Chapter 2: First Blood
The world seemed to hold its breath as the Holy Amrita War began. Across the vast expanse of Bharat Varsha, each Master and Servant felt a subtle pull toward the battle ahead—a tug not only on their bodies but on their very souls.
At the heart of it all, Krishna reappeared, his presence manifesting simultaneously to every participant. Each Master saw him in their own way: standing on a sunlit battlefield, seated under a Bodhi tree, or gazing from atop a stormy mountaintop.
Krishna’s form shimmered with ethereal light, his voice resonating across all distances.
“Masters and Servants, hear me. The Amrita War is not merely a contest of strength—it is a reckoning. A trial of your choices, your virtues, and the weight of your karma. You fight not only to win but to endure the judgment of your actions.”
In the dense jungles of Vindhya, where Mahishasura prowled like a shadow among the trees, Rajani Devi heard his voice. She clenched her fists, his words stirring something uneasy within her. Nearby, Mahishasura snorted, pawing the ground with one hoof.
“Does he always talk like this?” the Beast growled.
Rajani shot him a glance. “He’s a god. It’s kind of their thing.”
Meanwhile, in the mountain passes of Yunnan, Zhao Rui stood alongside Hou Yi, his expression grim as Krishna’s words echoed in his mind. The Archer, unmoved by the divine decree, notched an arrow and let it rest against his bowstring, ever vigilant.
“It seems this war is more than we anticipated,” Zhao murmured.
Hou Yi’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “Anticipation matters little. Our task is to act.”
In the ruined temple where Akihiro Kuroda crouched in the shadows, Shuten Dōji tilted her head, a playful smile curving her lips. “So serious, this Krishna,” she purred, swirling her sake cup lazily. “I wonder how many of these righteous fools will crumble when the real games begin.”
Akihiro didn’t reply, his focus on the energy emanating from the relic in his hand.
Krishna’s voice continued, unwavering in its calm authority.
“Masters, your Command Spells are both your tool and your burden. They grant you control, but they exact a cost. Use them with care, for their power reflects your intent—and your karma.”
In the mountains of Rajasthan, Sir Percival Grey listened intently. His hand brushed against Arthur’s scabbard as the words resonated with him. Arthur stood at his side, silent but resolute, the light of Avalon gleaming faintly in his eyes.
“Your thoughts, Master?” Arthur asked, his tone steady.
Percival exhaled, his brow furrowing. “If this is truly a war of ideals, then we’ll need more than strength to prevail.”
Arthur nodded. “Then let us ensure we uphold what is just.”
Krishna’s form began to fade, but his final words lingered like a ripple across still water.
“You will be judged not by your victory, but by the legacy you leave in the cycle of dharma. Fight wisely, and walk carefully. The wheel turns for all.”
As the vision dissolved, each Master and Servant was left in silence. The weight of Krishna’s message settled heavily upon them, shaping their thoughts as they prepared for the battles ahead.
In the dense forests, the towering peaks, the sunlit plains, and the desecrated temples, the participants steeled themselves for what was to come.
The first moves of the Amrita War had yet to be made, but the Ruler’s call had set the stage for the chaos to unfold.
The dense, tangled wilderness of Dandaka Forest seemed alive with whispers. Shadows flickered across the ground, cast by towering trees whose ancient branches intertwined above to blot out the sun. Somewhere deep within the forest, the faint rustle of leaves and distant animal cries created a symphony of unease.
Dr. Vidya Shastri crouched near a gnarled tree, her fingers brushing against the damp moss covering its trunk. Her breath came in shallow, steady bursts, her eyes scanning the foliage for movement. The air here felt charged, heavy with the promise of something imminent.
“Do you sense it too?” she whispered.
Beside her, Rama knelt with the grace of a warrior at rest. His bow rested against his shoulder, his divine aura subdued but unmistakable. He nodded, his gaze unwavering as he peered into the depths of the forest.
“There is another Servant nearby,” he said softly, his voice calm yet alert. “Their presence lingers like an echo in the trees. Be ready, Vidya.”
Vidya adjusted the straps of her satchel, her hand instinctively brushing against the shard of Shiva’s bow she carried within it. “Ready? I’m not exactly trained for combat, Rama,” she said with a nervous laugh.
Rama offered her a faint smile, though his eyes never left the horizon. “You are trained in resolve, Vidya. That is enough.”
A sudden rustling to their left drew their attention. Rama rose fluidly, his hand gripping the hilt of his quiver as his bow appeared in a shimmer of golden light.
“Stay behind me,” he instructed, his voice firm.
Vidya nodded, stepping back as Rama moved forward, his steps silent against the forest floor. The air grew colder, the oppressive quiet broken only by the faint sound of footsteps crunching through the underbrush.
The tension was palpable. Rama’s bowstring hummed with divine energy, his fingers poised to draw an arrow.
From the shadows emerged a figure—a man clad in patchwork armor, his face twisted into a snarl. At his side stood a Servant cloaked in darkness, their form humanoid but distorted, as though the shadows themselves had taken shape.
“Another Master,” the man sneered, his eyes locking onto Vidya. “And her Servant… What a prize this will be.”
Rama stepped between them, his presence radiant and commanding. “Your quarrel is with me,” he said evenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Do not test your fate, stranger.”
The enemy Servant stepped forward, their movements fluid yet unnatural. “Test fate?” they hissed, their voice echoing as though it came from many mouths. “The only fate here is yours, warrior of dharma.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath as Rama drew an arrow, its tip glowing with divine light. The shadows around the enemy Servant writhed, growing denser and more menacing.
“Vidya,” Rama said without looking back. “Trust me. And stay out of sight.”
Before she could respond, the enemy Servant lunged, their form dissolving into a mass of shadow that surged toward Rama with blinding speed.
The clash was immediate and thunderous. Rama’s arrow released a blinding burst of light, illuminating the forest and forcing the shadows to retreat. The enemy Servant re-formed, snarling in frustration as Rama stepped forward, his presence unyielding.
