Divine Greeting
Charybdis, satisfied with the initial results, stepped away from the machine that had begun to overheat and required shutdown.
She surveyed her team, the ones who had poured their efforts into this ambitious project.
"I am proud of all of you," she declared, her voice resonating with sincerity.
"You will be rewarded with anything you desire. But for now, I have something rather important to attend to."
In an instant, she vanished, reappearing at the top of her golden castle.
The moon hung high, casting a silver glow over her kingdom.
The wind whispered through the fabric of her dress, and she stood, savoring the cool breeze and the grand view of the realm she had crafted.
Her kingdom was like a perfect dress woven with diverse threads—monsters, humans, elves, and other sub-species all coexisted in this utopia.
Crime was nonexistent, and fear of hunger or poverty was a distant memory.
Everyone had a role, no matter how small, contributing to the harmony of this society.
With a final, contemplative look, she turned her gaze skyward.
A red light began to form around her hand as she crystallized the legends of Arash and Arjuna into a single weapon. A grotesque imitation of Gandiva, Arjuna's divine bow, materialized in her grip.
Though it wasn't as magnificent as the original, it was formidable in its own right.
Testing the bowstring with a flick, the compressed weight produced a sound akin to thunder.
Drawing the bow, she aimed toward the heavens.
The divine construct of Indrajit Astra formed within the bow, glowing with an otherworldly brilliance, drawing the attention of the city below.
Silent and focused, Charybdis drew the bowstring back fully, her godly senses and Arjuna's archery knowledge guiding her.
She began the chant for Arash's ultimate move, "Stella."
Midway through, the chant morphed into a chaotic blend as Charybdis decided to unleash her full power.
Her third eye manifested, distorting the space behind her as wings of eldritch beauty extended infinitely into the void.
The arrow in her grasp shone so brightly that night turned to day across the Cardinal world.
Anyone who glanced beyond the blinding light would see a visage of such beauty it would drive them mad—a testament to her form, crafted to overwhelm any mind with sin.
The world seemed to pause as her fingers released the bowstring.
The backlash alone cracked the unbreakable palace of mythical metals. The words "Divine greeting" echoed softly as the arrow soared skyward.
The single arrow split into three, each heading toward a different destination.
The kingdom Ashoka had built trembled as the arrow approached, obliterating all in its path.
The ever-frozen Northern Continent lit up as the arrow neared the Administrator of the world, the primordial rouge, Guy Crimson.
The third arrow targeted the Kingdom of the imposter Rudra.
Charybdis didn't know who had triggered her danger sense, but she wasn't about to wait and find out.
She would strike first blow, and with all her might.
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The sudden eruption of light from Charybdis's arrow had thrown the kingdom into chaos.
Civil offices buzzed with frantic activity, messengers running to and fro, and officials shouting orders as they tried to comprehend the magnitude of what had just occurred.
Citizens looked to the sky in awe and terror, their faces illuminated by the glow of Charybdis's divine arrow.
"What's happening? Is this the end of days?" a voice shouted amidst the crowd.
"It's an attack! Something powerful has been unleashed," another responded.
"Why are you shouting you idiot its obviously the queen"
Near his home, Krodha stood tall, his presence commanding even amidst the chaos.
Beside him, Harita looked equally concerned.
"We need to get to the royal palace," Krodha said, his voice urgent.
Harita nodded, and the two quickly made their way towards the castle.
Just as they reached the front gates, the earth beneath them trembled violently.
The once-immovable golden castle shuddered and cracked, the aftermath of Charybdis's immense power release still echoing through its foundations.
"Mother," Krodha called out as he entered, his eyes scanning for her. He found her atop the highest tower, gazing at the far horizon.
She was decked out in armor, ready for battle.
"Mother," he repeated, his voice steady despite the turmoil around them.
Charybdis turned, her eyes still glowing with the remnants of divine energy, her presence overwhelming.
She looked him deep in the eyes her clear sclera conveying all that she had to say.
She looked like a war goddess, ready to unleash her wrath upon those who threatened her kingdom.
Krodha bowed deeply, understanding the unspoken command in her gaze. "I shall prepare the army and ready them for war," he declared with conviction.
As Krodha left to prepare the army, Charybdis stood alone atop her castle, the moon hanging high, the wind rustling around her.
This was her answer to the provocation, her declaration of war.
The kingdom she had built, a utopia of unity and peace, was now on the precipice of a season of war.
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Ashoka awoke to a world of unbearable pain.
His body, a mere pile of burnt flesh, was a testament to the cataclysmic power he had faced.
He had exhausted all of his stored extra lives, each resurrection more agonizing than the last, leaving his soul in tatters.
A scream tore from his lips, raw and filled with a pain that echoed through the desolate remains of his kingdom.
The sound was primal, a guttural roar that spoke of unimaginable suffering and loss.
His lone bloodied eye, still visible amid the charred remains, burned with an intensity that could pierce the heavens.
Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage coursed through him, fueling the fire that had kept him alive.
It was a rage that promised retribution, a fury that vowed to tear apart anything and anyone responsible for his torment.
With a shuddering breath, Ashoka tried to move, his broken body protesting with every agonizing inch.
The charred remnants of his flesh crackled and peeled, each movement a new wave of searing pain.
But he did not care. He welcomed the pain, embraced it as a reminder of his purpose, of the vengeance he would exact.
Through the haze of agony, he could still see the devastation that had befallen his kingdom.
The once-proud buildings lay in ruins, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning.
His people, those who had trusted and followed him, were gone.
The kingdom he had built with his blood and sweat was reduced to ashes.
But Ashoka's spirit remained unbroken.
His lone eye, a beacon of fury and determination, glared at the horizon.
He would rise from these ashes, stronger and more relentless than ever.
His rage would fuel him, guide him on his path of retribution.
And her who had brought this destruction upon his world, would face the full force of his wrath.
With a final, seething scream, Ashoka vowed to reclaim his kingdom and obliterate his enemies. The pain would not stop him.
The suffering would only make him stronger. And his rage, a promise of destruction, would tear apart anything in his way.
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Stones and Reviews