The world blurred.
One moment, Arjun was in the shrine courtyard, facing Takeda. The next—he was falling.
Not in body, but in spirit.
A dream. A vision. A memory not his own.
He landed on scorched earth. The air was thick with the scent of ash and war. Around him, an ancient battlefield stretched to the horizon.
The sky above was a deep, raging crimson, torn by streaks of golden lightning.
And in the center of the battlefield stood two warriors.
Arjun’s breath caught. He recognized them.
One stood in golden armor, a bow in his hands that shimmered like a fragment of the sun. His stance was firm, his gaze unyielding.
The other was draped in black, his many arms wielding weapons wreathed in shadows. His ten faces grinned, each twisted with a different expression—hunger, wrath, laughter, malice.
Arjun knew who they were.
Lord Rama.
And Ravana.
The two legends faced each other as if time had no meaning.
Ravana’s voices merged into one as he laughed, the sound shaking the heavens. “You cannot stop me, Vishnu’s avatar.”
Rama said nothing.
Instead, he raised his bow—and fired.
A single golden arrow streaked through the battlefield, leaving a trail of burning light in its wake.
Ravana roared, lifting a monstrous blade to counter—
The arrow struck.
The world shattered around them, dissolving into white light.
And then—Arjun woke up.
His chest heaved, his hands gripping the tatami mat beneath him.
He was back in the shrine, in a secluded chamber.
The scent of burning incense filled the room. A candle flickered near the altar.
A dream? No.
A memory.
His body still trembled. His fingers tingled with the echo of something powerful—something older than him, older than this world.
The battle was not over.
It had only begun again.
Arjun’s breath was still unsteady as he sat in the dim shrine chamber. His vision of Rama and Ravana felt too real.
He could still hear the thunder of their battle.
His fingers still tingled with the echo of that celestial arrow.
Emi sat across from him, her eyes sharp with concern. “You saw something.”
Arjun exhaled. “Not saw. Lived.”
Guru Vishwamitra entered the chamber, his staff tapping softly against the wooden floor. “The past calls to you.”
Arjun clenched his fists. “Why now? Why me?”
Vishwamitra studied him for a long moment. Then, he unfurled an old scroll, placing it between them.
The parchment was ancient, inked with both Devanagari and Sanskrit inscriptions.
Arjun leaned closer, eyes scanning the title.
DHANURVEDA: THE SECRET ASTRAS
His breath caught.
This wasn’t just any knowledge. This was a war scripture.
Vishwamitra spoke softly. “Only a few warriors in history have ever unlocked what you have begun to awaken.”
Arjun swallowed. “The Gandharva Astra?”
The sage shook his head. “More.”
He pointed to a passage on the scroll.
Arjun read aloud:
“The Pashupatastra—the ultimate weapon, born from Lord Shiva’s fury. It is destruction incarnate, uncontrollable to those without divine will.”
A cold chill ran through his spine.
Pashupatastra. The very Astra that was said to be capable of annihilating entire worlds.
Vishwamitra’s gaze darkened. “This weapon was once entrusted to the greatest archers of Dharma. But if you awaken it before you are ready…”
Emi finished for him, her voice grim. “…it will destroy you.”
Arjun’s hands trembled. He remembered the burning battlefield, Rama’s golden arrow, the unstoppable power behind it.
Was that what he was meant to wield?
Was that the weapon he would need to stop Ravana’s return?
His chest tightened. There was no turning back now.
If he wanted to win this war, he had to learn the Forbidden Technique.
Even if it meant losing himself in the process.
The scent of burning incense lingered as Arjun stood at the edge of the shrine grounds, staring into the dense bamboo forest beyond.
Something was watching him.
Not from the shadows. Not from the trees.
From within.
He had felt it ever since his battle with Takeda—the strange pull in his soul, the whisper of something ancient. The memory of Rama and Ravana’s battle had awakened something inside him.
And now, it was calling him deeper into the night.
Emi’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Where are you going?”
Arjun exhaled. “I need answers.”
Before she could stop him, he stepped into the forest.
The torches of the shrine faded behind him as he walked deeper into the darkness. The air grew heavy, thick with unseen energy. The trees twisted unnaturally, their branches curling like grasping hands.
Then—the whisper turned into a voice.
“You seek power, Archer of Two Worlds.”
Arjun’s body tensed. The voice came from everywhere—and nowhere.
Then, the mist ahead shifted.
A figure emerged from the fog, its form barely solid. An Oni, but unlike the others.
Its eyes weren’t filled with hunger or rage. They held knowledge.
Its body was lean, draped in ancient tattered robes, a single horn protruding from its forehead.
Arjun’s fingers twitched toward his bow.
The Oni raised a clawed hand. “I am not your enemy.”
Arjun didn’t relax. “Then what are you?”
The Oni’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “A survivor.”
Silence stretched between them. The wind barely stirred the trees.
Then, the Oni took a step forward. “I know what you seek. You have glimpsed it in your dreams—the forbidden Astra. The Pashupatastra.”
Arjun’s breath caught. It knew.
The Oni’s grin widened. “I can help you unlock it.”
Arjun narrowed his eyes. “What’s the price?”
The Oni chuckled. “Nothing… yet.”
It tilted its head, studying him. “When the time comes, I will call upon you for a favor. Nothing more.”
Arjun’s pulse quickened. This was a trap. It had to be.