Vidya ducked behind the tree, her heart pounding as she watched the battle unfold. The sheer power emanating from both Servants was overwhelming, their attacks shaking the ground and sending bursts of energy through the air.
As the forest around them began to splinter and crack, Vidya clenched her fists, determination rising within her despite the fear that gripped her.
This was only the beginning.
The moon hung low over the dense canopy of the Dandaka Forest, its pale light filtering through the leaves in fractured beams. A small, isolated camp sat nestled between the trees, its makeshift tents and smoldering fire signaling the presence of a cautious traveler.
Akihiro Kuroda crouched on a high branch, shrouded in the darkness that clung to the forest like a second skin. His sharp eyes scanned the campsite below, his lips curled in a faint smirk. “A lone Master,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Easy pickings.”
Beside him, perched with a feline grace, was Shuten Dōji, her violet eyes glimmering with amusement. She swirled a small cup of sake in her hand, the liquid within catching the faint light as she tilted it.
“Such caution, Master,” Shuten purred, her tone teasing. “Do you really think they’ll even see it coming?”
Akihiro glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “That’s the point,” he replied coolly.
Shuten’s smile widened, and she sipped from her cup. “Very well. Let’s see if this little mouse is worth catching.”
Akihiro reached for the Command Spells etched onto his wrist, their crimson glow faintly illuminating the darkened forest. “You know what to do,” he said, his tone clipped.
Shuten tilted her head, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder as she rose to her feet. “Of course, Master. I never disappoint.”
With that, she leaped from the branch, her form dissolving into a swirling mist that descended silently toward the camp.
At the Camp
The lone Master—a nervous, young mage wrapped in tattered robes—sat cross-legged by the fire. His hands moved deftly over a small talisman, his lips murmuring incantations as he focused on his task.
The shadows around him deepened, and the temperature dropped subtly, but he didn’t notice.
Shuten’s mist-like form drifted through the campsite, silent and invisible. She circled the mage, her laughter a faint whisper carried on the wind.
“So fragile, these mortals,” her voice cooed, audible only to herself. “And so easily broken.”
With a flick of her wrist, the mist coalesced into tiny droplets, slipping into the Master’s water flask and food supplies. The poison took effect almost instantly, its insidious energy spreading through the camp like invisible tendrils.
The mage faltered, his hands trembling as he clutched his stomach. “What… what is this?” he gasped, his voice weak.
Shuten materialized behind him, her form solidifying as she leaned over his shoulder. Her sake cup dangled from her fingers, and her smile was as sweet as it was malicious.
“It’s just a little whisper, mortal,” she said softly, her breath warm against his ear. “One you’ll never escape.”
The mage tried to rise, but his strength failed him. His talisman slipped from his grasp, its faint glow dimming as his life force drained away.
Shuten stepped around him, her steps light and almost playful. “A pity, really,” she mused, crouching down to pick up the talisman. “You weren’t even a challenge.”
Akihiro emerged from the shadows, his expression calm as he surveyed the scene. “Is it done?”
Shuten held up the talisman, twirling it between her fingers. “Of course, Master,” she said with a grin. “Did you expect anything less?”
The campfire flickered and died, plunging the clearing into darkness. The fallen Master’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground, and the faint shimmer of his Servant’s essence dissipated into the night.
Shuten tilted her head, her playful smile widening as she looked up at Akihiro. “Shall we find another? Or do you think they’ll start noticing us now?”
Akihiro nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let them notice. It won’t save them.”
With a burst of laughter, Shuten vanished into the shadows once more, leaving Akihiro alone in the silent camp.
The Assassin had struck, and the forest trembled under her whispered wrath.
The shadows of the Dandaka Forest stretched long as twilight began to settle, casting the dense foliage in hues of purple and gray. Near a shallow stream, Aarya Vardhan crouched, cupping his hands to collect water. The former king’s rugged appearance betrayed his exhaustion—his armor scratched, his cloak torn, and his dark eyes shadowed with concern.
Behind him, Vikramaditya, the legendary monarch summoned as Saber, stood watch. His posture was upright, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Even at rest, his regal bearing seemed unyielding, as if centuries of leadership still weighed upon him.
“We shouldn’t linger here,” Vikramaditya said, his tone steady but firm. “This forest hides more than just beasts.”
Aarya glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “I wasn’t planning on setting up camp. I’m just not as tireless as you, Your Majesty.”
Before Vikramaditya could reply, the faint crunch of leaves underfoot drew their attention. Both men tensed, Aarya instinctively reaching for the knife at his belt while Vikramaditya’s hand tightened on his sword.
“Who goes there?” Vikramaditya called out, his voice commanding, echoing through the trees.
From the shadows emerged another figure—a man dressed in khaki and carrying a rifle slung over his shoulder. His British features were framed by a mess of dark hair, and his sharp green eyes darted between Aarya and Vikramaditya with measured caution. Sir Percival Grey raised a hand, palm outward, signaling peace.
“I mean no harm,” he said, his voice clipped but calm. “And I’d rather not have your blade in my gut before I can explain myself.”
Behind Percival, Arthur, the legendary Shielder, stepped forward. His golden shield gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his presence exuded a quiet strength. He stopped just behind his Master, his sharp blue eyes meeting Vikramaditya’s.
“You’re on edge,” Arthur said evenly, addressing Vikramaditya. “But it’s a justified wariness. This forest is no friend to any of us.”
Aarya straightened, his knife still in hand. “And what brings a British explorer to these woods with a legend at his back?”
Percival gestured to the nearby stream. “The same thing as you, I imagine—survival. My Servant and I have been tracking movements in the forest, and it’s clear we’re not the only ones here.”
Vikramaditya and Arthur exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
“It would seem we share a common purpose,” Vikramaditya said finally. “But that doesn’t make us allies.”
