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God of War - Karmic Cycle [AU]

Reader mode
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.
 
namar13766 said:
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 expand...
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.
 
Chapter 21 - Trinity New
  • Threadmarks
    • 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.
     
  • New
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    • juniorsundar said:
    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 expand...
    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
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 22 - Cycle New
  • Threadmarks
    • 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.
     
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    • Sorry for the delay. Take a super long chapter as consolation!

    More mythology dumps. As stated before, I have taken some creative liberty to unify the mythology and timeline. I am open to discussion in the comments.

    "Are you trying to waste my time on purpose, boy?" Kratos asked. His voice was an agitated growl.

    "What do you mean?" Ganesh responded. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

    "What does a fish have to do with... anything for that matter?!" Kratos demanded.

    Ganesh nodded his head wisely. He answered, "Can you imagine just how powerful these beings could be? They have the power to create the universe and everything within it."

    Kratos shrugged dismissively.

    "Well, beings of such power cannot step foot into the natural world," Ganesh explained. "Their mere existence could shred the fabric of reality as we know it. So, you must be wondering how the Preserver can accomplish his task. He cannot personally manifest in the world. Well, he does so through Avatars. These are incarnations."

    A silence hung in the air. A realisation then started to dawn on Kratos.

    "The fish?" he asked. His voice held full certainty.

    Ganesh nodded his head. He said, "That is the only way possible. Any action taken to fix the disorder must not, by itself, go against order. Things have to follow a natural 'flow'."

    But a single point nagged Kratos. "It cannot be pure coincidence. The fish and the horse-headed demon's paths did not cross like that by chance."

    "That is true," Ganesh affirmed. He gave a vigorous nod. "Some minor manipulation is necessary. And those manipulations are acceptable. But ultimately, this is the limit. It is the limit of the intervention that the Preserver can personally perform. And this is also the cause of Brahma's imprisonment."


    Asuras and Devas are two sides of the same coin. The distinction between them appeared a few aeons after Hayagriva's death.

    While Manushyas, or humans, survived with Matsya's assistance, another group of beings also managed to survive the chaotic eras.

    These beings did not escape into the chaos. Instead, they weathered the entire onslaught. Because of this, these beings emerged far superior. They were also more powerful.

    They could wield powers and magics. These abilities were beyond the imagination of mortal lifeforms.

    Of course, such power brought conflict. Fights between these beings could cause unimaginable havoc. When these titans clashed, mountains would crumble into dust. Seas would boil and turn to steam. The very sky would crackle with uncontrolled energies. Lands would be scarred beyond recognition, sometimes for centuries.

    Of these superior entities, there were two primary factions. One faction was led by Indra. Indra was a powerful being. He had the power to manipulate the storms themselves. His command over tempests and lightning allowed his faction to weather the chaotic storms of the past. The second faction was led by Mahabali. Mahabali was immensely powerful. Many considered him invulnerable. His strength was legendary, and his resilience unmatched.

    After years of destructive conflict, they both realised a grim truth. They would be cursed to remain in a war of attrition. This constant fighting would eventually destroy them all. They needed to found a kingdom for themselves. They needed a place of stability and prosperity.

    Coincidentally, both kings received a vision in their dreams. The vision spoke of a beautiful, hidden realm. This realm was untouched and fertile. They could take it over and call it their own. The vision also warned them about what was necessary to reach this promised land. They would need to bore a path through the oceans of chaos itself. To do this, they would need to create a massive drill. The vision specified that a mountain would serve as the drill bit. They would also need a mighty anchor. This anchor would hold up the mountain-bit, so it would not sink and be lost in the endless chaos. A rope of immense strength was also required. This rope had to withstand the storms of chaos and not break under the strain. Crucially, the vision insisted they would need to collaborate with their sworn enemy.

    Following the vision's guidance, the two kings held a temporary truce. They agreed to meet on a neutral island territory. This was a small patch of land unclaimed by either faction.

