Chhayavritti burst into the dimly lit hall of Asuras like a tempest, shadows swirling around him as he steadied his breath. The flickering torches cast eerie shapes on the stone walls, mirroring the tension in the air. Arishtak and Kambuk leaned forward, their eyes glinting with interest and malice.

"Woh... Woh abhi bhi Divya hai..." Chhayavritti panted, his voice a blend of awe and urgency.

Mayantak furrowed his brows, his curiosity piqued, "Tatparya ? Use toh sab vismaran ho chuka tha."

Chhayavritti straightened, gathering his thoughts. "Vismaran toh ho chuka hai sab, kintu uski shaktiya abhi bhi uske paas hai. Aaj usne mujhe dekh hi liya tha, kintu saubhagya se mai bach gaya. Yeh vichitra ghatna hai, kyuki mujhe koi saadharan vyakti bina meri iccha ke dekh nahi sakta."

The weight of Chhayavritti’s revelation hung thick in the air, pressing down on them like an impending storm.

Arishtak's expression darkened, worry etching lines into his rugged features, "Arthat uski shaktiya aisi hai jaise koi sota huya vyakti. Jo kabhi bhi jaag sakta hai."

"Yadi aisa hai, toh jis prakar ucha svar ya kisi ke upasthiti ke karan vyakti jaag sakta hai, uski shaktiya bhi vipda ke samaye jaag uthegi." Mayantak said in a low voice, "Hum koi bhul nahi kar sakte."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. Kambuk’s expression shifted, a spark of ambition igniting within him. "Hume abhi prahaar karna chahiye. Woh abhi keval ek abodh baalika hai. Jaise jaise badi hogi, uski shaktiya aur balwaan hoti jaayegi."

But Chhayavritti shook his head, urgency lacing his voice, "Tum uss par aise hi prahaar nahi kar sakte. Woh sadev anek manushyo ke bich rehti hai, veer yoddha uski raksha karte hai. Aise mei tum uss tak nahi pahuch sakte."

"Toh sahi samaye kab hoga ?" Kambuk’s eagerness dampened, replaced by a frown.

Chhayavritti replied, his voice steady. "Agle purnima ko woh sab Saurashtra mei honge. Usse poorv tumhe unke maarg mei Krishneshwari par prahaar karne ka avsar mil sakta hai."

The three asuras exchanged glances, the weight of Chhayavritti’s words sinking in. A silent agreement passed among them; their fates intertwined with this plan. With malevolent determination, they nodded in unison, the flickering torches casting long shadows that danced like specters of their dark intentions.
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The sun hung low over the battlefield of Mathura, casting a golden hue that contrasted sharply with the chaos below. The clash of swords and the cries of warriors filled the air as Jarasandh’s forces surged against the valiant defenders of Mathura.

Dust swirled around the feet of the combatants, mingling with the cries of warriors and the clash of weapons. Satyaki, fierce and determined, cut through the ranks of Magadh’s soldiers, his sword gleaming with each strike. Beside him, his father, Satyak, moved with a seasoned grace, their movements synchronized as they defended against the commanders of Jarasandh’s army.

On the opposite flank, Balram wielded his divine plough like a cannoneer, the heavy artifact arcing through the air and splintering bones as he cleared a path through the enemy. His muscles rippled with strength, and the ground trembled beneath him as he advanced, a storm of fury and might.

Gada and Babhru, his brothers, flanked him on their swift steeds, unleashing a barrage of arrows and fierce charges that broke through the enemy’s lines like a crashing wave. Together, they formed an unyielding force against the tide of Magadh, their spirits ignited by the resolve to defend Mathura from the darkness that threatened to engulf it once again.

Dust billowed, obscuring the fierce combatants locked in a deadly embrace. The earth trembled beneath the weight of galloping steeds and the shouts of combatants. Amidst the chaos, Krishna faced Ekalavya, the prince of Nishadas.

Eklavya, with his keen gaze and practiced hands, nocked an arrow, the shaft whispering promises of precision. Krishna, with a serene smile, mirrored his pose, drawing back his own bow, the string taut with divine power. As the two archers released their arrows in unison, time seemed to halt.

