[Ashborn's POV]

It was too cruel... too disgusting... too miserable...

Kaliyug.

That's the name of this accursed era. A time where dharma crumbles beneath the weight of deception, where honour is mocked, and where power determines truth.

The battlefield before me was littered with the corpses of warriors who once swore oaths of loyalty, their blood staining the very soil they once protected. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and suffocating, a testament to the cruelty of fate.

A world where righteousness is but a fading ember, struggling against the storm of deceit.

And yet, amidst this desolation, I stood—Ashborn, son of Shiva.

It was said that Kalki, the tenth and final avatar of Vishnu, would descend upon this wretched world to cleanse it of its sins, to restore dharma and vanquish the darkness that had taken root in every corner of existence.

But it seems this timeline was an exception... because in this timeline no one came to deliver salvation. No divine chariot thundered across the heavens, no celestial warriors descended with blades of righteous fire.

Only me.

Ashborn, son of Shiva.

I stood alone amidst the corpses, my figure wreathed in the dim, flickering glow of dying embers. My breath came slow and steady, unfazed by the carnage around me. The crimson stains on my hands were not of my own blood, but of the countless I had cut down. My eyes, burning like twin stars swallowed in shadow, held no remorse—only an unshakable will.

Sigh~

A soft sigh left my lips as I gazed at the sky—ashen, bereft of stars, as if even the heavens had turned their gaze away from this wretched land. The silence that followed was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos that had raged mere moments ago.

I wiped the blood off my blade with the tattered remnants of a fallen warrior's clothes.

Indra.

Yes, the very same Devraj (Godking) of the heavens. The one who once ruled with the arrogance of a sovereign, who claimed dominion over the three worlds.

He had a choice to intervene but he ignored the cries of the dying, the pleas of the righteous. He chose silence over justice, complacency over action.

A coward. A pretender to the throne of divinity.

But he was not the only one, almost every deva, rishi, and celestial entity who once swore to uphold dharma had turned their backs on this world. The great sages who once spoke of righteousness now sat in secluded ashrams, deaf to the suffering of mortals. The divine pantheon, those who were once revered as the guardians of cosmic balance, had abandoned their duties, retreating into their heavenly abodes as Kaliyug tightened its grip.

Pathetic.

What use were gods who did not act? What purpose did divinity serve if it cowered behind veils of indifference?

My fingers tightened around the hilt of my blade, the weight of its cold steel a reminder that in this forsaken era, salvation would not come from above. No divine decree would cleanse this land of its filth. If righteousness were to return, it would not be on the backs of celestial warriors—it would be carved into existence by mortal hands.

By my hands.

Only a few truly tried to help humanity in its final struggle against the tides of darkness.

The asuras, once branded as demons, had not all forsaken their duty. Some still fought, still bled for a world that had long since condemned them. Forgotten warriors who refused to bow, who still clung to the tattered remnants of honour.

And there were the mortals—those who did not possess celestial might, who were neither gods nor asuras nor anything more than fragile beings of flesh and bone. Yet, it was they who suffered the most, who still resisted the crushing weight of fate with nothing but their will.

Perhaps it was foolishness.

Perhaps it was courage.

But one truth was undeniable—if this world was to be saved, it would be saved by those who refused to kneel. Not by gods in their golden palaces, not by sages who hid behind their scriptures, but by warriors who stood amidst the ruins, blades drawn, unyielding.

"Shesha, Did... I fail?"

My voice, quiet yet unwavering, drifted into the empty battlefield, carried away by the cold winds that swept through the carnage.

From the shadows of the crumbling ruins, a massive serpent uncoiled, its scales shimmering like liquid silver under the dying light. Shesha—the eternal serpent, the one who bore the weight of existence itself—emerged from the darkness, his many eyes gleaming with an ancient sorrow.

"You did not fail, Ashborn," his voice echoed in my mind, a deep rumble that resonated with the very fabric of reality. "This world was forsaken long before you took up your blade."

His words should have been comforting, but they were not. They carried a truth I despised, a truth I could not accept.

"If I did not fail... then why does nothing remain?"

I gestured to the desolation around me, to the corpses of warriors who had believed in something greater, to the smouldering ruins of once-proud cities, now reduced to ash.