Arthur stepped forward, his shield raised slightly in a non-threatening gesture. “Perhaps not allies,” he said, his voice calm, “but not enemies either. For now, cooperation would serve us all.”
Aarya eyed Percival, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. “And what’s to stop you from stabbing us in the back the moment it suits you?”
Percival gave a wry smile, adjusting the strap of his rifle. “What’s to stop you? This war isn’t exactly built on trust.”
The tension hung thick between the two Masters, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.
It was Vikramaditya who broke the stalemate, stepping forward with quiet authority. “If we waste time fighting amongst ourselves, we’ll fall prey to the true threats of this war. Let us test this alliance, however temporary.”
Arthur nodded in agreement, his shield lowering. “Unity in the face of chaos is strength, even if it is fleeting.”
Aarya hesitated, then sighed, sheathing his knife. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if this goes south, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Percival chuckled softly. “Likewise.”
The four men stood together, the unease between them palpable but overshadowed by the greater dangers lurking in the forest. As they turned to continue along the stream’s path, the faint rustle of leaves behind them hinted at unseen eyes watching from the shadows.
For now, the alliance held—but the fragile bonds of trust were already beginning to fray.
The moon hung high over a clearing deep within Dandaka Forest, its pale light illuminating a small grove surrounded by towering trees. The air was still, heavy with an unnatural silence, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves.
At the center of the grove stood Rajani Devi, her arms crossed as she leaned against a gnarled tree. Her sharp eyes scanned the shadows, her posture tense yet controlled. At her side, Mahishasura, the Beast, paced restlessly, his massive hooves crunching against the forest floor.
“This place reeks of weakness,” Mahishasura growled, his voice a low rumble. His crimson eyes glinted in the moonlight, and his muscles rippled as he turned to face Rajani. “Why are we wasting time here?”
Rajani didn’t flinch under his fiery gaze. “Patience,” she said evenly. “I’ve laid the bait. The fool will come.”
Mahishasura snorted, his breath steaming in the cool night air. “Bait? You expect me to wait for scraps when I could crush them myself?”
Before Rajani could respond, the sound of cautious footsteps reached their ears. Mahishasura stilled, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air.
“They’re here,” he rumbled, his lips curling into a savage grin.
From the opposite end of the grove, a lone figure emerged—a young Master, their robes tattered and their expression weary. They stumbled forward, clutching a crude staff adorned with faintly glowing runes.
“Help me,” the Master called out, their voice trembling. “Please… I don’t have a Servant. I need protection!”
Rajani straightened, her expression hardening as she stepped into the clearing. “You’re lost,” she said, her tone cold and clipped. “This forest isn’t safe for the weak.”
The Master fell to their knees, their staff clattering to the ground. “I’ll do anything,” they pleaded. “Just… don’t let them find me.”
Mahishasura let out a guttural laugh, his towering form emerging from the shadows. “What’s this? A lamb begging for protection from wolves?”
The Master recoiled, their eyes widening in terror as Mahishasura loomed over them. But as the Beast reached forward, Rajani raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“Not yet,” she said sharply. “Let’s see who else is lurking.”
Mahishasura growled but stepped back, his fiery eyes scanning the surrounding trees. Rajani’s instincts were rarely wrong, and tonight was no exception.
A faint rustling came from the underbrush, followed by the gleam of steel catching the moonlight. A second figure emerged, this one armed and cautious—a rival Master, their Servant close behind.
“An ambush,” the rival Master hissed, realizing too late.
“Smart, but not smart enough,” Rajani said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. She snapped her fingers, and Mahishasura charged without hesitation, his massive form moving with terrifying speed.
The Beast’s Noble Phantasm wasn’t needed—his sheer strength and fury were enough to overpower the unprepared enemy Servant. The grove erupted into chaos as Mahishasura’s roar echoed through the trees, shaking the very ground.
The rival Master attempted to flee, but Rajani intercepted them with cold efficiency, her blade flashing in the moonlight. They crumpled to the ground, their Servant vanishing in a burst of light.
As the grove fell silent once more, Mahishasura stood triumphant, his chest heaving as he towered over the carnage.
“Pathetic,” he spat, wiping blood from his horns.
Rajani sheathed her blade, her expression unreadable as she surveyed the scene. “They were a distraction,” she muttered. “The real threats are still out there.”
Mahishasura turned to her, his lips curling into a cruel grin. “Then let them come. I’ll crush them all.”
Rajani didn’t respond, her mind already calculating their next move. The grove was theirs—for now. But in the Holy Amrita War, the line between hunter and prey was thin, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before they were tested again.
The sound of clashing steel echoed through the narrow mountain pass, the sharp clang reverberating against the rocky cliffs. The Dandaka Forest gave way to craggy terrain here, where the trees thinned, and the land rose sharply toward the heavens.
In the midst of this rugged landscape, two Servants faced off. Cú Chulainn, the Lancer, stood with his signature weapon, Gáe Bolg, gleaming crimson in the dying light of dusk. His stance was low and poised, his movements fluid as a wolf on the hunt.
Opposite him, Hou Yi, the Archer, gripped his celestial bow with unwavering focus. His dark eyes were trained on Cú Chulainn, the tension in his posture betraying his readiness to unleash a flurry of devastating arrows.
Their Masters, Eamon O’Connell and General Zhao Rui, stood at a safe distance, their eyes locked on the duel with equal parts anticipation and dread.
“This wasn’t exactly the plan,” Zhao muttered, his voice edged with frustration.
Eamon, a broad-shouldered man with an air of reckless confidence, smirked. “It rarely is, mate. But sometimes you’ve just got to let them settle things their way.”
Zhao’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Hou Yi. “If we waste energy here, we’ll be vulnerable to an ambush. This isn’t just about honor.”
Eamon shrugged, unbothered. “Tell that to them.”
In the Fray
Cú Chulainn darted forward, his spear a blur as it struck at Hou Yi. The Archer nimbly sidestepped, drawing an arrow from his quiver and loosing it in one swift motion. The arrow burned with golden light, its speed impossible to track.
