God of War - Karmic Cycle [AU]

[namar13766]

Though it covers many of the same beats , Ganesha's story is quite different than most of the versions I've heard in Hinduism.

I wonder how Murugan's birth played out here, since as far as I remember not only is Parvati his mother, but so is the River Ganga and six celestial handmaidens.

 

[juniorsundar]

Though it covers many of the same beats , Ganesha's story is quite different than most of the versions I've heard in Hinduism.

I wonder how Murugan's birth played out here, since as far as I remember not only is Parvati his mother, but so is the River Ganga and six celestial handmaidens.

Click to shrink...

That is interesting. Which iteration of Ganesh's origin are you most familiar with?

You may find that there are some simplifications in my Fanfic with regards to the mythological stories. For instance there were a lot more characters in play here that resulted in Ganesh getting an elephant's head. But my perspective was that by adding more people into his origin, it turns from a family problem to a world-level problem. And I wanted to limit this to an interaction between a husband and wife. And Shiva does not seem to me like the kind of person who would appreciate third-parties butting into his family dynamics.

 

[namar13766]

That is interesting. Which iteration of Ganesh's origin are you most familiar with?

Click to shrink...

The one I first read about in Amar Chitra Katha.

 

[juniorsundar]

The one I first read about in Amar Chitra Katha.

Click to shrink...

I just read that story now.

Can't believe the realms went into war because Parvathi refused to let Shiva enter, and Shiva couldn't accept being seen as subservient to her .

 

[namar13766]

Can't believe the realms went into war because Parvathi refused to let Shiva enter, and Shiva couldn't accept being seen as subservient to her

Click to shrink...

Sounds incredibly Bollywood to me!

 

[juniorsundar]

Kratos left the ash-covered plateau, Shiva's cryptic words and unsettling smile lingering in his mind.

Generally, Kratos wasn't one to engage in meaningless conversation. If he expended energy talking, he ensured there was something to be gained. However, Kratos couldn't quite make sense of his exchange with Shiva.

It felt significant, yet Kratos also felt as though he hadn't gained anything tangible from it. Well, perhaps there was something - perspective.

Though try as he might, Kratos could not suppress the regret bubbling up from within whenever he thought of his deceased wife and daughter. He couldn't simply move past it, couldn't shove it aside as easily as Shiva suggested. If given an opportunity to undo it all, Kratos would seize it in a heartbeat. He refused to accept that uxoricide and filicide were prerequisite actions to define his character.

Pushing aside the burgeoning debate in his thoughts, Kratos followed along the familiar, winding path beside the river. As he cut through the dense shrubbery and approached the opening into the vast plains, Kratos observed a familiar figure waiting for him near the entrance.

Ganesh stood patiently, with one arm clasped behind his back and the other, gently stroking his trunk. The teenager's ears twitched as Kratos approached, and he turned to him with a wide smile and a happy greeting, "Kratos! Just the person I was looking for."

Kratos merely grunted in response, eyeing the god warily. "What do you want?"

"Straight to the point, as always," Ganesh chuckled. "No time for pleasantries? Very well. We are going now."

"Going where?" Kratos asked.

"To fulfil my promise, of course," Ganesh said, gesturing vaguely. "To address that little curse problem you have."

Kratos' eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Now? The boy's training is incomplete. There is much work left."

Ganesh agreed with a nod. "While the letter of the agreement remains unfulfilled, the spirit has been met. Exceeded even."

Kratos's brows furrowed as he processed Ganesh's response. Ganesh, ever-observant, immediately deciphered his confusion and expounded, "All I asked was for you to spruce up his skills with the spear. Instead, you put him on a path to becoming a better warrior and person."

"That was not my intention," Kratos said with a grunt.

"Why are you negotiating against yourself here?" Ganesh retorted in disbelief. "I'm giving you what you asked for." He tilted his head, studying Kratos. "Or... are you perhaps concerned about fulfilling your side of the bargain?"

Kratos frowned and crossed his arms. "The agreement was clear. Train the boy. Then you remove the curse."

"And you have trained him well," Ganesh affirmed. "Excellently, in fact. Far beyond simple spear work. So, tell me," Ganesh stepped closer, "if I remove this curse now, as agreed upon by our deal, will you then leave? Will you abandon Murugan?"

The question hung in the air. Kratos stared back. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken conflict. Leave? Be free of the axe, of this land, of these gods and their entanglements? Yes. But leave his end of the deal unfinished?

A slow, knowing smile spread across Ganesh's face, reaching his eyes. "Ah. I knew it!" He sounded pleased. "You're a good man, Kratos. An honourable man. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"

Right as Kratos was about to voice his denial, Ganesh waved a hand dismissively. "Consider this, then, merely removing a distraction. A persistent headache. Once this burden of the curse is lifted, I am confident you will find even greater... focus... for your task."

Kratos remained silent, though the assessment wasn't entirely wrong. "Where must we go?" he asked.

"Not far," Ganesh replied brightly. He reached out, placing his palm gently but firmly on Kratos's forehead. "Just close your eyes."

Kratos instinctively flinched back with flaring suspicion. "What are you-"

"Just trust in me, Kratos," Ganesh said in a calm and reassuring voice. He gently pulled Kratos closer again, pressing his own forehead against the man's. The contact was surprisingly warm.

Darkness fell instantly. The abrupt visual deprivation sharpened his other senses as an intense pressure began to build within his skull, pushing outwards. The sensation intensified rapidly, feeling as though his very being was being drawn inward and compressed through an impossibly narrowing passage.

Just as the crushing force reached an unbearable peak, it vanished. The feeling of compression reversed into a sudden, disorienting sense of falling. He braced for impact, hitting soft ground only moments later. The impact was cushioned by thick, yielding grass.

"You can get up now," Ganesh said as an elephant's face peeked over and blocked Kratos' view of the sun.

"Where is this place?" Kratos asked as he stood up. Although there was some overlap between his current location and the one before, namely the seemingly vast plains of green, there was a stark difference in what could only be described as the reality of it all.

It felt as though someone had taken the right swatches of colours for the different items all around him, but tweaked it up or down by a semi-tone. For instance, the sky was a tad greener than what a blue sky was supposed to be. The grass was a smidge yellower. And the water was clear yet highly reflective, almost like a mirror.

