NOVEL NEXT Chapter 74: The Lightning of Darkness
Raktabija floated cross-legged in the air, the sky was darkened with the darkness they brought along. He could see his army surrounding and trying to weaken the spiritual array with their scimitars which exuded darkness. It should have been a quick job. Take over the monastery, and purge the monks. Yet, they hadn’t even broken down the main barrier set up by the monks.
Chaayasura was behind the demon lord, floating in the air as well. He looked from the demon lord to the army below, nervously. Anxiety built up for him.
“It’s futile for them to resist,” commented Chaayasura waving his hands in the air. “I don’t get it, why do they bother?”
“Hmm,” said Raktabija.
Raktabija closed his eyes. The clanks of the scimitars against the array filled his ears. He noticed the uneven sounds and realised the army was getting tired. They had been taking over the place after place razing, villages, towns and cities without opposition. This was their first real opposition.
Raktabija sighed. He needed to train them better.
“Let me go down and assist them,” Chaayasura said and rushed towards the monastery and aimed his mace at the array. He channelled darkness to increase stress on the array. The spiritual array absorbed the attack and still stood strong.
Is the Cardinal Relic still here in the monastery? He wondered. That cannot be.
A slight furrow appeared on Raktabija’s brows. Raktabija had patience in abundance. One did not become the commander of the demon army without hav patience in hordes. Demon were vilified across the worlds for following their baser instincts. Incapable of enlightenment and immortality. He challenged the gods. He had proved to the gods he was no less than them when he had obtained his boon of invincibility. But the Cardinal Relic still bested him.
Glimpses of his past flashed across his closed eyes. He had been at this very monastery centuries earlier. Fighting a war, he was sure he would win. He had recently received his boon of invincibility at that time. His arrogance was at its peak. He slayed his way in the world of humans, leaving a long trail of blood in his wake and he had come to this monastery to assert his claim that gods cannot save the humans from him.
He recollected how his scimitar had met the divine sword with a resounding clash, sparks flying in the air and a shockwave rippling outwards.The force behind the sword felt immense, like an overwhelming, god-like power.
The battle raged on, each swing of his scimitar answered by a blur of the divine blade. Raktabija lunged, scimitar whistling through the air, but the wielder of the divine sword was faster. Her movements were precise, her blade a streak of light. She slipped past his defences more than once, her sword slicing into his flesh. Raktabija snarled as pain flared, blood scattering into the air in dark red droplets. They hit the ground with soft splashes, and almost immediately, new clones of Raktabija rose from each drop, armed and ready. His lips curled into a smirk.
I am invincible, he thought. His blood was his strength.
But then his smirk faltered. The wielder of the divine sword did not hesitate. She multiplied, splitting into as many forms as there were clones, each wielding a blade that shone with the same divine light. Raktabija’s eyes widened in disbelief. The battlefield swarmed with their likenesses, divine swords clashing against scimitars in a chaotic resonance. Yet, despite the confusion, the wielder moved with precision. Her blades struck without drawing blood, each hit a calculated blow to incapacitate rather than kill.
Raktabija’s confusion turned to anger. He swung his scimitar wildly, trying to break free from the encirclement, but the wielder’s forms closed in, pushing him and his clones toward a single point. He felt the ground beneath him shift, trembling as if alive. Light from the wielder’s blades merged, converging into a bright ring around Raktabija and his clones.
Raktabija glanced around, realisation dawning too late. He was being trapped, manoeuvred like a beast into a pen. The earth beneath him cracked, light spilling from the widening gaps. The ground shook violently, and Raktabija struggled to keep his footing. He looked into the eyes of the nearest wielder, seeing not just determination but an unyielding force. The light intensified, merging his clones back into him. He felt his power stretching thin.
With a rumble, the earth beneath them erupted. A blinding light shot upwards, engulfing Raktabija and his clones. The force was overwhelming, pressing down on him, merging his clones into his body with a crushing weight. He could feel himself being dragged towards the center, where the ground had given way to a chasm, a temporary portal to the underworld.
“Nooooooo!” Raktabija roared with defiance. He swung his scimitar wildly, the air around him vibrating with the force of his fury. But the light held firm, pulling him toward the chasm’s edge. His roar turned into a desperate bellow as he felt himself being sucked into the portal.
With a final thrust of the divine sword, the wielder channelled all her light into Raktabija, pushing him over the brink. The portal swallowed him, his roar echoing into the abyss as he fell, his form shrinking until he was just a distant shadow. The portal was sealed with a thunderous crack, the ground closing with a final, resonating thud.
The defeat still stung him, it was like a dull pain that never left him, reminding him that his invincibility was an illusion. But with the darkness he had gained from Lady Visha’ra, his old confidence and arrogance had returned. This time, he was truly invincible.
—
A golden butterfly hovered near Vrishaketu.
“Vrishaketu,” said a female voice from the golden butterfly.
The head monk paused his chanting and opened his eyes.
“Your Eminence,” said Vrishaketu bowing his head in reverence.
—
Raktabija had learnt from his mistakes. He had his scimitar reworked into a might weapon that could channelise his boon. He conjured the Life-Siphoning Scimitar. Darkness twirled around the curved blade and glinted with a crimson hue. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, the pommel shaped like a skeleton head with a cross guard of intertwined demons.
He lifted his scimitar high, its curved blade cutting through the air. Darkness rippled and coiled around the weapon, then shot out like dark lightning, crackling and splitting the sky above.
“Soon,” said Raktabija with a dark glint in his eyes and maniacal laughter. “We will make the entire world faithless.”
The spiritual array shimmered for a moment, then broke apart, its glowing lines fading into nothing as the downpour of darkness rained down on it.