Cú Chulainn twisted at the last moment, the projectile grazing his shoulder and embedding itself into the rock wall behind him. He let out a low growl, his grin widening.
“Not bad, Archer,” he said, his voice tinged with wild amusement. “But you’ll need more than that to put me down.”
Hou Yi’s expression remained calm, his focus unbroken. “Precision always triumphs over brute force,” he replied evenly, notching another arrow.
Cú Chulainn lunged again, his spear creating a deadly arc as it sought to pierce Hou Yi’s defenses. The Archer backflipped, firing an arrow mid-motion that struck the ground near Cú’s feet, erupting into a burst of blinding light.
The Lancer staggered, his vision momentarily obscured. Hou Yi took advantage, loosing another arrow aimed directly at his opponent’s chest.
But Cú Chulainn’s instincts were sharp. With a feral snarl, he spun his spear in a defensive arc, deflecting the arrow mid-flight before charging through the lingering light. His speed was blinding, his spear aimed straight for Hou Yi’s heart.
The Masters’ Standoff
“Shouldn’t we call them off?” Zhao asked, his fingers twitching near the Command Spells etched into his wrist.
Eamon shook his head, his smirk fading slightly. “Not yet. Let them test each other. They’ll both walk away stronger for it.”
Zhao exhaled sharply, his frustration mounting. “Your confidence is going to get someone killed.”
Eamon’s grin returned, sharper this time. “Maybe. But not today.”
The Duel’s Conclusion
Hou Yi ducked under Cú Chulainn’s strike, his movement smooth and deliberate. He released another arrow, this one aimed at the Lancer’s legs. The projectile struck true, forcing Cú to stumble.
For a moment, the two Servants paused, their eyes locked as they caught their breath.
“You’re good,” Cú Chulainn admitted, his voice almost begrudging. “You’ve got the precision thing down.”
Hou Yi straightened, his bow still at the ready. “And you’re relentless. That’s not something I take lightly.”
Before either could make another move, the sound of distant rustling reached their ears. The two Servants froze, their focus shifting to the cliffs above.
“An ambush,” Hou Yi murmured.
Cú Chulainn smirked, rolling his shoulders as he readied his spear. “Guess we’ve got company.”
Their Masters exchanged tense glances as shadows began to move across the ridges, revealing the shapes of enemy Servants and their Masters lying in wait.
Zhao reached for his Command Spells, his expression grim. “We don’t have time for this.”
Eamon nodded, his grin fading completely. “Guess the truce is on hold.”
The duel ended not in victory, but in necessity, as Hou Yi and Cú Chulainn turned to face the new threat. For the first time, adversaries became reluctant allies, forced to fight side by side as the forest erupted into chaos around them.
The test of honor had become a battle for survival.
The campfire flickered weakly in the clearing, its embers casting long shadows over the surrounding trees. Two Masters sat across from one another, their faces illuminated by the wavering light.
Lysandra Koris reclined casually, her blonde hair tied back in a loose braid as her icy blue eyes appraised the man before her. He was younger, with an air of desperation that made him easy prey. His trembling hands clutched a worn grimoire, its pages etched with faintly glowing sigils.
“You’ve been lucky to survive this long,” Lysandra said smoothly, her voice tinged with feigned concern. “The Amrita War isn’t kind to the unprepared.”
The young Master nodded quickly, his gaze darting nervously between Lysandra and the nearby treeline. “I-I know. That’s why I agreed to your offer. An alliance is the only way I stand a chance.”
Lysandra smiled faintly, leaning forward as if to reassure him. “And you’ve made the right choice. Together, we’ll protect each other.” She gestured to the elegant woman standing silently behind her, her Servant, Medea, who radiated an aura of quiet menace. “With Medea’s power, we’ll ensure your survival.”
The young Master nodded again, his grip tightening on the grimoire. “Thank you. Truly.”
Medea, her purple robes trailing the ground as she stepped forward, glanced at Lysandra. “Must I play along with this farce? It’s beneath me.”
Lysandra didn’t respond directly, her eyes fixed on the young Master. “Medea will prepare a protective ward for you,” she said, her tone kind but firm. “It will keep you safe from any ambushes.”
The young man’s face lit up with relief. “You… you’d do that for me?”
Medea smiled coldly, her violet eyes narrowing. “Of course. A gift for my Master’s new ally.”
She raised her hands, delicate fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. Glowing threads of purple light formed around the young Master, wrapping him in an ethereal cocoon that pulsed faintly.
“Stay still,” Medea said, her voice soft and melodic. “The ward is delicate—it requires precision.”
The young Master froze, his eyes wide as the cocoon tightened around him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. His body stiffened, his limbs locked in place as the cocoon’s glow intensified.
Lysandra rose to her feet, brushing a speck of dirt from her sleeve. “You’ve been most helpful,” she said coolly, her smile fading. “But I’m afraid this alliance is no longer necessary.”
The young Master’s eyes darted frantically toward Medea, who tilted her head, her expression a mix of amusement and indifference.
“You should have been more careful, child,” Medea murmured. “Trust is a luxury you cannot afford in this war.”
With a flick of her wrist, the cocoon constricted, crushing the young Master’s body in a single, silent moment. The grimoire fell to the ground, its glow fading as the remnants of his essence dissolved into the night.
Lysandra picked up the book, examining it with disinterest before tossing it aside. “Another weakling out of the way,” she said, turning to Medea. “We’re making good progress.”
Medea crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “If you call this progress. These amateurs are hardly worth the effort.”
Lysandra’s lips curved into a cold smile. “Then let’s find more entertaining prey. I have a feeling things are about to get interesting.”
As the firelight dimmed, the clearing grew silent once more, the faint scent of burned magic lingering in the air. Lysandra and Medea vanished into the shadows, their betrayal already sowing seeds of chaos in the Amrita War.