Just as Kratos was getting his bearings, Ganesh had already trotted off and taken a confident step onto the lake's gently rippling surface. As the boy ambled onward, the mist clinging to the water began to part, revealing a flock of swans gliding with effortless grace. One swan, however, stood out – a magnificent creature easily twice the size of the elephant-headed boy.

This regal creature approached Ganesh, and the two exchanged a polite bow of recognition. Then, its intelligent eyes fixed on Kratos, giving him a swift, appraising glance before it turned with a flick of its tail feathers, leading its brood of cygnets away.

"Well? Are you coming or do you plan to stand there all day?" Ganesh called out, already halfway across the lake.

Kratos shot a suspicious glare towards the boy before cautiously approaching the water's edge.

"It isn't real, you know," Ganesh explained, strolling back towards Kratos as if on solid ground. "None of this is."

"What?" Kratos grunted.

"This whole place-" Ganesh gestured with a wide sweep of his arms, nearly overbalancing, "-it's not technically real."

"It's all in my head," he added with a self-satisfied chuckle.

Kratos squinted. "Speak plainly, boy."

"Alright, alright!" Ganesh conceded. "Think of this place as a shared dream or a mental construct. Only a few can access it, and those who do shape its reality. What you see is how I perceive it. So, if I believe the water is solid enough to walk on, yet still fluid enough for swans to enjoy a paddle, then that's precisely how it behaves."

Kratos eyed the shimmering surface. Cautiously, he extended a foot, testing the water. It met his boot with an unexpected firmness, a sensation that directly contradicted a lifetime of experience. He slowly transferred his weight, then took a hesitant step.

One deliberate step after another, Kratos followed Ganesh across the lake. On the far side, a stone embankment rose, and beyond it stood a large, imposing palace.

"Now, this," Ganesh said, his tone shifting as they approached the structure, "is not part of my imagination. So, I'd advise against touching anything that looks like it might object."

Without waiting for Kratos's reply, Ganesh pushed open the massive, intricately carved wooden gates and stepped into the courtyard beyond.

The moment Kratos crossed the threshold, a strong gust of wind swirled around him. It carried the surprisingly pleasant aroma of fresh ink, aged parchment, and dry wooden tablets. The sight that greeted him within was bewildering. An endless assortment of books, scrolls, and stone tablets filled a library that seemed to sprout organically from every conceivable surface. Walkways, archways, and even pillars were repurposed as shelves, all groaning under the weight of accumulated knowledge. The shelves themselves stretched infinitely in all directions - left, right, up, down, disappearing into walls, around staircases, and even across sections of the floor, though clear paths were carefully maintained to prevent any accidental trampling of literature.

"Once again, I must insist-" Ganesh began, halting abruptly. "Do. Not. Touch. Anything." He punctuated the warning with a meaningful look and an almost pleading shake of his head before continuing deeper into the library.

It was then that Kratos's ears registered a faint strumming. It was an almost imperceptible vibration in the air, but as they ventured further, the sound grew, blossoming into a clear, resonant melody. An interesting motif wove through it. To Kratos's unrefined ears, it sounded like an argument set to music. One voice in the melody seemed resigned, a weary acceptance of things as they were, as if to say, "This is how it is, and we must simply endure it." The other voice, however, was more insistent, a heartfelt appeal against that resignation. It argued for change, for effort, suggesting that they didn't have to settle for mere tolerance but could strive for a connection born of genuine desire.

Or at least that was how it registered to him. It was rather impressive, Kratos admitted to himself, that he could glean so much from a mere stretch of music. As a man accustomed to the blunt rhythm of war drums, designed solely to stir the blood of marching soldiers, he typically preferred music that demanded little interpretation. Yet, this song conveyed its meaning with an effortless clarity.

The duo rounded a corner, and Kratos finally laid eyes on the source of the music. A woman sat, cradling a stringed instrument nearly as large as she was. His gaze, however, skipped over her demure form and fixed on her agile fingertips. Her left hand danced along the instrument's long neck, while her right plucked strings of varying thickness that stretched from its tip to its bulbous base.

Ganesh paused, waiting respectfully for the woman to finish her piece, and Kratos, surprisingly, found himself doing the same, completely captivated by the performance.

Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. The song transitioned into a motif that signalled a swift resolution. This final part felt less polished than what came before, and the reason became apparent the moment the woman rested her instrument.

"How did you find my edits, nephew?" the woman asked, a gentle smile gracing her lips. Her dark eyes, full of warmth, settled on Ganesh.

"Perfect," Ganesh replied with a pleased clap. "But you already knew that."

"A woman always appreciates a compliment," she responded with a soft chuckle, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "In any case, that should suffice from my end."

She then rolled up a nearby parchment and handed it to Ganesh. He received it between his open palms and, with a slight compression, caused the roll to dissolve into a flurry of ethereal particles.

"And it seems you've brought a guest," she continued, her attention shifting to Kratos. An uncomfortable prickle danced over his skin as her incisive gaze swept over him. It was a cursory glance, yet it felt as though it pierced right through him like a hot knife through cheese.

"I have returned as you instructed - after four days," Ganesh explained. "I thought bringing the one afflicted by the curse might be more efficient. I hope I wasn't being too presumptuous."

"Only a select few have access to this realm, my dear nephew," the woman said, her voice melodious. "And those who do are individuals I trust implicitly. So, if it was your decision to bring a guest, it is your prerogative."

A brief, somewhat awkward silence settled between them.

"So..." Ganesh began, his voice a low drone, breaking the stillness. "When do we begin?"

"I... I don't know," the woman said, a note of defeat in her sigh as she shook her head, her earlier composure faltering.

"What?" Ganesh blurted out, his confusion evident.

"I truly hate to admit this," the woman confessed, her voice tinged with disappointment, "but I could not find a solution."

"B-but... But..." Ganesh stammered, his jaw practically hitting the floor. It was clear this admission had thoroughly upended the boy's worldview.

"There's no need for such a dramatic reaction," the woman chided gently, though a hint of her own annoyance and self-deprecation coloured her tone. "I am equally, if not more, disappointed in myself for failing to deliver on my promise."

"So-" Kratos interjected with a flat huff. "There is no solution."

