Veeraa's voice rang out across the battlefield, defiant and unyielding: "Sorry, this soul is already reserved for me Yama Uncle!" His words hung in the air, filled with raw emotion and resolve. Without waiting for a reply, he surged forward, fists clenched, his young face set with a fierce determination that belied his age. Yamaraj's eyes flickered with surprise, a mix of confusion and a touch of sorrow, as he raised a hand, almost in caution, and tried to reason with the boy.
"Why, child? Why do you want to protect him? And… who are you?"
But Veeraa wasn't listening. Ignoring Yamaraj's attempt to understand, he launched himself forward, his small form radiating a power fueled by sheer will. The impact of his assault sent a shockwave that rippled through the stillness of the battlefield. His attacks were wild, but they were relentless, each blow struck with the desperation of a friend unwilling to let go.
Yamaraj was forced to block, each strike from Veeraa coming faster than the last. The god's vast experience and mastery allowed him to evade the more dangerous hits, but he was taken aback by the intensity and ferocity of the boy's strikes. Veeraa's hands moved like blurs, his speed an unrelenting storm. The air was filled with the sound of their clashes, an echoing resonance of flesh meeting divine strength, each hit ringing louder than the last.
Yamaraj shifted his stance, his composure hardening as he began to counter. With a swift, calculated motion, he raised his staff and swung it toward Veeraa, aiming to disarm without causing harm. But Veeraa dodged, twisting around the attack with an agility that surprised even the god of death. Veeraa landed another punch, his fist connecting with Yamaraj's arm, and a small spark flew from the impact. Yamaraj winced, stepping back, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crossed his face. This child, this fierce yet fragile spirit, was proving far stronger than he had anticipated.
The battle intensified, with Veeraa darting around Yamaraj like a tempest, his small figure weaving in and out of range, striking whenever he saw an opening. His attacks were unpredictable, filled with the desperation of someone who knew he was fighting a losing battle but refused to give in. Yamaraj, for all his power, was on the defensive, his movements restrained by the realization that he was up against a mere child who bore the weight of love and loyalty that spanned lifetimes.
But Yamaraj was a god, and his strength began to show. He began to anticipate Veeraa's moves, his staff moving with a newfound precision. He swung it in broad arcs, each strike designed to keep Veeraa at bay, forcing the boy to stay on the defensive. As they exchanged blows, Yamaraj's power began to overshadow Veeraa's speed, his attacks now landing with an undeniable force. Veeraa staggered under the weight of each strike, his energy beginning to wane.
Yamaraj saw an opening and seized it, sweeping his staff in a wide arc. The blow caught Veeraa's side, sending him tumbling across the ground. He gasped, clutching his side, his breaths shallow, but still, he pushed himself back up. His eyes locked onto Yamaraj, defiance still burning within them. The god of death's expression softened for a moment, recognizing the boy's unyielding spirit. But Veeraa's strength was waning, and with each passing moment, it became clear that Yamaraj was beginning to gain the upper hand.
In one swift, final movement, Yamaraj brought his staff down in a decisive strike. Veeraa barely managed to roll away, the impact leaving a deep crack in the earth beside him. His body trembled, his strength nearly spent, yet his spirit remained unbroken. He looked up at Yamaraj, his vision blurring, but his gaze unwavering.
Veeraa's back was against the earth, cornered near Karna's body as Yamaraj loomed over him, his tall, shadowed figure radiating authority and a calm, otherworldly strength. Yamaraj looked at the boy, sympathy mixing with the unbreakable resolve in his gaze. "I don't know who you are, child," he said, his deep voice echoing with the gravity of his duty, "but I can't let you interfere with my work. I must take Karna's soul, as is my role. So, surrender while you still can…"
There was a pause—a moment where the very air grew still, as if holding its breath.
Then, Veeraa let out a slow chuckle, one that grew and echoed, filling the vast, empty battlefield. His laughter rang out, bold and defiant, as he lifted his head to meet Yamaraj's gaze. "Yama Uncle," he said, amusement dancing in his dark, defiant eyes, "Bad news for you uncle I only pick fights with those I know I can crush."
With a swift, fluid motion, Veeraa's hand shot toward Karna's bow lying next to the fallen warrior. The bow's ancient wood gleamed in the fading light, a silent testament to the countless battles it had seen, but in Veeraa's grip, it became something more. He gripped it firmly, his fingers wrapping around the handle with a confidence that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him. Channeling his energy, Veeraa whispered an incantation under his breath, the words strange and powerful, each syllable crackling with an ancient, forbidden magic.
A dark, swirling aura erupted around him, and the very earth beneath his feet trembled. The mana he summoned was unlike any other, a pitch-black energy that spiraled around him, filling the air with an oppressive weight. It surged from within him, twisting like living shadows around his body, and then poured into the bow. The weapon pulsed, seeming to come alive under his touch, resonating with his dark energy as if it recognized the force of will that wielded it.