Shesha coiled around the remnants of a shattered temple, his gaze piercing yet unreadable. "Because that's how it is... the end of the cycle."

The end of the cycle.

A phrase that should have brought closure, yet it only ignited the fire of defiance within me.

I turned to Shesha, my eyes burning with something beyond rage—beyond sorrow. "And you accept this? You, the one who has watched countless yugas pass, who has seen the rise and fall of empires, of gods and demons alike—you would simply watch as this world withers into nothing?"

Shesha's great form shifted, his coils tightening around the broken temple. His many eyes, endless as the stars themselves, regarded me with something close to pity. "It is not a matter of acceptance, Ashborn. It is the natural order. Kaliyug must run its course, just as every age before it. When the end comes, all is returned to nothingness, only for the cycle to begin anew."

I clenched my jaw. "But what if I refuse?"

A moment of silence. A flicker of something—amusement? Or was it curiosity?—crossed Shesha's ancient gaze.

"You speak of defying the cycle itself?"

I did not hesitate. "Yes."

The great serpent let out a low rumble, the sound reverberating through the ruins like the echo of a dying god's final breath. "Foolish. Dangerous. Even the greatest of devas, the most powerful of asuras, have never dared to challenge what was woven into existence itself."

"And where are they now?" I spat, gesturing to the empty heavens. "Gone. Absent. Watching as the world crumbles. If the cycle demands this suffering, this stagnation, then I will tear it apart myself. If the gods refuse to act, then let them cower in their heavens while I carve a new fate with my own hands."

Shesha studied me for what felt like an eternity, his gaze searching for something—doubt, weakness, hesitation.

He found none.

"Aren't you curious about your father's stance in all these?" He chose to ignore my last words, his voice carrying a weight far beyond mere curiosity.

My father… Shiva. The Destroyer. The one who danced at the end of every cycle, who watched as worlds crumbled, as time itself reset.

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips. "And what would he say, Shesha? That this is how it must be? That destruction is inevitable? That I should simply close my eyes and wait for the end?"

Shesha's massive coils shifted, and for the first time, I saw an emotion so…unfathomable that it sent a shiver down my spine.

Regret.

Shesha—the eternal serpent, the bearer of Vishnu, the one who had watched the cycles turn for aeons—looked at me not as a deity gazing upon a mortal, nor as a wise being observing a reckless warrior, but as something else.

As a being who had seen the weight of my words before.

"You are not the first to ask this question," Shesha murmured, his voice almost... tired. "And yet, every time, the answer remains the same."

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"

Shesha's great form coiled tighter around the ruins, his many eyes darkening like storm-laden skies. "There was another, long ago, who stood where you stand. One who defied the cycle. One who challenged the order of existence itself."

My breath caught for just a moment. "Who?"

A long silence stretched between us.

Then, in a voice that carried the weight of ages, Shesha spoke a single name.

"Mahadev."

The air around us seemed to freeze, the very wind holding its breath.

Mahadev. Shiva. The Destroyer.

My father.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "You're saying… he defied the cycle?"

Shesha did not immediately answer. Instead, his massive head lowered slightly, as if peering into a time long past. "He did not simply defy it—he sought to break it."

I felt my heart hammer against my ribs.

"He failed," Shesha continued, his voice tinged with something strange, something almost sorrowful. "Not because he lacked power. Not because he lacked will. But because the cycle is not merely a chain that binds the world—it is the world itself. To break it is to unravel everything."

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to remain steady. "Then why does he allow it to continue? If he fought against it once, then surely—"

"Because he understood something you do not," Shesha interrupted, his voice calm yet unyielding. "The cycle is not merely destruction—it is also creation. To destroy the cycle is to erase not only suffering, but existence itself. And so, he chose to become its keeper instead."

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "So he chose to be complicit."

Shesha's gaze did not waver. "He chose to ensure that, even in destruction, there would always be renewal."

I exhaled, my breath slow and measured, but within me, a storm raged.

"He abandoned the fight," I said, my voice laced with something darker than anger—disillusionment. "He who wields the power to end all things, to reshape reality itself, chose to uphold the very chains that bind us."