Ganesh flailed, jumping in front of Kratos with a panicked expression. "W-wait! There is definitely a solution! I told you I would find one! Th-this is just one avenue-"

Kratos raised a hand, silencing Ganesh's frantic assurances. "Whoever this woman is, it is clear she was your best hope. If even she is helpless, what other options remain?"

"I-" Ganesh started to protest, but the words died on his lips. He couldn't bring himself to offer false hope.

"For your information, I am not his only 'trump card'," the woman cut in, a scowl briefly marring her features. "And who, precisely, is this man? He doesn't even recognize me. He has no idea where he is!"

"He is not from these lands," Ganesh explained with a wry smile.

"That much is obvious," she retorted. "I can recognize Greek when I hear it. Wait..."

The woman's gaze narrowed, her expression shifting as a flicker of dawning recognition crossed her face.

"The Ghost of Sparta," she declared, her voice suddenly laced with a dangerous edge. Kratos felt a chill run down his spine.

"The what of where?" Ganesh muttered, clearly shaken by the sudden shift in tension.

"The man you stand beside, nephew," the woman clarified, her eyes fixed on Kratos with unnerving intensity, "is the one who single-handedly destroyed an entire pantheon and left the realms that worshipped them a chaotic wasteland."

Her voice, though still melodious, now held an undercurrent of steel. "Some time ago, the usual flow of merchants and scholars from the Hellenic lands... ceased. Abruptly."

She raised a palm and a stack of scrolls oozed out of the walls. "My inquiries into the matter revealed a growing disturbance - spreading chaos in the spaces between realms. Travel became perilous and the pathways grew unstable."

She pushed the stack towards Ganesh, her gaze unwavering. "A scant few managed to traverse the ravaged corridors, barely escaping with their lives. They carried with them fragmented accounts. These were desperate missives etched onto battered scrolls and cracked tablets. These documents spoke of unspeakable atrocities. They spoke of a relentless campaign of vengeance waged by one man." Her sharp and accusing gaze flicked to Kratos again. "A man they once worshipped as the God of War. A man who, in his fury, demolished an entire pantheon, killed every diety, and left their world a ruin."

Ganesh unfurled the topmost scroll. Emblazoned across it was a crude but recognizable drawing: a pale figure marked with crimson, wielding twin blades that radiated destruction with chains welded permanently around his wrists.

Slowly, deliberately, Ganesh rolled the scroll back up and set it aside. "What is your point, Aunt?"

The woman gestured towards the pile of documents. "Is this the man you want to help? Is someone like him worthy of your assistance?"

"No," Ganesh replied simply. He pointed a finger at Kratos. "This is the man I want to help." His voice gained conviction. "And I don't believe anyone is beyond help. When people ask for aid, it is not my place to judge if they deserve it. I can only choose whether I want to help them. And... I do. I want to help him."

"Even if you don't know who he truly is?" She asked.

"Father believes that the past is irrelevant, as the present is a consequence of it," Ganesh reasoned.

The woman clicked her tongue in annoyance before rising gracefully from her cushion. Behind her, a section of the bookshelf shimmered and dissolved, revealing a dark, spiralling corridor descending into blackness. Plucking a flickering torch from a wall sconce, she stepped towards the opening.

"Follow me," she commanded over her shoulder.

"But Aunt-"

"Do you want a solution or not?" she interrupted curtly before disappearing into the descending darkness.

Ganesh swallowed a mouthful of saliva with a loud gulp. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples. He shot Kratos an uneasy glance, then gestured for him to follow, plunging into the newly formed corridor after the woman.

"Where are you taking me now?" Kratos asked plainly. He was still trying to process the woman's accusations and Ganesh's unwavering defence.

"Umm," Ganesh hummed thoughtfully, reverting to his usual demeanour, which strangely eased some of Kratos' tension. It was almost comforting that the boy's perception of him remained unchanged, even if Kratos couldn't fathom why he even cared.

"The world we are in is split into four primary realms: Svarga, Patala, Naraka and Bhuloka," Ganesh orated. "Those you should be aware of by now. Traversal between these realms is restricted by certain rules. For instance, it is strictly forbidden for those born in Bhuloka to traverse freely into the other realms - certain conditions need to be met. Those born in Svarga and Patala can traverse freely in and out, though there are exactly two portals that allow it - a set of which you must have seen above the plateau where Father performs. Anyone can enter Naraka, though exiting it requires the express permission of the Lord of Naraka."

"However, there are additional realms apart from this," Ganesh continued. "Kailasha - is a realm that borders all four. There is no restriction in place when trying to access it. It is just impossibly difficult - as you should have learned first-hand."

"The realm we are in right now is another such realm known as Brahmaloka. It exists within the minds of every sentient being across all realms. But access to it is limited to a select few as my Aunt just explained."

They finally reached the bottom of the long, descending hallway. It ended abruptly at a solid stone wall. Saraswati stood waiting while holding her torch aloft. She touched its flame to other torches set in sconces along the dead-end wall. As they flared to life, the flickering light illuminated a massive, imposing gate made entirely of carved stone, previously hidden in the gloom.

She approached the gates and gently placed her palms on the carved stone. With a light push, the gates slowly swung open, revealing a path doused in shadows.

"There is only one person in the world who wields more knowledge than I do, and that is my husband," the woman declared.

"Brahmaloka - or the Realm of Brahma - exists within all of his creation," Ganesh expressed.

"But the reason why only a few are allowed to enter it is because it is not a realm OF him, rather it is a realm FOR him," the woman chimed in.

---

Parvathy's days had settled into a predictable, almost monotonous rhythm over the years. She cooked meals, tended to the gardens, and cleaned halls. In the afternoons, she would often sit on the balcony overlooking the plains. Her fingers moved with practised ease as she knitted intricate patterns into soft wool.

Today was one such day. Her tiger-striped cat lay curled contentedly at her feet, occasionally twitching an ear as the knitting needles clicked softly in the crisp mountain air.

Suddenly, the twitching stopped. The cat sat bolt upright, its fur bristling slightly. Its gaze narrowed, fixed intently on the main gate at the entrance to their dwelling. Parvati followed her companion's stare and frowned.

Standing just outside the gate was a man she recognised almost immediately. He was dark-skinned, with a lean, powerfully built frame. His dark hair was pulled back neatly into a top knot, secured with a single, iridescent peacock feather that seemed to catch the light.

She met his gaze across the courtyard. His eyes held an unnerving stillness.