    In this island territory, as they discussed their uneasy alliance, they saw a small turtle. The turtle was diligently carrying various items on its sturdy back. This mundane sight sparked an idea in both kings simultaneously. They took that small turtle from its clutch. Then, both factions, in a rare show of cooperation, began to raise it. They fed it generously. They nurtured it carefully. The turtle grew, and grew, until it reached the size of a small mountain.

    Once the turtle was of sufficient age and colossal size, they carefully guided it to the shores of the chaotic ocean. Mahabali then, with his incredible strength, uprooted the very mountain where his faction resided. He carried this massive peak. He placed it firmly upon the great turtle's back. The turtle bore the weight stoically. Its massive legs were like unshakeable pillars.

    Indra, in turn, received another dream. In this dream, he found a large, many-headed snake. This serpent, Vasuki, resided deep in the depths of a lake near their faction's current residence. The snake, surprisingly, was docile. It was open to being used as the rope they so desperately needed.

    Once all the preparations were finally done, the two sides worked together. They wrapped the giant serpent Vasuki around the mountain that rested on the turtle's back. Then, positioning themselves on opposite sides, the two factions gripped the serpent's body.

    And then, they started to churn.

    One faction pulled hard as the other let the snake slacken. Then, the other faction pulled with equal force while the first let their side slacken. The mountain on the large turtle's back began to spin. It accelerated clockwise, then it halted. After a brief pause, it started turning counter-clockwise. This rhythmic, powerful churning continued.

    Indra's faction, as the ones who found the snake, managed to grab it by its tail. Mahabali's faction was therefore left to hold it near its head. This position ultimately caused a problem for Mahabali's side. The churning inflicted great pain on Vasuki, causing it to eject venom involuntarily. The venom debilitated Mahabali's faction, though Vasuki's own efforts greatly reduced its potency, allowing them to endure.

    A vortex began to build at the very tip of the mountain. This vortex drilled deeper into the fabric of chaos. Suddenly, the chaos cracked. From this crack, a vile mist oozed out. It was a poison of decay and destruction. This poison was the manifestation of all the worst parts of chaos. The deadly mist immediately started to wreak havoc. It spread rapidly. It began to destroy and kill everything in its path.

    It was at that precise moment that the third entity, formed after the great split, took shape. The third was the Destroyer. His purpose was to ensure that the world, once it had achieved stagnation, would be restarted anew. He saw the newly forming world being demolished before his very eyes. A deep sadness welled within him. Thus, he did the unthinkable. He immediately took a deep, powerful breath. He sucked all the poisonous mist into his own being. He did this knowing full well that the poison could destroy him.

    Luckily, his devoted pet snake, which always coiled around him, acted swiftly. The snake wrapped itself tightly around the Destroyer's neck. This action prevented the deadly poison from passing further down into his body. The Destroyer adamantly kept his mouth closed. He refused to let any of the poison escape back into the world. In the end, the potent poison damaged the Destroyer's neck. It left his neck marked with a deathly, permanent blue shade.


    Kratos stared at Ganesh. An awkward frown creased his brow.

    The hints were there in the description; Kratos had met the Destroyer before.

    Ganesh simply nodded. Then, he continued his tale.


    The churning of the chaotic ocean resumed with renewed vigour. The crack in the chaos grew wider and wider. It expanded until a massive explosion rocked the very foundations of existence. This explosion revealed two vast, shimmering dimensional shards.

    Energy, raw and potent, began to flood into these newly formed shards. It swirled and coalesced, hinting at new realities taking shape.

    But the two shards did not form equally. Both absorbed an equal quantity of energy. However, one converted this energy optimally. It created a realm that was paradise itself. This realm was filled with beautiful fields and meadows. Flowers of countless colours, shapes, and sizes grew there. It contained magnificent natural formations, and majestic creatures lived in balance with the land.

