A silent blur of motion. A gust of wind rippled through the battlefield. Soldiers flinched as the wind brushed past their armor—something, or someone, had sliced through the chaos faster than their eyes could follow.
A massive kshoniraaja raised his colossal club, ready to bring it crashing down upon the soldiers clustered in formation. The blow never landed. In an instant, an opposite force slammed against it, stopping the devastating swing mid-air.
CRACK! The impact rang through the battlefield like thunder.
The kshoniraaja stumbled back, his massive frame thrown off balance. He recovered quickly, but for a second, the battlefield froze.
Someone had blocked an attack from a warrior-class kshoniraaja.
Gasps rippled across Parashar's camp.
Then—cheers. Wild, unrestrained cheers.
Hope reignited like fire.
Ashvapati stood tall, the sun gleaming off his dark armor, his war hammer resting against his shoulder. Dust swirled around his boots, rising from the force of his arrival. He stared down the advancing giants—four of them now pausing in wary confusion. The one whose attack he blocked snarled, raising his club again.
Ashvapati's face remained calm.
The kshoniraajas, no longer hesitant, roared and charged. Their massive bodies thundered across the field like landslides.
Ashvapati's knuckles tightened around his hammer. His body lowered slightly, poised.
Then he moved.
The clash began with a roar of metal and flesh. One kshoniraaja swung low, his axe slicing through the air. Ashvapati ducked, rolled under the arc, and with a burst of strength, leapt into the air. His feet landed on the giant's shoulder. Before the kshoniraaja could react, Ashvapati reached for its ear—and used it as leverage, hanging off the side. The kshoniraaja growled, turning to grab him.
Too late.
Ashvapati twisted his body and pulled the giant off balance. The towering beast teetered—and fell, crashing to the earth with a thunderous boom. The ground shook. Dust exploded upward in a great cloud.
Ashvapati landed on the fallen kshoniraaja's chest. He raised his hammer high—sunlight gleaming off its dented, blood-stained surface—and smashed it down into the giant's head.
CRACK.
The sound was horrifying. The skull caved in. A sickening silence followed as the bloodied hammer remained embedded in what was left of the kshoniraaja's face.
Soldiers stared in stunned horror. The legends they heard about Ashvapati? Understated.
The remaining three giants attacked him together. Ashvapati exhaled, braced himself—and met them head-on.
One came from the left, swinging a flail with enough force to destroy an entire chariot. Another came from the right, a curved blade gleaming with dark oils. The last—taller and broader than the rest—charged with bare fists, his body a wall of armored muscle.
Ashvapati's eyes flicked between them, calculating.
He ducked beneath the flail, the chain whipping over his head with a sharp hiss. He jumped onto the blade of the second giant mid-swing, using it as a springboard, flipping backwards into the air and landing with a roll. Dust and pebbles scattered with every movement.
Another giant roared and slammed his fists down where Ashvapati had landed. Ashvapati rolled just in time, leapt up, and landed a vicious hammer blow on the back of the bare-fisted giant's knee. The giant buckled, howling in pain.
Ashvapati was struck from the side—sent flying by the curved blade's broad side. He rolled across the dirt, armor dented, blood leaking from his mouth. But he didn't stay down.
He stood, hammer dragging behind him, breath slow and steady.
The two giants closed in again.
This time, Ashvapati roared.
He lunged at the giant with the flail first. The flail swung again, but this time Ashvapati ducked inside the arc and slammed his hammer into the giant's gut. The flail-wielder stumbled back.
Ashvapati followed through—hammer to knee, elbow to jaw, and then a final, spinning strike that shattered the side of the giant's skull.
The third giant roared and slashed. Ashvapati blocked with the shaft of his hammer, sparks flying. The two exchanged brutal blows—metal clanging, grunts and roars echoing. Ashvapati got inside the arc again, headbutted the giant, then hooked the giant's leg and brought him down hard.
He crushed the second giant's throat under his armored boot.
One remained.
Another kshoniraaja roared and charged.
Ashvapati yanked his hammer free and stepped off the dead body, grinning at the incoming enemy. His grin was taunting—like a predator toying with its prey.
The third giant raised a spiked mace and brought it down with all its might. Ashvapati dodged to the side, barely evading the crushing blow. Dirt exploded where the mace struck. He moved too fast for the giant to follow—circling, closing in.
He punched the kshoniraaja in the thigh—just one punch—and the giant staggered.
Then Ashvapati made a choice. He hung his hammer on his back and raised his bare arms, facing the giant head-on.
The soldiers gasped.
The kshoniraaja roared and launched his fist forward.
Ashvapati caught it.
With a savage growl, he pulled the giant's arm, used its momentum, and flung the massive creature over his shoulder.
THUD! The earth cracked where the kshoniraaja landed. Dust curled up around the battlefield like smoke.
Before the giant could recover, Ashvapati grabbed his hammer, leapt onto the kshoniraaja's chest, and wrapped the handle across its throat.
He choked the giant—mercilessly. The kshoniraaja's arms flailed, claws scraping against the ground, trying to grab at the warrior strangling him.
"RRRAAAAAHHHH!" the giant groaned.
Ashvapati didn't let go.
The kshoniraaja's struggle slowed. His limbs twitched. His eyes rolled back. And then—nothing.
Ashvapati stood up, exhaled deeply, and pulled his hammer free from the slack arms of the corpse.
Blood and dust streaked his armor. He looked like a demon forged in war.
Four kshoniraajas. All warrior class. Each capable of slaughtering hundreds.
Defeated. By one man.
The battlefield watched in paralyzed awe.
And then—
The cheers came.
Thunderous. Unified. Deafening.
Ashvapati turned, hammer resting against his shoulder again, and looked across the battlefield. On the other side, the remaining four kshoniraajas were still engaged with Kaalraths, Parashar, and Savignya. They were struggling—but now, with renewed fury.
They had seen what Ashvapati did.
Parashar's eyes lit up with fire. He gave a fierce yell, rallying his men. Savignya barked commands, her voice sharp with battle rage. Even the Kaalraths, once dark shadows of death, now seemed like blazing torches of vengeance.
Ashvapati began walking toward them—each step heavy, slow, deliberate.
The tide of war was turning.
And now, the pressure was on Sharvas and his men.