A colossal army, a tide of darkness, marched upon the Rakshasavart. At its vanguard, the Daityas and Danavas, their banners snapping in the wind, formed an impenetrable wall of steel and sorcery. Their armor, a dark mirror reflecting the malevolent intent of their hearts, gleamed ominously in the sunlight.
Behind them, three chariots, drawn by monstrous steeds, rolled with the rhythm of the march. In the first, Pralayant, the Danav king, sat erect, his face a mask of cold determination. The second chariot, larger and more imposing, carried Ajashakti, the Asura king. His form, bathed in a sinister aura, dominated the landscape. And in the third, Vakrang, his eyes filled with a dangerous glint, rode with a silent fury.
Ajashakti, clad in resplendent golden armor, its surface etched with intricate patterns, towered over his army. The armor, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, seemed to hum with a latent power, beneath them his crimson antariya fluttered gently.
His form was that of a god, muscular and imposing, yet imbued with a darkness of an Asura. A classic full beard, dark and meticulously groomed, framed his face, adding to his regal and menacing appearance. His hair, as black as the night sky, cascaded down his back, reaching almost to his hips. It was like a wild mane that seemed to defy gravity.
The army soon had reached the shore, their boots sinking into the wet sand. A vast river stretched before them, a shimmering mirror reflecting the twilight sky. Ajashakti scanned the watery expanse. Across this watery chasm lay the fortress of the Rakshasas.
With a collective roar, the Daityas and Danavas defied gravity. Their bodies, imbued with dark energy, lifted off the ground, forming a menacing cloud that blotted out the sun. The chariots, pulled by demonic steeds, ascended into the sky, their wheels leaving trails of fire in their wake.
The combined forces of the Daityas and Danavas, a dark cloud of malice, soared across the watery expanse. The wind howled around them, a symphony of power and destruction.
As they approached, the city of the Rakshasas emerged from the mist, a fortress of stone and shadow. Its spires, reaching towards the heavens, seemed to defy gravity.
Ajashakti stood tall in his chariot, his gaze was fixed on the looming fortress. With a swift motion, he drew his bow. An arrow materialized in his hand, its tip ablaze with a fiery energy. The string tautened, and with a sharp release, the arrow arced through the air, striking the fortress wall with a thunderous explosion, sending shockwaves reverberating through the city.
The Rakshas troops poured out of the city in a chaotic torrent. Arrows, tipped with poison, rained down upon the invading forces, a dark counterpoint to the sunlight. Amongst them, several took to the sky. Their forms, monstrous and imposing, challenged the aerial dominance of the Daityas and Danavas. Clad in heavy armor and armed with swords and maces that seemed to hum with dark energy, they launched themselves into the fray.
The sky above Rakshasavart erupted into a maelstrom of conflict. Daityas and Danavas clashed with the Rakshasas. The battlefield was a tapestry of violence, with bodies falling like rain from the sky.
The roar of battle was deafening, a cacophony of screams, howls, and the clash of weapons. Arrows, spears, and maces flew in a deadly ballet, while spells and curses crackled through the air. The ocean below churned with the force of the conflict, its waves dyed crimson with the blood of the fallen.
Vakrang wielded a mace that could shatter mountains. His blows were like thunder, each strike sending shockwaves through the ranks of the Rakshasas. Pralayant, on the other hand, was a master of illusion and deception. His form shifted and changed, confusing his enemies and leaving them vulnerable to attack.
Ajashakti stood at the heart of the battle. His form, bathed in a celestial aura, was a beacon of terror to the Rakshasas. With each draw of his bow, a catastrophe unfolded. His arrows, imbued with Asuri and divine energy, were not mere projectiles but harbingers of doom. A single shot annihilated hundreds and even thousands, their bodies vaporizing in an instant, leaving behind only swirling eddies of smoke.
A figure emerged from the heart of fortress, a silhouette against the blazing sun. It was Ketunemi, the Rakshasa king, his form colossal and menacing. Mounted on a chariot drawn by demonic steeds, he soared into the sky, his arrival heralded by a thunderous roar. Clad in obsidian armor, his body rippled with dark energy. His eyes filled with malice, scanned the battlefield, locking onto Ajashakti.
"You come as thieves of the night, attacking without warning," Ketunemi roared, his voice carrying the weight of his fury. "This is the act of cowards !"
Ajashakti's response was a cold smile, "A lion does not warn its prey, Rakshas-raj. Surrender now, and I can spare the lives of your people. Resist, and you will face annihilation."
Ketunemi's voice echoed with defiance, his words a thunderclap in the sky. "Never will the Rakshasas bow to the likes of you !" he roared.
With a feral intensity, he nocked an arrow to his bow, a weapon that hummed with dark energy. The arrow, a harbinger of doom, was released, streaking towards Ajashakti with the speed of lightning.
Ajashakti, unfazed, met the challenge with a predatory calmness. His bow was drawn with effortless grace. The arrow, tipped with divine fire, left his hand, a streak of light that collided with Ketunemi's astra in mid-air. A blinding explosion erupted, the shockwave sending tremors through the battlefield.
Arrows flew like a swarm of angry bees, each carrying the potential to end a life. With each exchange, the intensity of the battle escalated, the sky ablaze with the brilliance of their weapons.
Below, the armies clashed with a ferocity that shook the very foundations of Lanka. The river, churned into a frothing maelstrom, reflected the chaos above. The clash of metal on metal, the roar of the combatants, and the screams of the dying created a symphony of horror.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the battlefield, Ajashakti drew his bow with a deadly precision. With a force that shook the heavens, he released the arrow. It flew through the sky, a streak of incandescent light, aimed directly at Ketunemi's chariot.
With a thunderous crash, the arrow struck its mark. The chariot shattered into a thousand pieces, its remains scattered across the battlefield. Ketunemi, thrown from his lofty perch, plummeted towards the earth. And hit the ground with an earth-shaking thud, becoming unconscious in an instant.
A wave of panic swept through the Rakshasa ranks. Seeing their king fallen, they surged forward. But before they could reach Ketunemi, Vakrang, stood in their path. His mace whirled like a tempest, crushing everything in its path. The ground trembled under the force of his blows, and the air was filled with the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart.
Pralayant appeared from the shadows, his form shimmering with ethereal energy. With a swift movement, he scooped up Ketunemi’s unconscious body and vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
When he reappeared, he stood before Ajashakti, the fallen king of Rakshasas cradled in his arms. Ajashakti, his face a mask of cold satisfaction, declared to all in a thunderous voice, "KETUNEMI IS OUR CAPTIVE ! RAKSHASAS, LOWER YOUR WEAPONS FOR YOU HAVE LOST !"
The Rakshasa army, caught in a moment of stunned silence, lowered their weapons. Their king had been taken, their hopes dashed. A wave of despair washed over them.
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A/N
One thing I like most about Asuras.... Is their audacity 🤣
Knowing a divine power is against them, but still thinking they can win 🤣
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