A wide and warm smile touched the man's lips, yet it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a practised quality to it, something artificial. "It is impolite to leave a guest standing outside," he called out in a smooth and melodious voice that carried easily across the distance.

Parvathy's frown deepened. "You are no guest of mine," she replied with a cool and steady voice. "Leave this place."

The man merely chuckled and leaned casually against the sturdy gatepost. He folded his arms. "Fret not, lady of the mountain. I shall be gone soon enough. I merely await your husband's return. Speaking of which," his eyes scanned the surroundings, "I did not see him at The Convergence. Unusual."

Parvathy ignored his probing question. She rose, gathered her knitting and turned back towards the house, pointedly closing the door behind her and leaving the man outside.

Undeterred, the man shrugged. He ambled over to the cushioned seat Parvathy had just vacated on the balcony and settled into it. He swung his legs idly while whistling a soft tune as he watched the distant plains, seemingly content to wait.

A short while later, a series of lithe footsteps resounded from the gate, it was the person he awaited: the householder of the courtyard dwelling. Shiva spotted the man lounging on the balcony immediately. Their eyes met and a silent exchange occurred.

Before the stranger could speak, Shiva called towards the house, "Put down another leaf, we have a guest!"

"That won't be necessary," the dark-skinned man cut in smoothly, rising from the seat.

Shiva turned fully towards him, irritation flickering in his eyes. He disliked being denied the chance to offer hospitality, even to unwelcome visitors. "Speak then," he said curtly. "And be done with it." He raised a hand preemptively. "Save the jests and riddles. I have little patience for your usual games today."

The man, inclined his head slightly, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "As you wish. A while back, a part of me that was meant to remain anchored in Bhuloka... returned."

Shiva waited impassively. "And?"

"He was tasked with carrying a certain weapon," the man continued. "A gift from you, I believe. Yet, when I found his remains, the weapon was not with him."

Shiva remained silent. "And?" he repeated with a flat tone.

The visitor's composure tightened almost imperceptibly and a subtle tension entered his calm facade. "What happened to the axe, Shiva?"

"It found a new wielder," Shiva answered plainly, offering no further detail.

"Who?" the man pressed, his voice sharper now as his calmness strained.

"That," Shiva started plainly, meeting the visitor's intense gaze without flinching, "is no longer your concern."

The visitor's eyes narrowed and his polite mask thinned to reveal the cold calculation beneath. "It is precisely my concern. He was a crucial element in a delicate balance. A lot hinges on his presence, but now, he is no longer there."

Shiva sighed, shaking his head with a hint of weary amusement. "What is supposed to happen shall happen. That is the universal truth. I know that you know that."

"I cannot control the kind of tree a mango seed will sprout," the visitor countered smoothly, his composure regained, "but one can choose where to plant the seed."

"Putting all your seeds in one basket? Unusual for you," Shiva remarked lightly with a touch of playful mockery in his voice.

"They are not all in one basket," the visitor corrected coolly. "This path was merely the simplest."

Shiva chuckled, stepping closer and clapping a hand on the visitor's shoulder. The man didn't flinch and maintained his measured stillness. "You worry too much. The world is more resilient than you give it credit for. Parvathy has a saying about sambar – once it's cooked, adding more salt just makes a mess. The world-"

"I did not come for kitchen philosophy," the visitor interrupted, his voice still calm but firm, cutting through Shiva's anecdote. He gave Shiva an appraising look. "You've changed. You talk too much." He shook his head slightly. "Who wields the axe now?"

"A foreigner. Not from these lands," Shiva replied.

"Where is he?"

"Brahmaloka."

The visitor's composure finally broke. A flicker of genuine alarm, which he quickly suppressed, crossed his features. "Brahmaloka? What is he doing there? How did he even gain access?!"

"Most likely seeking a way to be rid of the axe," Shiva said with a hint of amusement returning to his voice, evidently enjoying the man's reaction. "My eldest took him."

"You allowed this?" the visitor's voice rose slightly. "My work is complex enough as it is, Shiva. Do not complicate it further."

The amusement vanished from Shiva's face, replaced by a quiet intensity. "I do not appreciate being told how to raise my children," he stated, "especially by someone who doesn't have an active interest in their growth."

"You have it easy," the visitor retorted, regaining his measured tone, though his eyes remained hard. "You act as you please, consequences be damned. I do not have that luxury. The balance of the realms rests heavily upon my shoulders."

"Feel free to trade places anytime," Shiva offered lightly with a challenge underlying the casual words. "I am more than happy to take the mantle of 'The Preserver'," he mocked.

The visitor let out a short, derisive laugh. "You know it doesn't work that way."

Shiva shrugged, conveying both acceptance and dismissal.

"I would appreciate it if you could keep me in the loop on whatever transpires following your son and this... guest's return from Brahmaloka," the man stated with a tone that danced precariously between a request and a demand.

"I am not going to do that," Shiva said decisively. "Now, are you staying for lunch, or not?"

"I am not going to do that," the visitor replied, mimicking Shiva's earlier flat tone before turning and dissolving into shimmering light. In his wake, he left behind the scent of lotus blossoms hanging faintly in the air.

Shiva watched the spot where the visitor had been for a moment, then shook his head and entered the house. He went to the dining area and sat cross-legged.

Parvathy emerged from the kitchen carrying two banana leaves. She placed one before him and another beside him.

"He won't be joining us," Shiva said.

"I already prepared his meal," Parvathy stated quietly, serving food onto the empty leaf nonetheless. "It will not be wasted."

Shiva sighed softly in acceptance. He then reached over and scraped the food from the extra leaf onto his own.

 

[juniorsundar]

I anticipate there to be some pushback/concerns with regards to my portrayal of Lord Vishnu. I am open to explaining my rationale if necessary.

 

[Hyperionthetitan]

Damn i need a bit of catching up to do ,forgot a bit of the plot

 

[namar13766]

I anticipate there to be some pushback/concerns with regards to my portrayal of Lord Vishnu. I am open to explaining my rationale if necessary.

Click to shrink...

The problem with being a preserver is that you can appear as a preserver of a status quo.

It's a thin line from being a defender to becoming an enforcer of the status quo

 

[juniorsundar]

Spoiler: Author's Note

Alright, a quick heads-up before we dive in. The next two chapters are basically a necessary info-dump. While I'm not usually a fan of this method, it's crucial for establishing a solid foundation for the world and timeline of this AU.

