Chapter 112: The Hidden Light
The morning sky over Mahishmati burned golden, yet the air in the tournament grounds was tense and cold, The crowd was vast, filling the magically-expanded arena, eyes fixed on the massive screens that shimmered above the stage—each screen linked to the demonic realm where the warriors now struggled.
Rudra stepped forward, his expression calm but unreadable, His voice carried effortlessly across the vast arena.
"Listen well, The demonic creatures you all expect will not appear until fifty participants have fallen"
The words struck the audience like thunder, A murmur spread like wildfire through the royals, sages and citizens gathered. The explanation was clear—no monsters to fight, no easy points—only warriors trapped together, with survival and ambition gnawing at their reason.
"They will learn what it means to resist temptation" Rudra continued, "For in the absence of prey, the most dangerous enemy… is the hunger within"
The crowd shivered
At once, a voice rang out from the royal stands. "You mean—until fifty deaths occur?!" It was a king, his face pale "Does that mean our sons, our brothers, our princes will kill one another until fifty corpses fall?!"
His words gave voice to the horror in many hearts. More voices followed, rising in a tide of outrage.
"This is madness!"
"Return them at once!"
"Mahishmati has gone too far!"
Several kings stood, their jeweled crowns gleaming, their hands shaking with fear and fury.
But Rudra… only smiled, He offered them no comfort, no denial. His silence was more terrifying than words.
The uproar swelled, until—
"Hmph!"
A cold, thunderous snort silenced the entire arena. The voice that followed carried the weight of storms and mountains.
It was Bhagwan Parshuram.
He rose slowly, his axe resting at his side, his eyes burning like molten iron. "Do you fools… think Rudra would allow your whelps to die here?" His voice was calm, yet each word struck like a hammer. "Use your brains, if you still have them."
The kings shrank back, their bravado withering.
Parshuram's gaze turned sharper, like the edge of a blade. "And if you dare disturb me again with your squealing—perhaps it is you who have lived too long."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Not a single king dared to breathe too loudly.
Rudra gave a faint smile, then gestured to the screens. "Watch. Learn. The trial has begun."
---
In the Demonic Realm
The night was endless. The blackened forest groaned under the weight of silence. And in one clearing, three figures stood—their tension sharp enough to cut air itself.
Kurumaru raised his bow, black clouds swirling around it, thunder rumbling faintly in their depths. His eyes gleamed with arrogance and rage.
Beside him, Gandmaru's body had swollen grotesquely, veins bulging, muscle upon muscle layered, his heavy frame cracking the ground beneath his stance.
Across from them stood Ram.
Tall. Scarred. Silent.
His face was expressionless, but his presence pressed on them like a mountain. His fists, swollen slightly from yesterday's trial, clenched. Inside, however, a storm churned.
Yesterday, Rudra had given him a gift—the Thousand-Handed Shura Siddhi. With it, his body had transformed, Prana finally flowing through veins that had long been barren. But that wasn't all. Something else, long buried, had awakened.
His original Siddhi.
Marichi.
The ray of sunlight.
Fast. Piercing. Untouchable.
For years, his constitution had been a curse, suppressing every trace of Prana. Yet all that time, his Prana had not been idle—it had grown, hidden, sealed. Now, unleashed, it roared inside him. He was no novice with a trickle of energy. His strength… was already that of an entry-level Atirathi.
Not as refined as Arjun at his peak, perhaps. But far beyond these pampered princes.
Ram lowered his chin slightly, eyes half-closed. His aura rolled out—thick, heavy, suffocating.
Kurumaru's bow trembled. Gandmaru's breath hitched. A chill crawled down their spines, though their pride burned hotter.
"Don't… falter!" Gandmaru snarled, more to himself than to his brother. "He's nothing but a commoner!"
Ram tilted his head ever so slightly. His lips remained sealed, but his eyes spoke clearly:
"Commoner? Come, then"
Kurumaru's face twisted in rage. Dark clouds surged around his bow, forming an arrow as black as midnight. "You dare mock us?" He drew and loosed in one fluid motion.
Whoosh!
The arrow screamed through the air, wrapped in the power of storm and shadow.
Ram's foot shifted, A blur
The arrow shattered
The princes eyes widened, They hadn't even seen him move.
And then Ram was gone
To them, he seemed to vanish like sunlight through mist. To Ram, however, it was simply his Marichi Siddhi. His body flashed, as if he became a ray of light itself.
A whisper of air, and he was at Gandmaru's side.
Crack!
One punch
Not empowered by a weapon, Not even by Prana, Just raw, terrifying strength.
Gandmaru's massive frame lifted off the ground like a rag doll, crashing through two black trees before finally hitting the dirt with a sickening thud.
Kurumaru's hands shook, His breath hitched, The bow in his grip felt suddenly too light, too fragile.
Ram stood still again, silent, calm, his aura heavy and endless. His fists hung at his sides, itching for the next strike.
He didn't need words, His silence said it all:
"You won't leave this place alive."