The sky ruptured.
Arjun’s Pashupatastra had struck the Blood Moon, shattering the veil between worlds. Reality itself trembled. The crimson glow that had tainted the heavens flickered, cracks of divine energy rippling through it.
Ryojin screamed.
Not in pain—in fury.
“You FOOL! Do you know what you’ve done?!”
The shockwave from the Pashupatastra’s impact tore through Kyoto, sending debris, flames, and blackened energy spiraling into the night.
But Arjun did not waver.
His Chakra Dhanush blazed, its form shifting once more. It was changing, evolving—responding to his will.
Takeshi landed beside him, his lightning-infused bow crackling. His breath was ragged, but his eyes held the same realization.
Arjun wasn’t just wielding an Astra anymore.
He was becoming one.
The Blood Moon’s glow began to fade, but the battle was not over.
Ryojin roared, his corrupted form shifting. His extra arms merged into a single monstrous limb, his shadowy bow elongating into something more terrifying.
“If the heavens will not accept me as Ravana reborn, then I will drag the world into my darkness!”
He drew back the string of his unholy weapon. A black, writhing arrow of pure void energy formed—an Astra of absolute destruction.
Takeshi’s breath caught. “If he fires that, it won’t just kill us. It’ll erase Kyoto from existence.”
Arjun’s fingers tightened around his bow. “Then I’ll have to stop him first.”
He pulled back his own bowstring—but this time, he didn’t summon fire, or lightning, or wind.
He summoned something greater.
The Cosmic Arrow.
A streak of golden energy swirled into existence, brighter than the stars, humming with the combined power of Agni, Vayu, Varuna, and Indra. The energy of the universe itself, bound in a single arrow.
The final Astra.
The air around Arjun froze. Time seemed to stop.
Ryojin’s eyes widened. He knew what this was.
“Impossible—”
Arjun released.
The Cosmic Arrow screamed through the air.
And the final battle truly began.
The Cosmic Arrow and Ryojin’s void Astra collided mid-air.
The world shattered.
A blinding explosion of pure creation and absolute destruction erupted across Kyoto. The night sky split apart, the earth trembled, and the winds howled like a thousand dying gods.
For a brief moment—all sound ceased.
Then, the shockwave hit.
Buildings crumbled. The Fushimi Inari Shrine’s torii gates collapsed like paper. The streets split, jagged chasms of fire and darkness opening beneath them.
Takeshi was thrown back, barely managing to stabilize himself with his lightning-wrapped bowstaff. Emi’s protective barriers shattered, the divine seals she had cast barely holding back the surge of raw power.
And at the center of it all—Arjun and Ryojin.
The two warriors stared each other down, their bows still raised, the ground beneath them nothing more than fractured stone.
Ryojin’s face twisted with fury. He was still standing. But the Blood Moon behind him was fading, its cursed light crumbling like shattered glass.
Arjun exhaled slowly. His arrow had worked. The balance was tipping.
But the war wasn’t over.
Ryojin’s body shifted once more, his human features warping further into his Asura form. His muscles bulged, his demonic skin covered in golden-black armor. His once-slit pupils expanded into fully blackened orbs.
He wasn’t done yet.
“ENOUGH!” His voice thundered across Kyoto. “If I cannot become Ravana reborn, THEN I WILL ASCEND AS SOMETHING GREATER!”
He raised his bow once more—but this time, he did not summon an Astra.
He summoned the darkness of the Asura realm itself.
A massive black rift tore open behind him, swirling with pure chaos. From its depths, countless shadowed figures began emerging—not Oni, not just Asura, but things older, hungrier.
Entities that did not belong to this world.
Takeshi’s breath hitched. “That’s not magic.”
Emi’s voice shook. “That’s something worse.”
Arjun steadied himself, his heartbeat slow.
If Ryojin unleashed whatever was coming through that portal, Kyoto—no, the entire world—would be lost.
There was only one way to stop it.
One final arrow.
His hands burned as he reached for his bow once more. His vision blurred, his body on the verge of collapse. The Pashupatastra had drained him.
But he couldn’t stop.
Not now.
Not when the final war had begun.
The portal behind Ryojin howled like a beast awakening from an endless slumber.
From its swirling abyss, figures emerged.
Not Oni. Not Asuras. Something worse.
Their forms were shapeless yet monstrous, shifting between black mist and twisted bodies of bone and shadow. Their eyes burned like dying stars, and their whispers slithered through the air in a language that did not belong to this world.
Takeshi’s grip on his bow tightened. “Those aren’t demons.”
Emi’s voice was a whisper of dread. “They are… remnants. Spirits from wars long forgotten.”
Arjun’s breath steadied.
One vs. a Thousand.
It didn’t matter.
His body screamed in exhaustion, but he raised his bow anyway.
The Chakra Dhanush shimmered, its energy flickering between golden fire and cosmic infinity.
Ryojin’s twisted grin widened. “You are alone, Dhanurvaan.”
Arjun fired his first arrow.
The Vajra Astra streaked forward—lightning infused with divine will.