    The second shard appeared simpler, though it was not barren. The remaining energy, instead of enriching the lands, condensed. It formed a single, vast lake.

    With two options before them, and one which looked clearly superior at a cursory glance, the two factions immediately descended into a brawl. But the two leaders were more level-headed.

    Mahabali immediately stepped forward. He declared that his faction deserved consideration. They had, after all, endured the brunt of the damage from the snake ejecting its venom.

    Indra was about to refute. Then, he noticed the turtle. The turtle holding the mountain was slowly inching towards the simpler shard. It began to descend into the lake there.

    A flicker of intuition made him pause. He held his tongue. He conceded the larger, more paradise-like realm to Mahabali's faction.

    Indra's faction was livid at his decision. How could they give up such a bounty to their opponents?

    It was only later that they realised this single decision had secured their future.

    The water in the lake was special. It carried the bounty of energy that should have enriched the land. Instead, this energy filled the water with immense vitality. Those who drank from it received the gift of immortality.


    "He picks favourites," Kratos commented.

    "Humans in particular are the Preserver's pet project," Saraswati cut in. "Short-lived, capable of great compassion and evil in equal quantity."

    "But most important of all, easily manipulated," Ganesh supplemented. "Which was why they were granted the entirety of Bhuloka to colonise and expand in. The Devas who colonised Svarga were his second pet project. A few simple nudges here and there were all it took for them to take the bait. And now, with immortality in their grasp, nothing was stopping them from enforcing their superiority."

    "Except the burden of responsibility," Saraswati added. "Indra, the god of storms. Vayu of the wind. Agni of fire. Surya of the sun... All it took was a few well-placed visions, and the world was already worshipping them as deities."

    "Just as it worships us," Ganesh expressed with a defeated sigh.

    "Anyway, with Bhuloka cleared of its greatest threats and its inhabitants cordoned off in Svarga and Patala, the world had once again regained order... For a while."


    Patala was a beautiful paradise. But under the haphazard rule of the Asuras, this realm started to lose its splendour.

    Mahabali could not hold the faction together for long. Once word spread that immortality had slipped through their fingers, the group started to splinter.

    Eventually, these groups started to skirmish. This caused a large portion of Patala to devolve into a wreck.

    One of the groups that split off was led by two brothers: Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu. The former was stronger than he was cunning. The latter was more cunning than he was strong. Together, they were a perfect pair of rulers. Their reign expanded to encompass most of the splinter groups from the Asura faction.

    One particular day, Hiranyakashipu was performing his usual introspection. He suddenly found himself whisked away. He was deposited in a world that was somewhat reminiscent of Patala of yore. This new realm shimmered with an ethereal light. Its landscapes were sculpted with an artistry that bespoke ancient, potent magic. Lush flora, unlike any he had seen, pulsed with gentle luminescence, and the very air hummed with a quiet power.

    As Hiranyakashipu ventured deeper, he came upon a clearing. There, nestled amidst colossal, crystalline formations, lay a figure of immense presence, seemingly lost in a profound slumber. The being possessed of five heads.

    But the entity's sleep wasn't as deep as it appeared. Because as he drew nearer, the figure started to stir. One by one, ten eyes opened and fixed upon him.

    A wave of power, controlled yet undeniably vast, washed over Hiranyakashipu as the being let out a calm breath.

    Hiranyakashipu, for all his might and the dominion he held in Patala, felt an instinctual recognition of a superior force. This was no mere powerful Asura or Deva; his existence transcended them, and he could not fathom just by how much.

    Almost instinctively and without a moment's hesitation, Hiranyakashipu fell to his knees. He pressed his forehead to the glowing earth, and with the utmost deference, he said, "O, magnificent one! O, radiant being of untold power and wisdom! Forgive this humble one's intrusion into your sacred repose. My eyes are blinded by your glory, my spirit trembles before your majesty!"