The forest floor was damp with dew, its earthy scent mingling with the faint aroma of incense carried by the breeze. The stillness of the clearing was broken only by the soft chanting of Tantrik Kaushal, his voice low and measured. He stood before a sacred circle he had etched into the soil, its lines glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.
Opposite him, Vishwamitra, the Rishi, sat cross-legged, his form radiating an aura of serene wisdom. His staff rested across his lap, its intricate carvings glowing faintly as though resonating with his divine energy.
“The storm of the war gathers around us,” Vishwamitra said, his tone calm yet laced with warning. “You must tread carefully, Master. Each action we take shifts the balance of karma.”
Kaushal didn’t respond immediately, his focus locked on the glowing circle. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, his lips moving in silent prayer.
Finally, he looked up, his gaze sharp and determined. “Your wisdom is appreciated, Rishi, but survival takes precedence over balance.” He gestured toward the forest beyond the clearing. “The enemy approaches. If we hesitate, we’ll be overrun.”
Vishwamitra’s expression remained placid, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his eyes. “The dharma of a warrior is not to survive but to protect that which is just. Remember this, or risk becoming what you fight against.”
Kaushal’s hand twitched toward the Command Spells etched onto his forearm. His patience was fraying, and the tension in his voice betrayed his inner turmoil. “Enough lectures. You’ll do as I command, Rishi.”
The chanting stopped, leaving an unnatural silence in its wake. Kaushal raised his hand, the Command Spells glowing with a brilliant red light.
“Vishwamitra, summon the divine spear,” he ordered, his voice echoing through the clearing.
The Rishi’s expression darkened, his serene composure giving way to a solemn gravity. “You would use a Command Spell for this? So be it.”
Vishwamitra rose to his feet, his staff glowing brighter as the ground beneath him began to tremble. The sacred circle erupted into a pillar of light, its golden brilliance piercing the forest canopy. The air grew heavy with divine energy, each breath charged with an electric intensity.
Raising his staff high, Vishwamitra chanted a mantra in a deep, resonant voice. The words carried the weight of ancient power, their syllables vibrating through the clearing. A swirling mass of golden energy formed above him, condensing into the shape of a massive spear that radiated an aura of unmatched divinity.
“Shakti Astra, Divine Spear of the Cosmos,” Vishwamitra intoned, his voice reverent yet sorrowful.
With a swift motion, he hurled the spear toward the approaching enemy Servants. The weapon tore through the air, leaving a trail of golden light in its wake. The impact was immediate and devastating—an explosion of radiant energy that shook the earth, incinerating everything within its radius. Trees splintered, the ground cracked, and the air itself seemed to shimmer with residual power.
When the light faded, the once-dense forest ahead of them was reduced to a smoldering wasteland. The enemy Servants were gone, their essence dissipated into the ether.
Kaushal let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of the spell’s activation. “It’s done,” he muttered, his lips curving into a faint smile.
But Vishwamitra lowered his staff, his expression heavy with disapproval. “You have won this battle, but the cost of this victory will echo through your soul.”
Kaushal waved a dismissive hand. “Spare me your riddles, Rishi. I did what had to be done.”
Vishwamitra’s gaze lingered on him, the weight of his silence more damning than words.
Above them, the sky began to darken, as if the heavens themselves mourned the act. The karmic balance of the war had shifted once again, and the cost of power loomed ever closer.
The heart of the Dandaka Forest was ancient and untamed, its towering trees and dense undergrowth cloaking the landscape in perpetual twilight. Here, the air was heavy with the scent of earth and wood, broken only by the faint rustle of unseen creatures.
Dr. Vidya Shastri and Rama moved cautiously, their steps muffled by the thick moss underfoot. Rama’s bow was held loosely at his side, his eyes scanning the shadows with unerring precision.
“Do you feel it?” Vidya whispered, her voice barely audible.
Rama nodded, his expression calm but focused. “A powerful presence draws near. Prepare yourself.”
Before she could respond, a voice boomed through the forest, resonant and commanding.
“Rama, scion of Vishnu. At last, we meet.”
The trees before them seemed to part of their own accord, revealing Ravana, the Asura King. He stood tall and imposing, his golden armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. Behind him, the faint outline of ten spectral heads flickered like ghostly shadows, each one exuding an aura of intelligence and menace.
“Ravana,” Rama said evenly, his grip tightening on his bow. “I wondered when you would show yourself.”
Ravana’s lips curled into a sly smile, his many voices layering over one another. “You and I are destined to clash, are we not? The embodiment of dharma against the one who defied the gods themselves. A tale as old as time.”
Vidya instinctively stepped back, her hand clutching the relic shard hidden in her satchel. Rama stepped forward, shielding her with his presence.
“Your defiance led to ruin once before,” Rama said, his tone unwavering. “Do you seek to repeat the same mistakes?”
Ravana laughed, the sound deep and reverberating. “Mistakes? My choices were my own, and I regret nothing. But you, Rama… you are a slave to dharma, bound by chains you cannot even see. Tell me, does your Master hold those chains as well?”
Rama’s eyes narrowed, his calm composure unshaken. “Words will not distract me, Ravana. If you wish to test your strength, do so now.”
Ravana’s grin widened, his form radiating a dark, magnetic energy. “Very well. Let us see if your righteousness can withstand my might.”
With a swift motion, Ravana raised his hands, and the spectral heads behind him began to glow. Each head whispered a different chant, their voices creating a haunting symphony that sent ripples of power through the air. The ground beneath them trembled, and the trees swayed as if caught in a storm.
Rama raised his bow, his movements fluid and precise. An arrow materialized in his hand, glowing with divine energy.
“Stay back, Vidya,” he instructed, his voice steady.
Vidya retreated further, her eyes wide as the two Servants prepared to clash.
Ravana was the first to strike, his spectral heads releasing a barrage of golden beams that tore through the forest, leaving scorched earth in their wake. Rama moved with inhuman speed, dodging the attacks with practiced ease.