It struck the first creature—but the entity simply reformed, its body rippling like liquid shadow.
They couldn’t be destroyed.
Arjun’s jaw tightened. Think.
He had fought demons, gods, warriors. But these? These were not bound by the same rules.
They were born from war itself.
Then, he understood.
Arjun let go.
Not of the bow. Not of the battle. Of himself.
He stopped thinking like a warrior.
He started moving like Dharma itself.
The Chakra Dhanush pulsed, and instead of a single arrow—a hundred formed.
Each one glowing with a different energy—fire, wind, water, lightning, spirit. Each infused with the balance of creation.
Arjun released.
The arrows rained from the heavens, a divine storm that did not destroy—but purified.
The moment they struck the shadowed creatures, the corrupted spirits let out a final, echoing sigh. Their bodies did not burn.
They faded.
Released from their torment.
One by one, the army of the forgotten vanished.
And soon, only Ryojin remained.
The final enemy.
The last battle.
Arjun exhaled. It was time.
He raised his bow one last time.
The battlefield was silent.
The last of the shadowed creatures had faded, their cursed spirits finally freed. The portal behind Ryojin flickered, its energy destabilizing. Kyoto still burned, but the war was reaching its end.
Now, only two warriors remained.
Arjun.
Ryojin.
The Chakra Dhanush glowed in Arjun’s hands, its divine energy still pulsing. Across from him, Ryojin stood atop the ruined shrine, his body fully transformed—part demon, part god, his blackened Astra humming with unholy power.
This was it.
The final battle.
Ryojin exhaled slowly, his many eyes burning with something deeper than rage. “I underestimated you, Dhanurvaan.”
Arjun’s breath steadied. “You’re damn right you did.”
Ryojin tilted his head. “But tell me… do you really believe you can stop the cycle?”
Arjun’s fingers tensed around the bow. “What cycle?”
Ryojin’s lips curled into a dark smile. “Dharma. Adharma. The eternal war. The gods fought. The Asuras fought. And now, we fight in their place.”
His voice deepened, resonating with an inhuman echo. “Even if you kill me, another war will rise. Another Ravana. Another battle. This is how the world is written.”
Arjun’s heartbeat slowed.
He had always known this truth, hadn’t he? The war never really ended.
But it could.
If he chose differently.
The Pashupatastra flickered in his mind. It could destroy Ryojin utterly. Erase him from existence.
But that would only prove him right.
No. He had to end this another way.
He dropped to one knee, pressing his palm to the cracked earth.
The Chakra Dhanush pulsed, not with destruction—but with restoration.
And the battlefield shifted.
The ruined shrine began to glow. The shattered torii gates rebuilt themselves. The burning trees extinguished, regrowing with fresh leaves.
Balance.
Dharma was not about victory. It was about restoring what was broken.
Ryojin’s eyes widened.
“What… what are you doing?!”
Arjun exhaled. “Breaking the cycle.”
The energy around him surged—not to kill, not to destroy—but to return everything to its rightful place.
Ryojin staggered back. His own Astra began to flicker, his corrupted form shuddering.
“No… this is not how it’s supposed to end!”
His body began to unravel, the dark power leaving him. His demonic form fractured, piece by piece, until all that remained was a man.
Ryojin collapsed to his knees.
The Blood Moon above them faded, its cursed light disappearing into the night.
And for the first time in centuries—peace returned to Kyoto.
Arjun lowered his bow.
The war was over.
But Dhanurvaan’s journey had just begun.
The war was over.
The Blood Moon had faded, its cursed glow no longer tainting the sky. The demonic rift had sealed, its unholy presence wiped from existence. Kyoto stood once more—scarred, but alive.
And Ryojin Sugimura knelt in defeat.
His body was no longer monstrous. The extra limbs, the Asura markings, the unholy energy—they were all gone. He was just a man again, breathing heavily on the steps of the ruined shrine.
Arjun stood before him, the Chakra Dhanush still in his hands. The bow’s power was settling now, its divine radiance dimming. Not from weakness, but from fulfillment.
Balance had been restored.
Takeshi landed beside Arjun, his sword still drawn. “It’s over.”
Arjun exhaled, his grip loosening on the bow. “Yeah.”
But Ryojin’s hollow laughter echoed through the night.
Arjun turned sharply.
Ryojin’s eyes—no longer burning with dark power, but sharp, knowing—stared straight at him.
“You didn’t kill me.” His voice was weak, but steady.
Arjun held his ground. “No.”
Ryojin tilted his head, as if studying him for the first time. “Why?”
The answer came without hesitation.
“Because that’s not what Dharma is.”
Ryojin’s breath hitched. For the first time, his confidence wavered.
He had expected death. He had expected vengeance. But instead, he was given something else.
Mercy.
He lowered his head, the weight of everything crashing down on him.
And then—the first rays of dawn broke through the sky.
For the first time in weeks, the sun rose over Kyoto.
The battle was truly over.
But Dhanurvaan’s legend had only just begun.