    He continued in this vein, his words a torrent of praise, extolling the perceived virtues, the evident power, and the sheer awe-inspiring presence of the five-headed entity. He lauded the serenity of its faces, the depth within its eyes, the aura of ancient knowledge that clung to it like a shroud of starlight.

    A gentle smile graced the being's faces. And as the initial shock from the awakening subsided, a semblance of conversation began.

    Hiranyakashipu, ever the opportunist, began to subtly weave questions into his continued adulations. He spoke of his own realm, his ambitions, and his frustrations with the limitations he faced.

    The five-headed being listened. Its expressions were unreadable, yet its attention was absolute.

    After a while, Hiranyakashipu did not realise that he had droned on excessively, going so far as to unburden himself emotionally. It was almost too easy.

    "I... I should go," he said before quickly extricating himself. That moment of weakness had rattled him subconsciously - he was not used to it.

    Hiranyakashipu constantly wore a mask of ruthlessness and strength. The freedom to speak openly in the hidden realm was, therefore, intoxicating. He found himself returning regularly. There, he would find the five-headed entity and allow his true self to emerge.

    "The more I consider it, the stranger it seems," Hiranyakashipu said one day. He lay vulnerable, his head resting on the being's thighs. "The churning, the division of realms... it all feels orchestrated. My kind were disadvantaged at every opportunity. Mahabali will not explain how he and Indra received the same dream. That is simply unheard of!"

    At this, the being spoke for the first time since their initial meeting. "Dreams are merely gateways to other realms and realities. Only those with immense mental power can make these dream realms solid and lasting. Beings in the lower realms lack such capacity."

    All five heads spoke at once in a symphonic harmony. The being's voice was calm and methodical. His words were plain and brief. Yet, as Hiranyakashipu considered them, a realisation dawned. A greater power was manipulating events. Everything was orchestrated. All involved were made to believe the ideas were their own.

    After several days pondering this revelation, Hiranyakashipu approached his younger brother, Hiranyaksha. He shared his conclusion. Predictably, this infuriated Hiranyaksha.

    "What is the point of this?" Hiranyakashipu asked, his voice tinged with defeat.

    "What do you mean, Brother?!" Hiranyaksha retorted in disbelief. "We must do something! This is unfair!"

    "Exactly. What can we do?" Hiranyakashipu replied. "Consider this. If someone is stronger than us, stronger than Mahabali, stronger than all Devas and Asuras combined, what action can we take against such a person?"

    "Are you saying we should just... give up?" his younger brother bellowed.

    Hiranyakashipu did not explain further. He removed himself from the argument. As the more practical brother, he understood the limits of rebellion. The entity orchestrating everything was an unstoppable force. It had clearly shown that they were not immune to its influence.

    He journeyed to the most remote corners of Patala. There, he settled himself, unmoving. He entered a meditation so deep his skin hardened like stone. In this state, he separated his soul from his body. His soul then entered the realm of the five-headed being, and he began to learn.

    Hiranyaksha initially disagreed with this path. However, he soon realised his rebellion would be against a nameless, faceless power. Without a clear target, he could not rally forces. His efforts began to falter.

    His morale crushed, Hiranyaksha followed his brother. He too settled into deep meditation in a distant part of Patala.

    Sensing his brother had joined him, Hiranyakashipu guided Hiranyaksha's soul into the being's realm. Together, the two brothers began to expand their understanding. They learned from the vast knowledge held within the many heads of the being they now knew as Brahma.

    The brothers proved to be eager students. They absorbed Brahma's teachings like parched earth drinks the first rains. Both were sincere in their pursuit of knowledge. The ever-cautious Hiranyakashipu weighed each lesson carefully. He analysed its implications with his sharp intellect. Hiranyaksha, in contrast, was more open and immediate. He quickly shed his inhibitions. He mentally adopted Brahma as a father figure with pure and unquestioning devotion.