To do this, I've had to take some creative liberties, particularly with the rich and complex "early eras" of Hindu Mythology. You'll notice I've had to streamline certain events and origins, as there are many different versions and retcons within various traditions.

If what I've written here doesn't quite line up with your own knowledge or beliefs, I'm completely open to discussion. Rest assured, my goal is to create a compelling story, not to be blasphemous or offensive.

The universe's existence hinges on the balance between two supreme, primordial concepts: order and chaos.

With the passage of time chaos, or entropy, grows - which is the natural state of the universe. However, those who inhabit this universe fight to maintain order - to wrest control over the growing disorder - as is the nature of those with sentience. Because everything is in and of itself averse to change. And as chaos is the manifestation of change, the force that naturally opposes it is order.

It is impossible for there to be complete control. Because in doing so, the universe becomes deterministic. A deterministic universe is one without free will, as every action and consequence is predetermined.

However, it is also impossible for there to be complete chaos. Because then there would be no progression or growth.

Yet just like with everything, this balance is not detached from the constraints enforced by time. There eventually reaches a point in time where chaos can grow no more. And because of that, neither can order. This is the theorised 'heat death' of the universe, a state of maximum entropy where all energy has become uniformly distributed, rendering further work, and thus the creation of new order, impossible.

In this ultimate fate, the cosmic struggle between the drive for order and the relentless tide of chaos finds its end not in victory for either, but in an all-encompassing equilibrium. The universe, having exhausted its potential for emergent complexity born from this fundamental tension, would settle into a profound and enduring stillness. The very 'existence' that hinged on the dynamic balance between order and chaos would transform into a static expanse, where the vibrant 'fight' and 'progression' have given way to a final and silent uniformity.

What happens then?

---

Klaxor sat motionless in the command chair of the supermassive craftworld. The craftworld drifted away from the gravitational pull of his home planet, Xylos… or at least what remained of it. His grip tightened on the armrests, a tremor running through his hand. A fleeting image of Xylos in its vibrant youth – blue oceans, green continents – flashed through his mind, which was a stark contrast to the desolate scene unfolding. He had only heard tales floating in the WarpNet of planets disintegrating into nothingness. He still found it hard to fathom even as the barren rock of a planet visibly crumbled.

Within hours, a cold cloud of dust and debris replaced his planet. No explosion occurred. No fanfare announced its demise. Only cessation marked its end. Klaxor watched, his breath caught in his throat, and a hollow ache spread through his chest.

He turned to his crew. They returned only cold stares. No argument arose, no lamentation sounded, and only acceptance pervaded the bridge.

No one had truly believed the initial warnings. The dour predictions of the world ending first spread from an obscure corner of the WarpNet. Most people dismissed them as the maddened ramblings of an equally obscure cult. This cult clung to the dwindling beliefs of a supposedly ancient religion.

The world had moved past such idiosyncrasies. In a world where science could rationalize everything, what reason remained to cling to religion?

But science could not account for the events unfolding all around him. Signs certainly appeared, but logic did not explain the inevitable conclusion: the end of the world itself.

Klaxor, like many, had once viewed the world as an engine. This engine, they believed, would keep churning endlessly. It would grow without limits. But that supposed infinite engine now lost its steam. When the world itself "stopped," it began to disintegrate.

This phenomenon first made the planets succumb on a macro-scale. The stars came next. They did not follow their known life cycle, moving from main sequence to red-giant to supernova, then ending as a white dwarf, neutron star, or singularity. Instead, they just dissipated. Like an unseen hand snuffing out a candle, the stars just turned cool, dimmed, and dispersed.

The innumerable specks that dotted the void of the universe disappeared one after another. Endless darkness consumed all that remained. Without the gravity of massive planetary bodies, the craftworld lacked the proper resources to navigate.

Hence, those who had sought refuge in the craftworld as it left the dying planet had only delayed the inevitable.

Klaxor found it hard to muster any motivation. He existed in what was essentially a metal coffin floating through space. His days and nights blended. He often went days without food or water, or even sleep. When his mind eventually relented and shut down, vague sounds of drumbeats and bells filled his dreams, as the shadow of a lithe figure danced.

As time passed, the craftworld's population started to dwindle. What was intended to repopulate, had grown cold like the departed planet. The ever-reliable artificial wombs failed to deliver healthy babies, no matter the configuration and purity of gene-seed used. The wombs created only abominations or mute entities.

His compatriots also started to succumb to the growing stagnancy. Apart from those who voluntarily committed suicide, many others experienced a different end. For many, their brains eerily and permanently switched off in their sleep. This process left behind what were essentially shells.

On one particular day, Klaxor decided to give in to his curiosity. He opened the articles posted on the WarpNet by the cult. In them, he picked up a phrase: Mahapralaya - the Great Dissolution. The articles, in obscure terms, explained the supposed heat death of the universe.

Intrigued, Klaxor spent his days perusing the scripts. The texts delved deeper into the cult's belief system and the history of its parent religion. His newfound thirst for knowledge brought back some levity to his life. It also increased the depth of his dreams. He found the music and beat no longer so obscure. The blurry shadow that danced against the backdrop of an ever-bright sun turned into a proper silhouette.

Klaxor observed the dancer's immaculate poise. He found the music enthralling.

One cycle, the familiar drumbeat echoed not in a dream, but in the cold silence of the craftworld. The rhythmic pulse vibrated through the deck plates beneath Klaxor's feet. He looked around the dim command centre. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He pinched his arm, and a sharp sting confirmed his wakefulness. A sudden urgency propelled him. He rushed to the main viewport. Far in the black expanse, a single, bright dot pulsed with an impossible light - a star?

Hope, an almost forgotten sensation, surged through him. Klaxor's hands flew across the navigation console. He navigated the craftworld towards the distant warmth, which was a solitary beacon in the endless night.

As the craftworld approached, the star grew larger, radiating an intense, pure light. Klaxor then noticed a vague speck moving at its brilliant centre. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Closer still, the speck resolved into a human-like figure. The figure moved with fluid grace. The music, the dream-song, now resonated clearly, not just in his mind, but through the very hull of the ship.