In a single, fluid motion, he loosed his arrow. It streaked through the air like a comet, aimed directly at Ravana’s chest.
Ravana raised his hand, conjuring a shimmering barrier that absorbed the attack with a thunderous crack. “You’ll have to do better than that, warrior.”
Rama wasted no time, drawing two more arrows and firing them in quick succession. Each shot was precise, their divine energy cutting through the chaos of the battlefield. Ravana countered with equal ferocity, his spectral heads chanting in unison as he unleashed wave after wave of destructive energy.
The forest around them became a battlefield of light and shadow, the air crackling with raw power. Trees were felled, the ground split open, and the sky above seemed to darken as their clash intensified.
Vidya watched from the edge of the clearing, her heart pounding. Despite the chaos, Rama’s movements were deliberate and controlled, each action imbued with purpose.
“Ravana’s power is incredible,” she whispered to herself. “But Rama… he’s holding his own.”
The battle raged on, neither Servant gaining the upper hand. Ravana’s attacks were relentless, but Rama’s unwavering precision countered every move.
Finally, Ravana stepped back, a smirk playing on his lips. “Impressive, Rama. You’ve earned my respect. But this is far from over.”
With a wave of his hand, the spectral heads faded, and the Asura King turned, his golden armor catching the faint light as he retreated into the shadows.
Rama lowered his bow, his expression unreadable. “This was only the beginning,” he said softly.
Vidya approached cautiously, her voice trembling. “He’s gone?”
“For now,” Rama replied, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Ravana had stood. “But he will return, and next time, he won’t hold back.”
The forest fell silent once more, its air heavy with the aftermath of their clash.
Rama turned to Vidya, his calm composure returning. “Let’s move. There’s no telling who else might be drawn to this place.”
Vidya nodded, her resolve hardening as she followed him deeper into the forest. The battle had shaken her, but it had also reaffirmed one thing: Rama was a warrior who would stand against any storm.
And the war was far from over.
The Dandaka Forest was a maze of shifting shadows and tangled roots, the remnants of the clash between Rama and Ravana leaving a trail of devastation. Vidya Shastri followed Rama closely as they navigated the damaged terrain, her heart still racing from the intensity of the battle.
“I can’t believe he just… left,” Vidya muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rama kept his gaze forward, his movements steady but purposeful. “Ravana is calculating. He does not act without reason. His retreat is part of a larger strategy.”
Vidya frowned, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “And what about us? What’s our strategy now?”
Rama glanced over his shoulder, his expression calm yet resolute. “We regroup and assess. This war is not won through strength alone. Patience and foresight are just as vital.”
As they moved deeper into the forest, the silence between them grew heavier. Vidya’s thoughts churned, her mind replaying the battle over and over.
“Do you think we can win?” she asked suddenly, her voice hesitant.
Rama slowed his pace, turning to face her. His divine presence seemed to glow faintly even in the dim light. “Victory is not guaranteed, Vidya. But dharma demands that we try. What we do now will shape the outcome—not only for ourselves but for all who come after.”
Before Vidya could respond, a low rustling sound reached their ears. Rama’s hand shot up, signaling her to stop.
“Stay behind me,” he instructed, his voice quiet but firm.
Vidya obeyed, her grip tightening on the relic shard hidden in her satchel. She watched as Rama drew an arrow, the divine energy radiating from its tip casting a faint glow.
The rustling grew louder, and from the shadows emerged a group of figures—Servants and Masters, their movements cautious but deliberate. They carried no banners of allegiance, their mismatched armor and wary expressions betraying their desperation.
One of the Masters stepped forward, a middle-aged man with a thin, wiry frame. His eyes darted nervously between Rama and Vidya. “We mean no harm,” he said quickly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We’re not looking for a fight.”
Rama lowered his bow slightly but kept the arrow nocked. “What is it you want?”
The man hesitated, glancing back at his companions before answering. “Shelter. Safety. This forest… it’s a deathtrap. We’ve already lost two of our own. If we’re to survive, we need an alliance.”
Vidya stepped forward cautiously, her gaze narrowing. “And why should we trust you? For all we know, you’re setting a trap.”
The man’s expression faltered, his desperation evident. “Because we have no choice,” he said. “None of us can do this alone.”
Rama studied the group carefully, his divine intuition assessing their sincerity. After a long moment, he lowered his bow completely.
“Vidya,” he said softly, “sometimes, dharma requires trust—even when it is difficult.”
Vidya hesitated, then sighed. “Fine,” she muttered. “But if this goes wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Rama turned back to the group, his tone steady. “You may accompany us. But understand this: betrayal will not be tolerated.”
The man nodded quickly, relief washing over his face. “Thank you. We won’t forget this.”
As the group began to move together, Vidya fell into step beside Rama, her unease evident. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said.
Rama glanced at her, a faint smile touching his lips. “Faith is not always easy, Vidya. But without it, we cannot hope to prevail.”
The forest seemed to close in around them as they pressed onward, the weight of their choices settling heavily on their shoulders.
Somewhere in the distance, a faint echo of laughter carried on the wind—a reminder that the war’s true dangers were still lurking, waiting for the moment to strike.
The thick jungle air of Bharat Varsha hung heavy with tension. Kofi Adebayo crouched near a clearing, his hand pressed to the warm, damp earth as his keen eyes scanned the area. Beside him, Anansi, the Chakra Warden, perched on a low-hanging branch, spinning thin threads of golden light between his fingers.
“This will be fun, won’t it?” Anansi said, his voice dripping with mischief. His dark eyes sparkled as he pulled the strands taut, creating a delicate web that shimmered faintly under the pale moonlight.
Kofi exhaled slowly, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “It’s not meant to be fun,” he replied, his voice low and tense. “We’re here to survive, Anansi. Nothing more.”
Anansi chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, Master, you wound me. Where’s your sense of adventure? Survival is the game, but the rules… well, they’re mine to bend.”