    For a span that felt like an eternity within Brahma's timeless realm, the trio coexisted in a state of focused learning and mutual respect. It was a period of profound intellectual growth for the brothers. They delved into cosmic secrets and universal laws under Brahma's tutelage.

    Yet, even in this haven of knowledge, Brahma sensed a subtle dissonance. At times, the brothers felt hollow; their vibrant spirits would become momentarily dimmed by an echo of some unaddressed void. It was a fleeting sensation, but it troubled the Creator. A growing paternal affection for his diligent students stirred within him. He observed their earnest efforts and their underlying vulnerabilities.

    Driven by this burgeoning fondness, Brahma eventually decided to offer them a gift. "You have studied well," his chorus of voices resonated with warmth. "Your dedication is commendable. As a mark of my satisfaction, I shall grant each of you a boon. Ask what you will."

    Hiranyakashipu became thoughtful. His mind raced, calculating the possibilities, the potential pitfalls of any request. Hiranyaksha, however, did not hesitate. His impulsive nature took over. "Great Father Brahma!" he exclaimed, his eyes alight with fervour. "Grant me this: that I may not be slain by man or beast, by Deva or Asura! Make me invulnerable to all these!"

    Having received his boon, Hiranyaksha's spirit surged with newfound power and a burning desire for retribution. He abruptly left his meditative state. He concluded that the orchestrating power Brahma had hinted at was deeply invested in Bhuloka, the realm of mortals. He resolved to strike there. A relentless campaign began. He would subjugate Bhuloka and demonstrate the folly of underestimating the Asuras.

    With Brahma's boon protecting him, no man, beast, Deva, or Asura could stand against Hiranyaksha. His path of conquest was swift and brutal. With his power unchecked, he carved a swathe of destruction across Bhuloka.

    In a final, terrible act to inflict maximum carnage and despair, Hiranyaksha infiltrated Svarga itself. He sought out Bhumi Devi, the gentle goddess embodying the Earth. He seized her and dragged her from her celestial abode. Through cruel torture and overwhelming force, he compelled her to submerge Bhuloka beneath the cosmic waters. A cataclysmic flood ensued, rivalling the deluge that had marked the very dawn of creation. The cries of drowning mortals and the despair of the Earth goddess echoed through the devastated realm.

    And true to his prediction, the great orchestrating power did take action. The Preserver could not let such devastation stand.

    In the dense, mist-shrouded forests of a remote floating island, a unique creature took its first breath. A wild boar - a Varaha - was born, but it bore a strange mutation. Instead of four hooves, it possessed two powerful arms and two sturdy legs. Its siblings were born vibrant, squirming with the energy of new life. This Varaha, however, felt strangely hollow.

    Unlike its brethren, this peculiar Varaha showed no interest in typical porcine pursuits. It did not forage idly or wallow in mud. A singular, dogged pursuit consumed its existence. From a young age, it would venture to the island's edge and swim out into the vast, churning ocean below. Each day, it pushed itself further, increasing the distance and the duration of its swims. It learned to dive and plunged into the cold depths, again extending its depth and time submerged with relentless practice.

    The ocean teemed with life. The Varaha feasted on the abundant fish, and its strange body grew rapidly. It became massive, and its muscles became thick and powerful. It would sharpen its formidable tusks against the ancient trees of its island home. It ground them against the rocky hillsides and even the island's mountainous spine. Its tusks became like lethal spears.

    Once it attained a colossal size and unmatched strength, the creature took a final, decisive dive. It plunged deep into the dark abyss of the cosmic ocean. Using its keen hearing, it picked up faint, subdued whimpers. It followed these sorrowful sounds that were the cries of the Earth Goddess, Bhumi Devi.

    The Varaha found her imprisoned. She lay captive within a lightless volcanic ravine, which was a scar in the deepest confines of the ocean floor. Hiranyaksha stood guard, gloating over his prisoner and the drowned world above. He sensed the Varaha's approach and turned, a sneer twisting his features. The two titans clashed.