Even closer, Klaxor stared, transfixed. The figure was the dancer from his dreams, now undeniably real, wreathed in stellar fire. The music, once a whisper, now blared in his ears like a symphony of creation and destruction.

He scanned the void around the radiant phenomenon. Other craftworlds, derelict ships, and forgotten vessels converged upon the light. They approached like moths drawn to the colossal, cosmic flame.

The silhouette of the dancer grew larger, dominating the viewport, dwarfing even the star it inhabited.

Then, the universe itself seemed to hold its breath. The star warped. It compressed laterally causing the light to contort. Then, with a silent implosion, it snuffed out, plunging the gathered remnants of civilisations into absolute darkness once more. A collective gasp echoed in Klaxor's soul.

Just as despair threatened to consume him, the extinguished point of light tore open. It reformed, not as a star, but as a super-massive, burning eye. Its iris was a swirling galaxy of impossible hues, and its pupil was an abyss of perfect blackness.

Klaxor looked into the abyss at the centre of the glaring eye. And the abyss stared back into him, into the core of his being.

There was a blinding, all-encompassing brightness.

And then, nothing.

---

At first, there is nothing but chaos. Growing chaos.

In the endless darkness, there reigns an endless storm with neither wind nor rain, above an endless ocean without water.

At the centre of this chaos, and at the eye of this storm, exists a formless construct of order. It is a concentrated sphere of ethereal light that shines amidst the emptiness. The order maintains control over the growing endlessness of chaos. As the chaos grows and becomes more endless, so does the order shrink and grow brighter.

But at a certain point, the chaos grows too vast. At that point, the order can shrink no more. It is impractical to expect a concentrated point of order to wrest control over something that can grow seemingly endlessly.

The balance reaches a critical juncture.

At this point, the concentrated point of order splits into three. Three aspects whose sole purpose is to ensure that there is an eternal balance to the ever-growing chaos.

How does one counteract a force of change that is ever-expanding? By populating the world with agents that inherently oppose change.

This was the purpose of the first of the three entities that were born as a result of the split.

The Creator - Brahma - was tasked with a glorious purpose. To create a world that could autonomously oppose chaos. To that end, He created everything starting from the measly ant, up to stars and planets that dot the night sky. He created everything from the concrete to the abstract. He enshrined the laws that governed all of reality.

The world itself spawned from His mind, a mind so vast that it could not be contained within one head, but five.

---

A prison.

That's what this place was.

Kratos could sense that there was something off from the moment he was whisked away into this realm. It all felt artificial - like a half-assed attempt to make a place feel more welcoming than it really was.

"I am not going in there," Kratos said as he looked at the gaping entrance into what looked like a dark cave.

"He cannot come out," the woman, who Kratos learned was named Saraswati, expressed with a blank stare.

Kratos folded his arms and returned an equally unemphatic gaze.

"Well..." Ganesh murmured. "We aren't left with many options now, are we?"

Kratos let out a crescendoing growl before turning to Ganesh and asking, "If he is so powerful and knowledgeable, why is he imprisoned there?"

"It's a long story," Ganesh said with a bitter smile.

"I am not a fool, boy," Kratos snapped. "When a powerful being is imprisoned or punished like this, it is for a reason."

"There seems to be a misunderstanding-" Ganesh started hurriedly.

"No," Kratos cut in. "It is all very clear."

"No," Saraswati interjected. "It is not."

After a pregnant pause, "Your inherent bias is jading your view towards someone you haven't even met."

"It matters little to me," Kratos retorted. "They could be benevolent for all I care. But once I take a step into that cave, I will become complicit. Whoever put them there will now have a vested interest in me and in how I became involved in all this mess. And if the person in there is who you describe him to be, then I will be potentially crossing someone equally, if not more, powerful."

With a shake of his head, he said, "I cannot afford to make an enemy like that. And although I cannot die... There are fates far worse than death."

Saraswati shrugged and said, "Your choice. I can only lead you to the answer, it is up to you to obtain it."

Right as she was about to close the stone gates, Ganesh hopped forward and yelled, "WAIT!"

Turning to Kratos, the boy reasoned, "I think if I explain the whole story to you, it might sway your opinion."

"Boy-"

"Just hear me out!" Ganesh pleaded. "What harm is there in doing that?"

Seeing the boy's uncharacteristic stubbornness, Kratos' resolve wavered. After a long pause to contemplate, Kratos slumped his shoulders, let out a defeated sigh, and gestured for the boy to begin.

---

Brahma did not create everything at once; instead, his creations took place in several stages over time. These infrequent bursts of creation happened now and then, because an artist's inspiration, after all, comes and goes.

Like any artist, Brahma needed a rest after his wellspring of inspiration eventually faded. So, after a particularly long period of devoted creating, Brahma laid down his many heads, for he needed a much-deserved rest.

Brahmaloka is a special, hidden place that exists inside everyone and everything, just waiting to be found. One only needs to look deeply inward, and one will find this wondrous realm. Hayagriva, a unique being with the head of a horse, was the very first to find this secret doorway. Brahma had made Hayagriva in an early burst of creation, and these beings had humanoid bodies but the heads of animals.

Hayagriva was noticeably smarter and more perceptive than his simpler, less thoughtful relatives. In the chaotic early days of the world, most creatures simply fought to survive against many lurking dangers. They rarely had the quiet time or inclination, so they seldom thought about other, deeper things. But Hayagriva was quite different from the rest. He often thought beyond the basic, primal needs of every living being. He wondered about himself, and he pondered his unique identity. He questioned his ultimate purpose in the vast, unfolding world, and he pondered what his unknown future might possibly entail.

One day, Hayagriva deeply thought about the profound meaning of his own existence, and then he fell soundly asleep. In his vivid dreams, he discovered a shimmering, inviting portal. Hayagriva felt a strong sense of curiosity, so he decided to walk bravely through the mysterious portal.

A truly wonderful and breathtaking sight greeted him on the other side of the portal. This new world had absolutely everything he could ever imagine or desire. It had an abundance of prey animals, large pools of fresh and potable water, and an overgrowth of safe and comfortable shelter.

Hayagriva soon made another important discovery. He found that items from this dream world could actually accompany him; he could take them back to his waking world when he woke up. Because of this astonishing ability, Hayagriva decided to spend more and more time there. He visited this fascinating dream world with increasing frequency.

