Free Web NovelChapter 186: Chapter 184: My First Masterpiece... Expected Little Taller...
(A/N):
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Guys From This Chapter Volume 10: Pusphasura Revival Begins... Hope To receive your support to this Volume Too...
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The surviving cultists remained frozen where they had fallen.
Neither of them dared to stand.
"...."
"...."
Neither of them even noticed the pain from losing their hands anymore.
Their eyes remained fixed on the enormous crater where the Rakshasa Commander had disappeared.
Thick black smoke slowly rose from its depths, twisting into the evening sky.
The smell of burnt earth lingered in the air.
Not a trace of the commander remained.
No body. No blood.
No roots. Nothing.
It was as though the mighty legion that had taken years to prepare had never existed.
The first cultist’s lips trembled.
His breathing became uneven.
"No..."
He whispered.
His voice barely escaped his throat.
"No... that’s impossible..."
The second man shook his head repeatedly.
His eyes had become vacant.
For years...
No.
For decades.
Their tribe had worked toward this single goal.
Children had been raised hearing stories of Pushpasura.
Generation after generation had guarded the secret ritual.
Many had sacrificed their lives protecting the skull.
Many more had died gathering the materials required for the summoning.
They had waited patiently.
Hidden from the world.
Preparing for the day when their lord’s first legion would once again walk upon the earth.
And today...
For the first time...
They had actually succeeded.
The legion had answered.
The commander himself had descended.
For one glorious moment, they believed victory was certain.
Yet within a matter of minutes...
Everything had been erased.
Not defeated.
Erased.
The first cultist suddenly burst into laughter.
It wasn’t the laughter of joy.
Nor madness.
It was the laughter of a man who had just watched every purpose in his life disappear before his eyes.
"We..."
He laughed weakly.
"...spent years..."
His voice cracked.
"...all those years ...and one man..."
"...one single man..."
His shoulders trembled uncontrollably.
The second cultist slowly lowered his head.
His faith wasn’t broken.
Not yet.
But for the first time...
Doubt had entered his heart.
Who exactly had they fought?
Surely...
No ordinary human could destroy Pushpasura’s legion so completely.
Far beneath the flower forest...
Deeper than any tree root could naturally reach...
Beyond underground rivers and ancient caverns untouched by sunlight...
A massive underground chamber lay hidden.
The walls of the cavern were unlike ordinary stone.
Countless roots stretched across every surface.
Some were as thick as ancient tree trunks.
Others resembled gigantic serpents winding through the darkness.
They didn’t simply grow.
They pulsed.
As though carrying life through something buried deep beneath the earth.
The roots converged toward the center of the chamber.
There...
Suspended within an enormous cocoon woven entirely from roots and flowering vines...
Hung a gigantic figure.
It resembled a corpse.
A body that should have turned to dust countless ages ago.
Yet it remained perfectly preserved.
Its skin had shriveled tightly around its bones like an ancient mummy.
Not through decay.
But because every drop of vitality had been drained from it.
Two enormous heads rested upon the same body.
Each possessed long curved horns.
Six muscular arms extended from its torso.
Even while sealed, one massive hand still gripped an enormous battle axe whose edge remained frighteningly sharp despite the passing ages.
This...
Was Pushpasura.
The ancient Asura who had once marched against the heavens.
The warrior who had defeated countless celestial armies.
The being whom even Indra still remembered with fear.
Lord Vishnu had not destroyed him.
Instead...
He had been deceived.
Trapped.
Buried beneath the very flower forest he had once sought to destroy.
The fragrant flowers blooming across the land above were not ordinary plants.
Every root surrounding his body belonged to them.
For countless centuries, they had slowly drawn away his vitality.
His divine energy. His demonic essence.
Like thousands of tiny mouths feeding upon him without pause.
The flowers bloomed because of him.
The land remained fertile because of him.
Ironically...
The mighty conqueror had become nourishment for the very life he despised.
Even now, countless roots pierced directly through his body.
Some wrapped around his heart.
Others entered his chest.
Several pierced both heads.
Holding him firmly inside the cocoon.
Every heartbeat... Every breath... Every fragment of strength he recovered...
Was immediately stolen away.
Leaving behind only an empty shell.
Yet despite his condition...
Pushpasura wasn’t completely asleep.
"...."
His consciousness drifted somewhere between dreams and reality.
A strange half-conscious existence.
Within his dreams...
He fought endlessly.
Again and again.
He relived the war against the gods.
He watched Indra flee before him.
He crushed celestial armies.
He laughed as the heavens burned.
Each dream always ended the same way.
Lord Vishnu.
The deception.
The prison.
Then...
Everything began again.
An endless cycle which he was forced to watch.
Occasionally... Very occasionally...
His followers managed to reach his consciousness through forbidden rituals.
Their prayers echoed faintly inside his dreams.