Kofi didn’t answer, his attention focused on the faint sound of footsteps approaching from the north. The vibrations through the ground told him what he needed to know: two Masters, at least one Servant, and no attempt at stealth.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his fingers brushing the Command Spells etched on his wrist.
Anansi tilted his head, his smile widening. “Ready? My dear Master, I was born for this. Watch and learn.”
With a flick of his wrist, Anansi tossed the web into the air. It expanded and shimmered, spreading like an invisible net across the clearing. The threads pulsed faintly, attuning themselves to the life forces of the approaching group.
In the Clearing
The two Masters emerged from the underbrush, their robes streaked with mud and their expressions harried. Behind them loomed a Servant cloaked in heavy armor, a massive axe slung across his back.
“I’m telling you, this is a trap,” one of the Masters hissed, his voice low but frantic.
“And I’m telling you, we don’t have a choice,” the other snapped back. “If we don’t find shelter, we’re as good as dead.”
The armored Servant paused, his head turning slightly as if sensing something amiss. “Stay close,” he growled, his voice deep and guttural.
As they stepped into the clearing, the air seemed to shift around them. The ground felt softer, the shadows longer, and the moonlight dimmer. The group froze, unease creeping into their movements.
“What is this?” one of the Masters murmured, his voice trembling.
From the trees, Anansi’s laughter echoed softly, carried on the wind. “Welcome, travelers, to the web of fate. Do try not to struggle—it only makes things worse.”
The armored Servant growled, unsheathing his axe as he scanned the trees. “Show yourself, coward!”
Anansi’s form flickered into view, perched atop a massive spider-like construct made of golden light. He grinned down at them, his fingers deftly weaving another web.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, big guy,” he said, pointing lazily at the Servant’s axe. “One wrong move, and this entire clearing will become your tomb.”
The Masters exchanged panicked glances, their earlier bravado evaporating. “We don’t want trouble,” one of them stammered. “Let us go, and we’ll leave you be.”
Anansi tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “Hmm… tempting. But no.”
With a sharp tug of his threads, the web contracted, shimmering as it wrapped around the group. Their movements became sluggish, their limbs heavy as the magical energy drained their strength.
“Now, now, don’t be shy,” Anansi cooed, descending from his perch to stand before the trapped Masters. “Let’s see what secrets you’ve brought to my web.”
One of the Masters reached for a talisman hidden in his robes, but Anansi’s web tightened around his wrist, immobilizing him.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Anansi chided, wagging a finger. “No tricks. That’s my department.”
Kofi’s Observation
From his vantage point, Kofi watched the scene unfold, his jaw tight. Anansi’s power was undeniable, but it was also unnerving. The Servant’s glee in toying with their prey made Kofi’s stomach churn.
“Enough,” Kofi called out, stepping into the clearing. “We’ve made our point.”
Anansi turned to him, his grin unfaltering. “Master, you spoil my fun. But very well. A promise is a promise.”
With a snap of his fingers, the web dissolved, releasing the trapped Masters and their Servant. They collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
“Go,” Kofi said firmly, his eyes hard as he gestured toward the forest. “And remember this mercy.”
The group scrambled to their feet, retreating into the shadows without a word.
Anansi watched them go, his expression unreadable. “Mercy, Master? How quaint. But do you truly believe they won’t come back to haunt us?”
Kofi met his Servant’s gaze, his voice steady. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. We’re not killers, Anansi. Remember that.”
For a moment, the forest was silent, save for the faint hum of Anansi’s threads dissipating into the night. Then, with a shrug, Anansi gave his trademark grin.
“As you wish, Master. But mercy has a cost. I hope you’re ready to pay it.”
The two disappeared into the forest, their uneasy alliance growing more fragile with every step.
The jungle of Vindhya had grown eerily quiet, the kind of silence that hinted at a lurking predator. The wind had stilled, and even the rustling leaves seemed to hold their breath.
Rajani Devi gritted her teeth as she trailed behind her Servant, Mahishasura. The Beast moved with unrestrained ferocity, his hooves smashing into the soft earth with each step, his massive frame carving a path through the dense foliage.
“You’re drawing too much attention,” Rajani hissed, her voice low but sharp.
Mahishasura barely glanced back, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “Attention is the only thing that matters in war. Let them come—I will crush them all.”
Rajani tightened her grip on the Command Spells etched into her arm. The raw power radiating from Mahishasura was overwhelming, but it was also dangerous—chaotic and barely under her control.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You don’t understand. If we lose the advantage now, we’ll be overrun. We need to—”
A sudden roar split the air, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Rajani stumbled, bracing herself against a tree as Mahishasura turned toward the sound, his grin widening.
“Another challenger,” he rumbled, his voice tinged with savage delight. “Good.”
Before Rajani could stop him, Mahishasura charged toward the source of the noise, his massive form crashing through the underbrush like a living battering ram.
The Clash
They entered a clearing where two rival Servants stood locked in combat. Sparks flew as their weapons collided, their Masters watching anxiously from the edge of the battlefield.
Mahishasura roared as he barreled into the fray, his horns aimed directly at the nearest Servant. The unfortunate warrior barely had time to react before the Beast slammed into him, sending him hurtling across the clearing.
The opposing Master shouted in alarm, scrambling to retreat as Mahishasura turned his attention to the remaining Servant.
Rajani burst into the clearing moments later, her heart racing. “Stop!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.
But Mahishasura ignored her, his bloodlust fully unleashed. He swung his massive arm, striking the other Servant with enough force to crack the earth beneath them.
The surviving Master grabbed their fallen Servant and fled into the jungle, their retreat marked by the crashing of branches and hurried footsteps.
Rajani ran to Mahishasura, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “Enough!” she shouted, her Command Spells flaring faintly as she exerted her will. “Do you want to bring the entire war down on us?”
Mahishasura snorted, shaking her off with ease. “Let them come,” he growled. “No one here is strong enough to challenge me.”