During one such extended visit to the dream realm, Hayagriva made a truly significant discovery. He stumbled upon a colossal, sleeping entity. This remarkable entity possessed five heads. The five-headed entity often talked in its sleep. It uttered strange, unfamiliar words and mysterious, echoing sounds, but Hayagriva did not understand them at first; their meaning went completely over his head.

However, Hayagriva was a persistent creature. He kept returning to the side of the sleeping entity, and he listened patiently and intently to the mumbled words. As more time passed and his visits continued, the strange utterances slowly started to become comprehensible to him. When Hayagriva finally understood even a tiny, almost infinitesimal fraction of the entity's sleep-talk, his mind experienced a powerful, transformative explosion. This profound mental explosion dramatically widened his perception of himself, and it also vastly expanded his understanding of the world that surrounded him. The sensation that followed was incredibly potent and deeply intoxicating.

A new, unfamiliar feeling then began to bubble up from deep within Hayagriva. This powerful feeling was a burgeoning sense of overwhelming greed. Hayagriva knew he did not understand everything the entity said, not yet. However, he firmly decided he could learn and understand it all later. So, he made a new, determined resolution: he would meticulously memorize the sounds exactly as the entity uttered them.

After a long and arduous period of careful listening and diligent memorization, Hayagriva had successfully committed all the sounds to his formidable memory. Once he was certain he had memorized everything, he finally chose to leave the dream world.

Back in his own waking world, Hayagriva immediately began to practice. He tried to repeat the memorized words aloud, hoping to unlock their deeper meanings and learn their secrets. As he uttered these potent sounds, the very world around him started to react and change; the clear sky above turned dark and cloudy, and a great, tumultuous storm began to brew with alarming speed. His mere utterance of these powerful sounds had, unknowingly to him, summoned a tempest of truly heavenly and awe-inspiring proportions.

The sudden fury of the storm startled Hayagriva, and he quickly fell silent. The clouds slowly receded, and the winds calmed. A sense of caution tempered his excitement, so he decided to return to his own community. On his journey back, as he traversed a narrow, rocky pass, the ground began to tremble. Before him, stones and boulders shifted and groaned, and then they began to rise from the earth. They assembled themselves into a towering figure, a colossal monster built entirely of rough, grey stone. Its form was crude and massive, with jagged edges for limbs and deep, shadowed hollows where eyes might have been. The stone creature lumbered towards him, its movements causing the earth to shake. It raised a great stone arm to strike, and in an almost instinctual action, Hayagriva opened his mouth. He began to repeat the powerful words he had memorized.

As the sounds left his lips, the dark clouds instantly reformed above. A searing bolt of lightning tore through the sky, and it struck the stone monster directly. There was a deafening crack, and the creature exploded into a shower of pebbles and dust, disintegrating right before Hayagriva's wide eyes.

A new sensation, sharp and exhilarating, sparked within Hayagriva's mind. It was hubris - a powerful surge of pride and arrogance. He had wielded incredible power, and he had destroyed a formidable foe with mere words. The world, it seemed, was his to command. Hayagriva began to experiment with his newfound abilities. He commanded the rivers to change their course, and they obeyed. He caused mountains to rise where once there were plains, shaping the land to his whim. He even forced other creatures to bow before him. The utterances gave him insight, and he used this growing knowledge to further alter his surroundings, attempting to build a world that reflected his own desires.

But his actions did not go unnoticed. The more he used the power and the more he reshaped the world, the more resistance he encountered. More powerful enemies began to appear, drawn by the disturbances he created. Great beasts wreathed in shadow, spirits of biting wind, and hulking guardians rose to challenge him. Each battle was more difficult than the last, and Hayagriva realized a chilling truth. Unless he learned all of the utterances completely and understood their every nuance, he would never truly be safe. His partial knowledge was a dangerous weapon, but it was also a beacon attracting even greater threats. He decided he needed a sanctuary, a place to learn in secret. Hayagriva resolved to descend into the deepest parts of chaos, to hide from his enemies until he had mastered the entirety of the powerful words.

---

Ganesh paused in his narration.

"You must understand," he continued calmly, "the utterances Hayagriva diligently memorised were not mere sounds. They were the very fabric of cosmic understanding, the sacred knowledge known as the Four Vedas. These Vedas are ancient, divine collections of hymns, ritual incantations, and profound philosophical insights; they hold the keys to understanding the universe itself and one's true place within its grand design."

Ganesh let out a soft sigh. "And so Hayagriva, driven by his potent mix of hubris and fear, had effectively stolen this profound and sacred knowledge. He then proceeded to learn these Vedas in the deepest secrecy, hidden away within the churning turmoil of primordial chaos. His selfish pursuit and his subsequent misuse of this immense power, however, served only to plunge the nascent world into even greater disarray. The delicate balance of creation, so carefully established, was grievously disturbed by his actions."

---

Of the three entities that spawned after the splintering. The first was tasked with creation. And create, Brahma did. But what he realised quite early, was that the agents created with the sole purpose of maintaining order were nothing more than shells.

Without a spark of individuality and chaos, they could do little to combat the growing chaos. And so, in a monumental decision, Brahma breathed the spark of free will into his sentient creations.

The act did not come without consequence, as chaos had a tendency to corrupt if left unchecked.

Take Hayagriva for instance. His greed and hubris overpowered his sense of rational thought. And his actions would eventually lead to the degradation of the world.

To combat this, the second of the three entities was tasked with the hardest of tasks: Preservation.

---

Once, in a quiet pond teeming with life, there was a fish. This was a simple, fresh-water fish, and its scales shimmered a brilliant gold. One day, a sudden spark ignited within its tiny mind; the fish realized it was a fish. With this newfound awareness came a chilling understanding: it was small, and the pond was full of larger predators who would gladly eat it. Survival, it knew, required help.

The little golden fish desperately sought assistance from the other beings that frequented its small pond, its only watering hole. It tried to communicate its plight, but none offered any aid. Some larger creatures, with hungry eyes, tried to snap it up. Other, more timid beings, simply darted away in fear of its strange behaviour.

Then one day, a new kind of creature approached the water's edge. It was a tall being, walking on two legs, with strange coverings on its body and a peculiar, smooth face. From the fish's perspective, this creature was a towering giant. The fish, with little hope left, decided to try its luck one last time; it swam close to the surface and made small, pleading motions.