He granted them fragments of his power.
Tiny blessings.
Small miracles.
Just enough to keep their faith alive.
Whenever they begged for immortality...
Pushpasura always laughed.
Fools.
Why would he grant immortality?
He had a far better reward prepared.
Once they finally freed him...
He intended to devour every last one of them.
Their bodies. Their souls. Their life force.
Everything.
Inside him...
They would become part of his existence forever.
In his own twisted mind...
That was immortality.
To become nutrients sustaining their god for eternity.
It was the greatest honor he believed he could bestow upon his followers.
Suddenly...
Within his dream... Pushpasura frowned.
He felt something.
His enormous eyelids twitched.
A familiar sensation.
His legion.
His first legion.
They had answered the summoning.
He could feel them.
Thirty familiar presences appearing upon the surface.
Excitement spread through his ancient consciousness.
For the first time in centuries...
The ritual had succeeded.
"Finally..."
The thought echoed through his mind.
"They’ve done it."
"My faithful servants..."
"The seal is weakening..."
"Soon..."
"Very soon..."
His shriveled lips slowly curled into a smile.
He imagined the flowers burning.
The roots dying.
The cocoon breaking apart.
He imagined himself stepping beneath the open sky once more.
He imagined crushing the heavens beneath his feet.
Then...
Something changed.
One presence disappeared.
Pushpasura frowned.
Another vanished. Then another.
His smile slowly faded.
"...."
The disappearances continued.
One after another.
Fast. Far too fast.
His legion... Was dying.
Not retreating. Not weakening.
Vanishing completely as if someone erasing them from existance.
He could no longer feel them.
His consciousness immediately focused on the remaining commander.
Surely...
The commander would survive.
It was stronger than the rest.
Then...
Even that presence vanished.
Silence.
Complete silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
His connection was gone.
The ancient Asura’s eyes snapped open inside the cocoon.
For the first time in centuries...
Pure rage filled both faces.
The roots surrounding his body tightened instinctively.
The entire underground chamber trembled.
Tiny cracks appeared across portions of the cavern ceiling.
The flowers growing on the surface swayed violently despite the absence of wind.
Pushpasura’s breathing became heavier.
His six hands slowly clenched into fists.
Every root piercing his body strained under the sudden burst of power.
Someone...
Someone had destroyed his legion.
Not merely defeated them.
Erased them so completely that not even a trace remained for him to sense.
A low growl escaped both of his mouths.
The sound echoed throughout the underground chamber like distant thunder.
The roots wrapped around his body immediately tightened further, draining away the surge of strength before he could fully awaken.
Even so...
His anger refused to fade.
For the first time in countless centuries...
Pushpasura became curious.
Who...
Who had dared interfere with his resurrection?
Who possessed the strength to wipe out an entire legion led by one of his commanders?
His burning red eyes slowly narrowed inside the darkness.
Then both heads spoke at the same time.
The voices echoed through the underground prison.
"...Who... dares..."
"...stand against... me the mighty ...Pushpasura?"
Meanwhile...
Devara looked around the devastated battlefield for a few moments.
The once beautiful flower field had been transformed into a scarred landscape.
Several patches of earth were still black from the lightning strikes, while faint wisps of smoke continued rising from the enormous crater where the Rakshasa commander had met his end.
The smell of burnt wood and scorched soil lingered in the evening breeze, mixing strangely with the fragrance of the flowers that had somehow survived the battle.
Seeing that everything had finally settled down, Devara let out a slow breath.
"...."
The crimson glow surrounding Amba Tejas gradually faded.
The divine swords gave a soft hum, almost sounding disappointed that the battle had ended so quickly.
Devara smiled faintly.
"You’ve had enough excitement for one day."
As though understanding his words, the twin swords shone brilliantly for a brief moment before dissolving into countless crimson particles of light.
The glowing fragments floated upward like fireflies before disappearing into the evening sky.
The battlefield suddenly felt much quieter.
Only Devara and the two surviving cultists remained.
The two men instinctively lowered their heads.
They no longer had the courage to meet his eyes.
Everything they had believed to be invincible had been destroyed in front of them.
The Legion...
Their commander...
Years of preparation...
Gone.
The young man standing before them had erased it all without suffering so much as a single wound.
Devara casually dusted the dirt from his clothes before looking at them with the same gentle smile he had worn while pretending to be a merchant in the village.
"If you’re both finished staring," he said calmly,
"shall we leave?"
Neither of them answered.
"...."
"...."
"So..."
He folded his arms.
"Are you going to take me to your hideout?"
His voice remained polite.
Almost friendly.
It sounded less like an interrogation and more like someone asking for directions to the nearest marketplace. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
Yet the two cultists felt cold sweat running down their backs.
That gentle smile...
For some reason it frightened them far more than the battle itself.