With a sudden, fluid motion, Krishna unleashed an arrow that struck Ekalavya’s bow, splintering it with a crack that echoed across the field. Ekalavya stood in shock, weaponless, his pride wounded deeper than any arrow could pierce.

The lord prepared to release another arrow, but just then, a chariot thundered between them, halting the impending strike. A young man emerged, tall and resolute, around the same age as Krishna, brandishing a polished bow with an intensity that commanded attention. His features were strikingly reminiscent of Ekalavya’s, but with an air of youthful defiance.

"Krishna !" The young man called, his voice unwavering, "Eklavya-putra Ketuman tumhe dwand ki chunauti deta hai !"

Krishna’s lips curled into a knowing smile, a sense amusement gracing his face. "Savdhaan !"

With deft precision, he unleashed his arrow. Ketuman countered with remarkable agility, his arrows slicing through the air, embodying the legacy of his father. Ekalavya watched with a heart full of hope and trepidation. Memories of his past battles against Krishna flooded his mind—each defeat a reminder of his struggles. Yet, as he observed Ketuman’s fierce resolve, a spark of pride ignited within him.

The tension in the air crackled like static as the two archers squared off. In an instant, arrows flew like lightning, whistling through the air. Ketuman's arrows, though skillfully aimed, were mere whispers against Krishna's storm. Each of Krishna’s shots was a masterpiece, precise and powerful, slicing through the air with divine grace.

Ketuman dodged and countered, his heart pounding with valor, but Krishna's strength shone through. As arrows collided, a dance of skill and fate unfolded, Ketuman's spirit burning bright, yet Krishna remained the unyielding sun, casting shadows that no amount of valor could overcome.

The battle raged on, but it was clear; the tides were already turning in Krishna's favor.

The ground trembled as Krishna unleashed his fury, his arrows finding their mark with relentless accuracy. Finally, in a breathtaking moment, Krishna released a powerful shot that shattered Ketuman’s bow, splintering wood and sending shards flying. Ketuman’s chariot, too, crumbled under the force of Krishna’s might. The young warrior fell to his knees, breathless and defeated.

Krishna’s gaze softened for a moment, but the gravity of war pressed upon him. He gestured to his charioteer, Daruk, with a slight nod. The chariot surged forward, leaving the fallen warrior behind. Ekalavya, who stood watching, the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders. Neither he nor his son could conquer the divine force of Krishna.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a golden hue across the battlefield of Mathura, the air thickened with tension and the cries of warriors echoed around. The clash of swords and the thundering of war elephants created a chaotic symphony, underscoring the urgency of the moment.

Krishna's chariot, adorned with vibrant colors, rolled forward with an air of divine authority, its wheels cutting through the dust and debris. The moment he reached Jarasandh’s chariot, silence enveloped the battlefield, as if the entire world paused to witness the impending clash between the two.

With a sudden burst of energy, Krishna leaped from his chariot, his presence commanding and fierce. Before Jarasandh could fully comprehend the threat before him, Krishna lunged forward, his movements fluid like a river. In one swift motion, he seized Jarasandh's charioteer, tossing him to the ground with an effortless flick.

Jarasandh, taken aback, barely managed to reach for his sword, but Krishna was faster. With a resounding crack, Krishna struck Jarasandh with the side of his bow. The blow resonated, and the mighty king crumpled on his chariot, unconscious, as silence momentarily enveloped the battlefield

Daruk, who saw this, smiled and raised his conch shell to his lips. The powerful sound echoed across the field, cutting through the din of battle, drawing the attention of warriors from both sides.

With a roar of triumph, the Yadava warriors of Mathura joined in, their conch shells blaring, the air electrified with cheers. Jarasandh had fallen once more, and victory danced in the hearts of the Yadavas.

The Magadh soldiers and their allied kings stood in stunned silence, their faces marked by a pallor of defeat. The proud banners that once waved defiantly now drooped, their emblems of strength overshadowed by the weight of failure. Once again.

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A/N

Jarasandh sharam bech diya tha kya-💀
Kyuki I legit can't remember yeh kaunse number ki defeat hai~