    The battle raged for days without pause. The ocean floor buckled and smoked from the force of their blows. Hiranyaksha, protected by Brahma's boon, fought with savage confidence. He landed blow after blow, and the Varaha, though immensely powerful, seemed to falter. Ecstasy filled Hiranyaksha. He anticipated his victory, relishing the thought of crushing this unexpected challenger.

    But in a surprising, brutal turnabout, the Varaha found an opening. With a speed that belied its bulk, it lunged. It sank its massive, sharpened tusks deep into Hiranyaksha's neck. The tusks tore upwards, through his jaw, silencing his triumphant roar. Hiranyaksha died instantly, his invulnerability pierced by a creature that was neither man nor beast in the conventional sense, nor Deva, nor Asura.

    The Varaha then gently lifted the weeping goddess from her prison. It carried her on its broad back, swimming upwards through the dark waters, back towards the light and its floating island sanctuary.

    Bhumi Devi turned to thank her saviour. But before she could utter a word, the great Varaha shuddered violently. Its massive form convulsed. Then, with a sound like tearing thunder, the creature exploded in a shower of blood and gore. Its purpose fulfilled, the vessel was empty once more.

    News of his brother's demise reached Hiranyakashipu in his meditative seclusion. The loss was profound. A deep, cold sorrow settled within him. It was in stark contrast to the burning ambition that usually fueled his being. Yet, this grief did not ignite an immediate, fiery rage. Instead, it brought a chilling clarity. He had witnessed, albeit indirectly, the swift and decisive power of his true adversary - the Preserver. This was not a foe to be underestimated or challenged rashly. The fate of Hiranyaksha served as a grim testament to that.

    After a long period of silent contemplation, his mind sifting through layers of grief and strategic calculation, Hiranyakashipu resolved to claim his own boon from Brahma. He approached the Creator, his demeanour was outwardly calm, but his eyes burned with an unyielding resolve. "Great Father Brahma," he began, "the time has come for me to request what you so generously offered." He then meticulously outlined his desire: "Grant me that I cannot be killed by any being born of your creation, whether human, Deva, Asura, animal, or any hybrid thereof. Ensure that my death cannot occur during the day, nor during the night. I shall not be slain on the earth, in the air, or in water. I cannot be killed where I reside, nor outside. No weapon, whether mundane or divine, shall be the instrument of my end."

    Brahma listened, his five faces etched with a profound weariness. "Hiranyakashipu," his voices intoned, "this path you choose is fraught with peril. The power you seek to defy is fundamental to the order of existence. This is not a conflict you can win." But Hiranyakashipu's heart, now encased in the ice of his loss and the fire of his ambition, was deaf to the warning. Revenge had blinded him to all else. He respectfully, but firmly, insisted on his boon. With a heavy sigh, Brahma granted it.

    Empowered and seemingly invincible, Hiranyakashipu's first act was not one of immediate violence, but of information warfare. He returned to Patala, and from there, his words spread like wildfire across the realms. He publicised the existence of the Trinity - the Creator, the Preserver, and the Destroyer. He focused particularly on the Preserver, painting a vivid picture of a manipulative deity - a puppeteer pulling the strings of fate for his own inscrutable purposes. He highlighted the injustices, the perceived favouritism, the suffering caused by these grand, cosmic games.

    His conquest was methodical. He turned his attention first to Bhuloka, the realm of mortals. His armies, bolstered by his own invulnerability, swept across the lands. Kingdoms fell, and resistance crumbled. He established his dominion with ruthless efficiency. However, this campaign forced a painful separation. He had to leave his wife and their newborn son, Prahalada, behind in the relative safety of Patala.