And yet…
The battle with Takeda had shown him the truth—he was still too weak.
If Ravana truly returned, if he was meant to face him—he needed more.
He needed the Pashupatastra.
And this creature could help him reach it.
The Oni extended its clawed hand. Waiting.
Arjun’s heart pounded.
This was a mistake.
He knew it.
And yet—his hand moved anyway.
Fingers clasped around claws.
A deal was made.
The forest shuddered around them as unseen forces stirred.
The Oni’s voice was a whisper of triumph.
“Now, the path begins.”
The shrine was burning.
Smoke curled into the night sky as flames consumed the wooden beams, the once-sacred ground now a battlefield. Oni swarmed through the ruins, their roars shaking the earth.
Arjun sprinted through the chaos, his mind racing. Where was Guru Vishwamitra?
He loosed an Agni Astra, the fire arrow streaking through the air, consuming three Oni in divine flames. But for every demon he struck down, more emerged from the shadows.
He was running out of time.
Then he saw him.
At the heart of the courtyard, surrounded by a circle of collapsing torii gates, stood Guru Vishwamitra.
And before him—Oni General Makura.
The demon was massive, standing nearly twelve feet tall, its skin the color of dried blood, jagged tusks protruding from its mouth. Its four arms each held a different weapon—an axe, a spear, a kanabo club, and a jagged sword.
Guru Vishwamitra stood firm, his staff planted into the earth. Despite the chaos, his expression was calm.
Arjun’s breath caught. No. He’s not strong enough to fight this thing alone.
“Guruji!” Arjun shouted, racing forward—
Makura moved first.
The Oni swung its axe in a brutal arc—a strike meant to shatter mountains.
Guru Vishwamitra didn’t dodge.
Instead, he raised his staff—and whispered something.
The ground beneath him glowed with Sanskrit sigils, ancient and powerful.
Makura’s axe slammed into an invisible barrier—the impact sending out a shockwave that knocked back the surrounding Oni.
For a moment, silence fell.
Then the sigils began to crack.
Vishwamitra closed his eyes. “I have seen this battle before.”
Makura snarled. “Then you know how it ends.”
The sigils shattered.
The Oni struck.
The blade pierced through Guru Vishwamitra’s chest.
Arjun’s world stopped.
No.
Blood stained the ground, seeping into the sacred earth. Vishwamitra’s body staggered, his grip on his staff loosening. Yet his eyes remained serene.
Makura grinned, twisting the blade. “Another guardian falls.”
Arjun’s breath came ragged, his mind breaking.
He had just made a deal for more power.
But it wasn’t enough.
Vishwamitra’s gaze found him, still filled with wisdom, even as life faded.
“Do not lose yourself, Arjun.” His voice was soft. “Or the Astra will consume you.”
Then—he was gone.
The old sage collapsed.
Makura turned, his tusks glinting in the firelight. “Now, Archer of Two Worlds, let us see if you are worthy.”
Arjun’s hands clenched around his bow.
The Chakra Dhanush ignited with golden fury.
This was no longer a battle.
This was war.
The shrine burned around them, flames licking at the sky, but Arjun saw nothing but red.
Guru Vishwamitra lay still. His mentor. His guide. Gone.
And before him, Oni General Makura loomed—a beast of war, its jagged tusks gleaming, its four monstrous arms gripping its weapons with brutal confidence.
“Come, Archer of Two Worlds,” Makura snarled. “Show me what your Astra is truly worth.”
Arjun’s fingers curled around the Chakra Dhanush. His breath was steady, but inside—rage swelled.
The bow flared with divine energy, golden flames licking at the edges of its form.
Makura moved. Fast.
Too fast for something that big.
The axe came first.
Arjun twisted, barely dodging as the blade split the ground beneath him. The impact sent stone and dust flying, the force of it shaking the entire shrine.
He didn’t hesitate. He fired.
A Vajra Astra arrow—lightning-infused, fast as thought.
The golden streak of energy ripped through the air, but Makura batted it aside with his spear.
Impossible.
Makura’s laughter rumbled through the battlefield. “Your Astra is still weak.”
Arjun gritted his teeth. No. It’s not enough. I need more.
The Oni general rushed forward, swinging his kanabo club—a strike meant to break bones.
Arjun reacted instinctively. He had no time to fire another arrow.
Instead—he moved differently.
His free hand shot to his waist, grabbing a blade that had been sheathed there since the beginning of his journey.
A samurai katana.
Takeshi’s old blade.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, something clicked.
Dhanurveda taught that a warrior must master all weapons, not just one.
Kyūdō was precision.
Dhanurveda was war.
Kenjutsu was survival.
And Arjun was all three.
Makura’s club came crashing down—but Arjun was already moving.
His bow vanished, golden energy swirling around him as he unsheathed the katana in one fluid motion.
The blade sang.
A single arc of light cut through the darkness.
Makura froze.
His eyes widened as one of his four arms dropped to the ground.
Arjun exhaled, his stance solid, the katana still humming with divine energy. For the first time, the Oni hesitated.
And Arjun felt it.
This was his path.
Not just the bow. Not just the sword.
He was a warrior of two worlds.
Makura snarled, rage replacing shock. “You are not just an archer.”
Arjun spun the blade once, golden flames flickering along its edge. “No.”
He raised it into a combat stance, his breath steady.
“I am something more.”