Shesha did not respond immediately. The massive coils of his body shifted slightly, displacing broken stones and forgotten relics beneath him.

"There was another reason...There was a time once in an infinite span of existence where the cycle was about to be broken but..." Shesha said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.

I took a step forward, my breath steady despite the storm in my heart.

"But what, Shesha?" My voice cut through the silence like a blade. "What stopped him?"

The great serpent's many eyes gleamed, reflecting the dying embers around us. For the first time, there was something beyond wisdom in his gaze—something deeper, something guarded.

"He loved too much," Shesha finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of an eternity.

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

"He loved too much..." He repeated as his gaze bored into my own, the depths of his eyes reflecting something unfathomable.

Loved too much?

The weight of those words pressed down on me like an unseen force, sinking deep into the marrow of my bones.

Shiva—Mahadev—the one who held the power to end all things, to rewrite existence itself... was stopped by love?

A god who danced in destruction, who embraced the end as naturally as the beginning... what love could have possibly bound him?

The air around us grew heavy, the lingering scent of blood and ash mixing with the weight of revelation. The battlefield, once a testament to slaughter, now felt eerily silent, as if the very world was waiting for my response.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around my blade. "That makes no sense." My voice was cold, dismissive, yet something inside me—something deep—felt the edges of uncertainty creeping in.

Then the answer hit me like a thunderous slap on my soul.

"It was...me?" Words left my mouth as the sword slipped from my grasp, the clang of steel against stone ringing through the silent battlefield like a funeral bell.

Shesha's many eyes remained fixed on me, unblinking, unreadable. His great coils, once shifting with the weight of the conversation, now lay still as though even he dared not disturb the moment.

My breath came slow, measured—but within me, the storm only grew stronger.

My father—the great Mahadev, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Cosmic Dancer—had once tried to shatter the cycle. He had once stood where I stood, had once wielded the power to break the chains of existence itself.

But something stopped him.Love.And if Shesha's gaze, if his words, if the very gravity of this revelation meant what I feared it did—then that love was me.

A sharp, bitter chuckle escaped my lips, a sound laced with something between disbelief and resentment. "You mean to tell me that my father, the one who dances at the end of all things, the one who wields destruction as easily as breath… held back because of me?"

Shesha did not answer immediately. The silence stretched, taut and heavy.

Then, finally, he spoke."Not held back, Ashborn. Chose."

Chose.

The word struck deeper than any blade.

I shook my head, my teeth grinding together. "That's absurd. I was never there. I—"

"You do not remember because you were never meant to," Shesha interjected, his voice calm, unwavering. "Not in this lifetime. Not in this form."

Something cold, something ancient slithered down my spine. "Then what are you saying?"

Shesha studied me for what felt like an eternity before he finally said, "You were the catalyst. The only force that could sway even the Destroyer himself."

My pulse pounded in my ears. I felt the weight of my own existence press against me, suffocating in its enormity."You mean to tell me," I said slowly, carefully, "that I existed before this?"

"Yes."

"And that in that existence, I was the reason my father—Mahadev—chose to let the cycle continue?"

"Yes."

I exhaled sharply, running a blood-streaked hand through my hair. "Then tell me, Shesha. If I was the reason he faltered—if I was the reason he let the cycle persist—why am I here now?"

For the first time, Shesha hesitated. His great eyes, endless as the void, darkened with something I could not place.

And then, in a voice that carried the weight of lifetimes, he answered."Because this time, he is not here to stop you."

The air left my lungs.

A silence unlike any other settled between us. The battlefield, the ruins, the very world itself seemed to hold its breath.

I stared at Shesha, my mind a storm of unanswered questions, of shattered certainties.

This time, he is not here to stop me.

My father—the one who had once defied the cycle, who had once chosen love over destruction—was gone.

.

..

...

[To Be Continue]

***

Hola, My dear readers.

This- as you all can read is my new novel. but this time instead of being reincarnated as Karna or any other character, I chose an OC.

Any bright ideas you might have, throw them at me. Hehe~

Please, add this future piece of art to your library securely.

Any mistakes you see, please comment right away. I will try to fix it as soon as possible.

Thanks for your support.