    During Hiranyakashipu's long absence, young Prahalada grew. In the palace gardens of Patala, an old, unassuming gardener often tended to the boy. This gardener was, in secret, a devout follower of the Preserver. He saw the innate goodness in the young Asura prince. Gently, through stories and simple explanations, he spoke to Prahalada of the Preserver's true nature - his role in maintaining cosmic balance. He described the Preserver's avatars not as tools of manipulation, but as acts of selfless intervention to restore dharma. Prahalada, whose pure heart was untouched by his father's bitterness, listened intently. The gardener's words resonated deeply, and the boy, in turn, became a fervent devotee of the Preserver.

    Upon Hiranyakashipu's triumphant return to Patala, his joy at reuniting with his family was short-lived. He soon discovered his son's unwavering faith in the very deity he had sworn to defy. Fury consumed him. That his own flesh and blood would worship his sworn enemy was an unbearable betrayal.

    His rage escalated to a horrifying degree. He resolved to extinguish this spark of devotion, even if it meant extinguishing his son's life. He summoned his sister, Holika. She possessed a power that made her immune to fire. Hiranyakashipu commanded her to take Prahalada onto a pyre. "Let the flames consume his heresy," he roared. Holika, though perhaps with some reluctance, obeyed. She sat upon the pyre, cradling the calm Prahalada in her lap as the flames were lit. But as the fire blazed, Prahalada prayed fervently to the Preserver. A miracle occurred. The flames, instead of harming the boy, seemed to intensify around Holika. The heat grew beyond measure, and her power failed against the divine protection surrounding Prahalada. Holika, the fire-immune Asura, melted away into ash while Prahalada remained untouched.

    At his wits' end, and with his fury now mixed with disbelief, Hiranyakashipu dragged Prahalada to the grand audience hall of his palace. "You speak of this Preserver, this god of yours!" he goaded, his voice dripping with venom. He dropped all pretence of paternal concern. "If he is so powerful, what is there to stop me from killing you right now? Where is your god, boy? Show him to me!"

    Prahalada replied calmly, "Father, my Lord is everywhere. He is in the bark of the smallest tree, and the rust on this very pillar. He is in every particle of existence."

    Enraged by this unwavering faith, Hiranyakashipu seized his heavy mace. "Is he in this pillar then?" he thundered. With all his might, he swung the mace and struck the stone pillar beside his throne.

    Instead of shattering or crumbling, the pillar groaned. It began to warp and twist as if it were made of soft clay.

    Suddenly, the pillar exploded outwards. From the dust and debris, a terrifying form emerged. It was a creature of nightmare, half-man and half-lion - a Narasimha. Its muscular torso and powerful arms were human-like, but its head was that of a ferocious lion, complete with a shaggy mane and eyes burning with incandescent rage. Four powerful arms ended in claws as long and sharp as daggers. The creature was not born of any womb; it was moulded from the very substance of the pillar. It let out a deafening roar, releasing a sound that was not only loud but carried the concussive force of a hundred thunderstorms that shook the palace to its foundations.

    Hiranyakashipu, despite the shock, quickly composed himself. He was not reckless like his brother. His sharp mind instantly processed the nature of this new threat. This creature was not born of Brahma's creation in the usual sense. It had been made. One condition of his boon was already bypassed. He steeled himself for the inevitable conflict.

    The Narasimha attacked with the ferocity of a rabid beast. It gave Hiranyakashipu no moment of respite. Its claws tore through the air seeking flesh, and Hiranyakashipu fought back with all his might. But he realised with growing unease that the Narasimha used no weapon, neither mundane nor divine. It fought with its natural endowments – its claws and teeth. Another condition of his boon was rendered useless.

    The battle raged. Time flowed, and the sun arced across the sky. The Narasimha fought without tiring like a relentless engine of destruction. Hiranyakashipu's endurance, however, was not limitless. The sheer ferocity of the man-lion's assault began to wear him down. As the sky outside the palace windows began to bleed into the hues of twilight - that temporal space that was neither day nor night - Hiranyakashipu found himself near defeat. Yet, another condition of his boon was met.

