war still fresh in the bones of what had once been a thriving metropolis. Smoke still curled from the wreckage, embers flickered in the morning light, and the air still carried the scent of battle—burnt steel, crushed stone, the lingering tang of blood and fire.