Rajani glared at him, her hand hovering over the Command Spells. “You don’t understand the stakes, do you? This isn’t about brute strength—it’s about survival. If you keep this up, you’ll get us both killed!”
The Beast turned to her, his massive frame towering over her slight form. For a moment, she thought he might strike her down as well. But instead, he laughed—a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine.
“Survival?” he repeated, his grin widening. “I am survival. Everything else is weakness.”
Rajani’s fingers tightened into fists, her frustration bubbling over. “You’re a fool,” she snapped. “And if you don’t learn to listen, you’ll doom us both.”
Mahishasura’s grin faded, his expression darkening as he loomed closer. “Choose your words carefully, Master. You hold the leash, but I hold the strength. Remember that.”
For a long moment, the two stared each other down, the tension between them crackling like a storm. Finally, Rajani stepped back, her hand falling away from the Command Spells.
“We need to move,” she said, her voice cold. “You’ve made enough noise to draw every Servant in the forest. Let’s go before they find us.”
Mahishasura chuckled, his confidence unshaken. “Let them come,” he repeated, turning away to continue his destructive march.
Rajani followed reluctantly, her thoughts racing. She had already used two of her Command Spells to keep Mahishasura in line. The third was all that remained—and if she used it, she would lose whatever semblance of control she still had over him.
The Beast was a force of nature, untamable and unstoppable. But as Rajani watched his massive frame disappear into the trees, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his strength was as much a curse as it was a blessing.
Somewhere in the distance, the faint echo of Krishna’s voice seemed to whisper through the trees:
“Even a leash forged in fear will one day snap.”
The clearing was bathed in a soft, golden light as the air grew unnaturally still. A faint hum resonated through the atmosphere, a gentle but unyielding force that seemed to calm the chaos of the surrounding forest.
At the heart of the clearing, Krishna, the Ruler, appeared, his form shimmering with divine radiance. His dark complexion glowed softly, and the peacock feather in his crown caught the faint light like a spark of fire. His presence demanded attention—not with force, but with a quiet, undeniable authority.
The surviving Masters and Servants in the area froze, drawn to the clearing as though by an invisible thread. The dense underbrush gave way as one by one, they stepped into the open space, their faces reflecting confusion, awe, and in some cases, defiance.
Vidya Shastri and Rama were among the first to arrive, their expressions calm but alert. Rajani Devi and Mahishasura followed shortly after, the tension between them still palpable. Even Lysandra Koris, cloaked in shadows, watched from the edges of the grove, her Servant Medea standing silently at her side.
Krishna’s gaze swept over the gathering, his dark eyes filled with an inscrutable wisdom. When he spoke, his voice was both soothing and commanding, as if the very air carried his words.
“This war is more than a battle of strength or cunning,” Krishna began, his tone calm but firm. “It is a reflection—a mirror that reveals the truth of your hearts.”
The Masters exchanged uneasy glances, and even the Servants shifted uncomfortably.
Krishna stepped forward, his bare feet brushing the soft grass. “Each choice you make shapes the karmic balance. Each act of mercy, betrayal, sacrifice, and ambition tips the scales. You are not fighting for the Amrita alone—you are fighting for the legacy you leave behind.”
Ravana, standing at the edge of the clearing, smirked, his golden armor catching the faint light. “And what legacy do you think we will leave, oh divine Ruler? You speak of balance as though it has meaning in this chaos.”
Krishna turned his gaze to Ravana, his expression unchanging. “Balance is not found in chaos, Asura King. It is found in choice. Even you, with your defiance and ambition, have a part to play in this cycle.”
Ravana chuckled, his many voices layering over one another. “Spare me your riddles, Krishna. I know my role, and it is not to be a pawn in your game.”
Krishna’s gaze lingered on Ravana for a moment longer before shifting to the others. “I do not command your choices. I merely observe and guide. But heed my words: the path you walk will not only define your fate but the fate of Bharat Varsha itself.”
Mahishasura growled low in his throat, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Words mean little to those who have strength. Show me this ‘balance,’ and I will crush it beneath my hooves.”
Krishna’s serene expression remained unchanged. “Strength without wisdom is destruction, and destruction without purpose is emptiness. Even the greatest of Beasts cannot escape this truth.”
Mahishasura snarled but said nothing, his massive frame bristling with restrained fury.
Vidya stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly. “You speak of choice and balance, but how do we know we’re making the right decisions? How do we know we’re worthy of the Amrita?”
Krishna turned to her, his gaze softening. “Worthiness is not a measure of perfection, Vidya. It is the willingness to confront your flaws, to face the mirror without fear. The Amrita will not judge you—it will reveal you.”
A heavy silence fell over the clearing as his words sank in.
Krishna turned, his form beginning to shimmer as he prepared to depart. “I will leave you with this: the war is not about winning. It is about becoming. Remember this, and you may yet find what you seek.”
With a final glance at the gathered Masters and Servants, Krishna’s form dissolved into golden light, leaving the clearing bathed in a faint, ethereal glow.
For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of Krishna’s words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.
Finally, Ravana broke the silence, his smirk returning. “The Ruler loves his speeches, doesn’t he? But words will not win this war. Power will.”
Rama stepped forward, his voice steady. “Power without purpose is meaningless, Ravana. You would do well to remember that.”
The Asura King laughed, his golden armor gleaming as he turned and walked away. “Then let’s see whose purpose survives the battlefield.”
As the Masters and Servants began to disperse, Vidya lingered, her mind racing with questions. Rama placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his calm presence grounding her.
“The Ruler’s words are not meant to confuse,” Rama said gently. “They are meant to guide. In time, you will understand.”
Vidya nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. “I hope so,” she murmured. “Because I don’t think this war is going to give us time to figure it out.”
As the night deepened, the forest seemed to exhale, its silence returning like a shroud. But the echoes of Krishna’s warning lingered, a reminder that the First Holy Amrita War was as much a battle of the soul as it was a clash of power.