    A grim satisfaction flickered in Hiranyakashipu's eyes despite his exhaustion. He could not die on earth, in the air, or water. He could not be killed inside his abode, nor outside. He was, he believed, still safe.

    But Narasimha was a creature of shrewd intellect as well as brute force. In a swift move, it lunged. It grabbed Hiranyakashipu's arms with two of its powerful hands, wrenching them from their sockets with a sickening tear. With its other two hands, it seized the crippled Asura king. Narasimha then carried him, not inside the hall, nor fully outside, but to the threshold of the palace - the portico. It was a space that was neither within nor without. There, Narasimha sat and placed Hiranyakashipu across its lap. He was not on the earth, nor in the air, nor in the water.

    Then, with a final roar, Narasimha plunged its dagger-like claws into Hiranyakashipu's abdomen. It disembowelled him with ruthless efficiency. The creature then began to devour him, tearing and rending. It consumed him from the inside out, meticulously ensuring that not a single drop of his blood touched its thighs or the ground below. All conditions of Brahma's boon were met, and all were overcome.

    When its hunger and rage were finally sated, Narasimha's form began to shift. The raw, terrifying energy that composed it coalesced and solidified. The half-man, half-lion creature transformed back into stone. It became a permanent statue, forever frozen in a posture of fury, at the very entrance to Hiranyakashipu's grand castle. It stood as an eternal reminder to any who might dare to oppose the Preserver.


    "Twice the Preserver had to descend, going against the cosmic laws through excess intervention," Ganesh explained. "The Varaha and Narasimha were direct manipulations of the natural laws, raw power forced into being. Such actions, while restoring a semblance of order, also frayed the very fabric of those laws."

    Ganesh paused, allowing Kratos to absorb this information. "After the fall of Hiranyakashipu," he continued, "a great council was convened. The Preserver, as his presence was now known, addressed the assembled Devas and the remaining, somewhat chastened, Asura leaders. He spoke with compelling eloquence. He argued that the Creator, Brahma, in his boundless compassion and adherence to the letter of cosmic law, had inadvertently enabled such catastrophic disruptions. By granting boons of near-invincibility, Brahma, though well-intentioned, had become a point of vulnerability in the cosmic order. The Preserver painted a picture of a future where stability reigned, where such extreme interventions would no longer be necessary. This stability, he proposed, did not require further creation. There was no true need, he argued, for the Creator to be so readily accessible to all, especially those whose ambitions might twist his gifts into weapons of mass destruction."

    The Preserver's arguments were persuasive. The Devas, still reeling from Hiranyaksha's rampage and Hiranyakashipu's reign of terror, were easily swayed. They craved security and a return to undisputed supremacy. Many Asuras, weary of constant conflict and seeing the futility of opposing the Preserver's might, also conceded. They saw a path to a more predictable existence, even if it meant diminished influence.

    "And thus," Ganesh concluded, "the Creator was effectively banished. He was confined to his realm. The myriad pathways to his abode, once open to sincere seekers of self-improvement, were sealed. Great barriers woven from cosmic energies were erected. Brahma, the source of all creation, was banished by the decree of those he had created and nurtured. The universe, to protect itself from the consequences of its potential, had imprisoned its father."

    With Ganesh's tale concluded, Kratos slowly turned. He faced the looming darkness beyond the stone gate that led into the cave. The shadows within seemed to writhe, a stark contrast to the faint, ethereal light of Ganesh's own realm.

    A flicker of something akin to hope stirred within Kratos. Ganesh's story, despite its tales of cosmic manipulation and divine politics, had planted a seed. If this Creator, Brahma, possessed the power to grant boons of such magnitude – boons that could twist the very laws of life and death – then perhaps, just perhaps, he held the power to unravel a curse.

    Kratos took a deliberate and cautious step into the oppressive darkness.
     
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