Veeraa raised the bow, pulling back on the string, and in that moment, his mana coalesced into an arrow. It wasn't a normal arrow; it was forged from Veeraa's very soul, from the raw determination that had driven him to this moment. The black mana twisted into the shape of an arrowhead, sharp and menacing, glinting with an eerie, almost sentient power. The aura around it grew darker, thicker, as if absorbing the very light from the battlefield, creating a contrast so stark that Yamaraj's form was cast into shadow.
Yamaraj's eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise and hesitation breaking through his stoic demeanor. He could feel the sheer power emanating from Veeraa, an intensity that was unmistakably dangerous.
Veeraa's eyes locked onto Yamaraj's, his gaze steady and unyielding. He raised the bow, aiming with the precision of someone who knew exactly what was at stake. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, his youthful face set with a fierce determination as he declared, "This arrow is for you, Yama Uncle."
He released the string, and the arrow shot forward with a force that tore through the air, leaving a trail of dark, smoky energy in its wake. It flew like a bolt of pure, unrelenting darkness, its speed unimaginable, its power undeniable. The ground trembled as it passed, and the very air seemed to shudder, as if recoiling from the raw, chaotic energy that it unleashed.
Yamaraj braced himself, raising his staff defensively as the arrow hurtled toward him, but even he could sense that this was no ordinary attack. It was the culmination of Veeraa's spirit, his defiance, his refusal to let go. The arrow closed in, and the battlefield was engulfed in a blinding flash of dark light as the impact echoed across the empty plains, shaking the very heavens above....
The sheer power of Yamaraj's anger split the air as he clenched his mace. His presence intensified, warping the world around him. Stones vibrated, the earth fractured beneath his feet, and thunder boomed in a clear sky, echoing his unleashed rage. His eyes glowed, fierce as molten iron, and his voice rumbled, carrying a gravity that weighed on the very soul. "You leave me no choice, child. I must carry out my duty, whatever the cost."
As he raised his colossal mace, the divine markings along its shaft shimmered like starlight, each one a testament to the countless souls Yamaraj had ferried through life's final door. The weight of divine duty was in that weapon; its energy felt like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
Veeraa didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked, as if savoring the challenge. "I guess playtime's over now." A darkness bubbled from within him, oozing like thick ink, its essence deep and endless. His mana surged, enveloping his form, and then transformed. From his back, ten massive, shadowy arms unfurled, each one born from the depths of his soul. They stretched out from his body, monstrous and otherworldly, veins pulsing with the eerie glow of crimson energy. Each hand flexed, like a predator awakening.
With deliberate steps, Veeraa strode forward, extending his arms to gather the scattered remnants of the battlefield. His demon arms gripped each discarded weapon—a shield battered and worn but still proud, a spear splintered at the tip yet steadfast, a sword dulled but unyielding, a bow strung with the memories of countless arrows. Piece by piece, weapon by weapon, he armed himself with the spirits of battles past, becoming an avatar of defiance, a one-man army fueled by relentless will.
As he neared Yamaraj, Veeraa's eyes narrowed, the crimson veins in his demon arms pulsing in sync with his heartbeat, fierce and steady. The weapons in his grip gleamed, reflecting his iron resolve and seething power. His aura was like a black sun, dark mana swirling with an intensity that warped the very air.
In an instant, they collided. Yamaraj's mace swung down with crushing force, an unstoppable avalanche of divine power. Veeraa met it head-on, lifting his shield with one of his demon arms. The impact echoed like a thunderclap, a shockwave blasting out in all directions. The ground beneath them split, deep cracks spider-webbing out from the force of their clash.
Veeraa's other arms moved with deadly intent, each one wielding a different weapon, striking from all angles with a brutal precision. He spun, his spear slicing through the air, aimed at Yamaraj's side. Yamaraj deflected it, only to be met with Veeraa's sword arcing down, a blow that blazed with dark energy. Each strike was a calculated assault, the demon arms moving with an agility that belied their monstrous size.
Yamaraj was relentless, his mace a blur of motion as it crashed against Veeraa's weapons. Sparks flew, dazzling bursts of energy flaring with each impact. Yamaraj swung again, his movements fueled by the power of his divine mission, but Veeraa's shield was there, absorbing the impact. Veeraa's bow-arm raised, a dark arrow of mana forming as he drew the string back, releasing it with a whisper of lethal intent. The arrow tore through the air, slicing toward Yamaraj with blistering speed.
Yamaraj dodged, his eyes blazing with fury, his mace descending in a brutal arc aimed at Veeraa's center. Veeraa leaped back, his spear-arm thrusting forward in counterattack, the demon arms whirling around him in a dance of raw power. Each of his ten arms moved in perfect harmony, their strikes relentless, a storm of blades, shields, and crushing blows.
The battlefield itself seemed to tremble under the force of their combat. Dust and debris swirled around them, the earth torn open by their steps, the echoes of clashing metal reverberating in the distance. Every swing, every thrust, every defense was an expression of their unbreakable resolve—Yamaraj to fulfill his duty, and Veeraa to defy it.....
-TO BE CONTINUED