To the fish's surprise, the tall creature did not try to eat it. Instead, it peered down with what seemed like curiosity. The human, for that is what it was, felt a sense of empathy for the tiny, agitated fish. He decided to help it, so he gently scooped the fish up, along with some water, into a small clay pot.

The man took the fish home with him. He fed the fish small crumbs every day, and the fish, safe from predators, began to grow. As it grew in size, its intelligence also seemed to expand. Soon, the fish became too large for the small pot.

Noticing this, the kind man found a new, larger container for his aquatic companion; he moved it into a spacious wooden bucket. The fish continued to thrive under his care, and it grew until it filled the entire bucket.

The man then decided his fish needed even more space. He laboured for many days, and he built a small, clean pond in his own yard, just for the fish. He carefully released his friend into its new home. The fish, delighted with the open water, grew even larger, eventually reaching the full size of the man-made pond.

This pattern continued for some time. The fish kept growing, and the man kept finding or creating larger homes for it. Eventually, the fish became so enormous that it took up the entire space of the large lake that bordered the man's village.

With no other options left, the man realized he had to relocate his enormous friend to the only place vast enough to hold it: the great, boundless ocean. As he prepared to release the giant fish into the sea, the fish spoke. Its voice was deep and resonant, surprising the man. "You have shown me great kindness," the fish said, regarding him with what looked like satisfaction. "When you are in trouble and you need help of any sort, you must call for me."

The man, awestruck, asked the magnificent creature its name. The fish replied simply, "You can just call me Matsya. It just means fish."

With a final, powerful swish of its tail, Matsya disappeared into the ocean's depths. Days passed, and the man often went to the ocean side, hoping to catch another glimpse of his extraordinary friend. But Matsya never came. Days turned into weeks and then months.

One fateful day, the sky turned a terrifying black. A monstrous storm, unlike any seen before, began to ravage the world. The ocean heaved and churned, and colossal waves rose and crashed down and flooded the land. The water advanced with frightening speed, quickly encroaching on the villages and fields.

Panic erupted everywhere. People ran in terror, trying to escape the rising waters. The man, remembering Matsya's promise, rushed to the turbulent shore. In a desperate attempt, with the wind howling and the waves crashing around him, he called out Matsya's name with all his might.

Almost immediately, a colossal golden form rose from the raging sea. It was Matsya, larger than any mountain the man had ever seen. The great fish instructed him, "Quickly, build a large boat. Bring everyone you can, and gather all the animals and seeds, everything of importance, onto the vessel."

The man, filled with a renewed sense of hope, did exactly as Matsya instructed. He and the other villagers worked tirelessly, constructing a sturdy ark. Once everyone and everything vital was safely aboard, Matsya spoke again. "Now, tie a strong rope around my dorsal fin." The man secured the boat to the massive fin. With a mighty surge, Matsya then dove deep into the tumultuous ocean.

To escape the utter devastation of the storm on the surface world, Matsya did something incredible. It gathered its immense strength and leaped upwards, not just out of the water, but out of the world itself. The great fish, towing the boatload of survivors, delved into the swirling, formless expanse of chaos that lay beyond the material realm.

Within the raw, untamed energies of chaos, Matsya began to change. It started to grow even larger, and larger still, feeding on the potent, primordial energies of that chaotic dimension. Matsya swam through the disorienting void, a place where concepts like direction and distance held little meaning. It navigated the churning energies for what felt like an eternity, the ark and its precious cargo secured safely to its back. Then, through sheer coincidence, or perhaps guided by an unseen current in the chaotic flow, Matsya stumbled upon a pocket. This pocket was a strange anomaly, like a temporary stillness within the ever-shifting chaos.

Within this hidden pocket, overwhelming sounds rumbled and echoed everywhere, bouncing off unseen boundaries. Matsya, being a fish and now a creature of immense scale attuned to the deeper currents of chaos, could not truly hear these sounds in the way a land creature might; they were like distant, distorted vibrations to its senses. But the passengers on the boat were not so fortunate. The powerful utterances assaulted their ears, and they all lay unconscious as blood trickled from their ears under the relentless sonic attack.

A deep anger stirred within Matsya. It sensed the distress of the beings it protected. The fish charged towards the source of the deafening sound. There, in the heart of the chaotic pocket, it found a horse-headed creature. Hayagriva was seemingly oblivious to Matsya's approach, lost in the act of narrating something from memory.

Matsya attacked without hesitation. Its massive form surged forward. Hayagriva, startled, retaliated instinctively. He uttered the powerful words, the very words that had once commanded storms and shattered stone. But here, in the depths of chaos, the words held no power; their intricate order was swallowed by the overwhelming disorder of the chaos. And since Matsya could not truly hear the words as Hayagriva intended them, and its very being was now so infused with the primal energies of chaos, it was impervious to their effects. Matsya bit down hard on the horse-headed creature. In one swift, brutal motion, it chomped Hayagriva into a bloody mush.

With the creature dead, a profound silence fell within the pocket. More importantly, the terrible storms that had been ravaging the ordered world above began to settle. The malevolent influence fueled by Hayagriva's misuse of the Vedas had ceased.

Matsya then turned, intending to return the ark and its survivors to the real world. It swam towards the boundary between chaos and order, but it soon realized a new problem. It could no longer fully pass out of the chaos and back into the ordered realm. Its time spent feeding on the primordial energies had caused it to grow to a truly colossal size, too vast to exist entirely within the confines of the structured world.

At the shimmering boundary, the great fish paused. It finally turned its immense eye towards the man on the ark, who was slowly regaining consciousness along with the others. Matsya spoke. Its gentle voice rumbled and soothed the very air. "Human," it asked, "what is your name?"

The man, still dazed but awestruck by the giant, golden fish before him, replied weakly, "I am Manu."

A soft light emanated from Matsya. "Manu," the fish responded, its voice filled with an ancient resonance. "You and your people have shown great bravery in the face of annihilation, and your heart has shown true compassion for a creature such as I. For these qualities, your kind shall be known as Manushya - the children of Manu. May your lineage prosper through the ages, and may wisdom always light your path as you grow."

With those final words, Matsya gave a gentle nudge to the ark, sending it safely across the boundary and back into the now calmer waters of the ordered world. Then, with a slow and powerful movement of its immense tail, the great fish disappeared back into the depths of chaos.