A man who could smile so calmly after annihilating an entire legion...
What kind of person was he?
The first cultist swallowed nervously.
He slowly opened his mouth.
"I... I..."
He wanted to refuse.
Every instinct told him never to reveal the location of their tribe.
Yet another instinct, one much stronger, screamed that if he lied...
He wouldn’t leave this forest alive.
The image of the Rakshasa commander being erased by heavenly lightning flashed through his mind.
His body trembled uncontrollably.
He finally made up his mind.
"I’ll... take..."
Before he could finish speaking...
His words stopped abruptly.
His entire body froze.
His eyes widened.
The second cultist looked at his companion in confusion.
"What...?"
The man’s body suddenly began trembling violently.
Not from fear. Not from pain.
It was something completely different.
His muscles tightened unnaturally.
His fingers twisted.
Every vein across his neck and face began bulging as though something was forcing its way through his body.
"A... AHHHH!"
He clutched his own head.
His entire body convulsed.
The second cultist instinctively crawled backward.
"What is happening to you?!"
The man didn’t answer.
His breathing became heavy.
Almost animalistic.
Then...
He slowly lifted his head.
Devara’s expression became slightly more serious.
The man’s eyes had changed.
His ordinary pupils had vanished.
In their place burned two eerie yellow irises.
Dark veins spread outward from his eyes, crawling across his face like cracks in old stone.
The atmosphere around him changed completely.
Even the air felt heavier.
Then...
The man laughed.
"Hahahaha..."
The sound wasn’t normal.
It echoed strangely.
As though two different people were laughing at the same time.
One voice belonged to the frightened cultist.
The other... Was deeper. Older. Cruel.
The voices overlapped, creating a disturbing echo that didn’t sound human at all.
Devara raised an eyebrow.
"So..."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Possession?"
The possessed cultist slowly stopped laughing.
His yellow eyes looked Devara up and down with open contempt.
Not once.
Several times.
As though examining prey.
Then an arrogant smile spread across his face.
"So..."
The doubled voice echoed across the ruined battlefield.
"You are the little insect..."
"...who destroyed my legion."
There wasn’t the slightest trace of fear.
Only arrogance. Only contempt.
The being possessing the cultist looked at Devara as though he were nothing more than an annoyance.
It slowly raised one hand.
Its index finger stretched toward Devara.
Then, with deliberate slowness, it drew a cross-shaped mark in the air.
The invisible mark stopped directly in front of Devara’s face.
Almost like someone marking a target.
The possessed man chuckled.
A cruel...
Mocking...
Almost playful chuckle.
-Chuckle!
"I’ll remember this face."
His smile widened.
"The first thing I’ll do after breaking free from this miserable prison..."
"...is take your head."
He paused for a moment before shaking his head.
"No..."
"That would be too merciful."
His yellow eyes narrowed with sadistic amusement.
"Killing you immediately would rob me of the pleasure."
"I’ve slept for centuries."
"I’ve dreamed of countless ways to make my enemies suffer."
"You..."
He pointed directly at Devara.
"...will be my first masterpiece after I return."
The forest suddenly grew colder.
Even the evening wind seemed to stop.
The possessed cultist continued speaking, his voice carrying an ancient hatred.
"I won’t kill you first."
"I’ll tear away that confidence."
"I’ll strip away your hope."
"I’ll make you watch everything you wish to protect crumble into dust." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
"I’ll show you villages burning."
"I’ll show you kingdoms falling."
"I’ll make those who trust you curse your very name."
"And only when your spirit has completely broken..."
"...only when your eyes finally understand true despair..."
His smile twisted into something monstrous.
"...then..."
"...I’ll take your head."
Silence followed.
The yellow eyes remained locked onto Devara, expecting fear.
Expecting anger.
Expecting at least some reaction.
Instead...
Devara simply looked at him for a few seconds.
Then sighed.
A long, disappointed sigh.
-Sigh!
He scratched the side of his cheek thoughtfully before looking straight into those glowing yellow eyes.
"So..."
he said in an almost casual tone.
"You’re Pushpasura."
It wasn’t a question.
It was a statement.
The ancient Asura smiled proudly.
"Indeed."
"I am the one who shall bury the heavens."
"The conqueror whom even the gods feared."
"The one destined to erase this age."
He expected awe.
Perhaps even terror.
Instead...
Devara nodded thoughtfully.
"I see."
Another brief silence followed.
Then Devara smiled politely.
"I was expecting someone a little... taller."
For the first time in centuries...
Pushpasura forgot what he was about to say.
"...."
He could feel like Devara could see his appearance as if he was standing before him.
The ancient Asura simply stared.
Even the surviving cultist beside him blinked in disbelief.
The forest fell completely silent.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Somewhere in the distance...
A lone bird let out a confused chirp.
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(Author note:)
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