The revelation of Krodhakala's boon—the necessity of a weapon that has never before been conceived, forged, or is presently known—hit Bahubali like a physical blow. His mind, exhausted by two days of relentless warfare, spiraled into a desperate contemplation.
All his knowledge, all the ancient Divyastras learned from his gurus, were suddenly rendered useless. The Rakshasa was immortal to all conventional power.
How do I create a weapon that has never existed? he thought, his eyes distant. The Devas dictate the very process of creating an Astra. My gurus, Mahadev and Mata Parvati, taught me the rules of invocation and purity.
Krodhakala, seeing the sudden cessation of Bahubali's devastating attacks, seized the opportunity. He let out a triumphant roar, his massive, regenerating body surging forward like a demonic tidal wave toward the static chariot.
"The human mind breaks under the weight of the impossible!" Krodhakala bellowed, raising his enormous, spiked fist for a crushing strike.
"Bahu! Focus!"
The sharp, urgent command from Lord Sri Krishna snapped Bahubali out of his trance. Krishna, without waiting for instruction, executed a dizzying, tight pivot. The chariot wheels screamed against the dusty earth as they narrowly avoided Krodhakala's blow, which left a deep, smoking crater where they had been moments before.
"The time for contemplation is over, King of Magadha!" Krishna's voice was stern, laced with divine urgency. "The truth is not enough; we must survive to use it! Fight!"
Bahubali took a deep breath, the spiritual shock receding. He renewed his attack, firing rapid volleys of physical arrows, focusing on disorienting Krodhakala rather than inflicting mortal damage.
The battle renewed its ferocious dance. Krodhakala was relentless, attacking with sheer brute strength and fury, while Bahubali and Krishna performed an impossible ballet of evasion and counter-strikes.
The remaining Maharathis—Karna, Arjuna, Bhishma, and the others—watched the duel with mounting astonishment. They had witnessed the failure of the Brahmastra, the Narayana Astra, and the Pashupatastra. The weapons of the Trimurti had failed to kill this one demon. Their exhaustion was forgotten, replaced by sheer disbelief.
Karna, wiping blood and sweat from his brow, stood beside his chariot, his jaw tight. "The weapons of the gods... they are ancient and true. Yet, this creature survives them all! How can a mortal hope to defeat such a boon?"
Arjuna, ever the archer, tracked every move. "He is sustained by the Creator's word, not his own strength. Magadh Naresh is fighting a conceptual battle now. Look at his focus—he is seeking a new path."
Bhishma, resting his worn spear, watched with his aged eyes, the only man who seemed to grasp the full, terrifying weight of Brahma's boon. "Only a new thought can defeat an ancient decree," he murmured.
As the duel continued—a high-speed, desperate game of evasion—Bahubali's mind raced. He reviewed the fundamental principles of Divyastra creation: Mantra (Sound), Dhyana (Focus), and Deeksha (Initiation/Austerity). Every Astra he knew was based on an external energy source—Fire (Agni), Wind (Vayu), Water (Varuna), or the divine power of a deity.
The loophole was clear: the weapon must be unconceived. It couldn't be a variation of the known elements.
The greatest power I possess is not the knowledge of the gods, but the purity of my own soul, he realized suddenly. The discipline instilled by my true Gurus. I must turn my life itself into the weapon.
A fierce resolve settled in his heart.
Bahubali glanced at Krishna, who returned his gaze with a knowing, profound nod. The Lord of Dwaraka understood the decision before it was articulated. The vow given to his gurus msy be sacred but it is less important than the survival of Dharma.
"Forgive me, Mahadev. Forgive me, Mata Parvati," Bahubali murmured, a silent vow passing his lips. "The time for rules has ended. This battle requires a sacrifice greater than my life."
The moment of creation arrived.
Bahubali knew he needed a brief window of stability. He nocked an arrow—the one weapon he could invoke that relied solely on elemental, serpentine bondage.
"NAGASTRA!" he roared.
The arrow flew, and instantly, a coil of immense, spectral serpents erupted, wrapping themselves around Krodhakala's massive form. The demon struggled and thrashed, but the ancient, binding power of the Nagastra held him captive, locking him in place for a few crucial seconds.
Then, Bahubali performed his final, shattering act. He took a simple, mundane arrow from his quiver—a piece of wood and steel with no spiritual history. He held it upright.
He closed his eyes, and his Yogic Shakti—the immense power accumulated through years of meditation, discipline, and devotion—surged out of his body. A tangible, golden-white aura enveloped him, making the air around the chariot crackle.
He began to chant a mantra, not a Vedic chant for a god, but a personal oath of commitment:
"I, Bahubali, Son of Abhiram and Sumithra, Disciple of Mahadev and Mata Parvati, King of Magadha! I have followed the path of Dharma and Satya without wavering. All the penance, all the sacrifice, all the righteous deeds done in my life—all my accrued Karmaphal—I now sever from my soul!"
The energy channeling into the arrow was terrifying. It wasn't fire or light; it was the concentrated essence of a righteous life.
As he chanted, his allies heard the revelation of his true Gurus, the supreme deities. A wave of collective shock washed over the Maharathis.
Duryodhana gasped, "A disciple of Mahadev and Mata Parvathi Themselves? And he never spoke of it?!"
Arjuna muttered, "His power is not merely human... it is transcendent."
Bhishma smiled faintly, a tear tracing a path through the dust on his cheek. The true secret is out. How could he not know he already asked his mother about Bahubali, and she told him about everything she knew of him.
Bahubali opened his eyes, now burning with the light of pure, personal sacrifice. His voice was a final, clear decree:
"I am putting all my Karmaphal into this arrow as its power! Let this power, which has no name, no history, and no divine source—let this arrow pierce the darkness that is trying to cover all of Aryavarta!"
With a terrible, soul-wrenching effort, he released the arrow.
The final arrow, glowing not with the fire of the Agneyastra but with the blinding, terrible light of compressed Karmaphal, struck Krodhakala directly in the center of his chest.
There was no explosion. Instead, a light so profound and absolute that it transcended the spectrum burst forth from Krodhakala's body. The light of pure Righteousness and Sacrifice met the darkness of the demonic boon.
Every warrior on the field—Karna, Arjuna, Bhishma, and even Krishna—instinctively raised a hand to cover their eyes. The light was not physical; it was spiritual, a confrontation between Dharma and Adharma at the atomic level.
When the light finally subsided, leaving behind a lingering scent of ash, an eerie, profound silence fell over Kurukshetra.
Where Krodhakala had been bound, nothing remained. The immense, powerful body of the Rakshasa King had been utterly annihilated, reduced to a small, insignificant pile of fine ash scattered across the ravaged field.
The war was over. The combined armies of men and demons were defeated, and the greatest threat to Aryavarta lay disintegrated on the battlefield. Bahubali lowered his bow, his entire body trembling with exhaustion and the shock of his ultimate, internal sacrifice. His Karmaphal was gone, spent on one single, necessary arrow. He had won the war, but he had paid the highest, most personal price imaginable.