The rishi stood at the edge of the hut.
His eyes burned with fury.
His robes fluttered with power.
He looked down at his body—coated in mango pulp, leaves, and forest resin.
He looked at the boy holding his axe.
And he roared.
The Wrath of Parashurama
The air trembled.
The trees bent.
The river stilled.
Parashurama raised his hand, and the axe flew from Dhira's grip, returning to its master like a loyal beast.
"Who dares mock a warrior-sage?" he thundered.
"Who dares touch my weapon?"
The group froze.
Bhairava stepped forward.
Dhira stepped in front of him.
"We didn't know," Dhira said. "We thought you were hurt."
"You buried me in mangoes," Parashurama growled.
"We were trying to heal you," said the first follower.
"With mangoes," said the second.
"And goat chants," said the third.
"And sabji," said the fourth.
Parashurama raised his axe.
And the storm began.
Karna's Realization
Karna stood at the edge of the camp, watching the scene unfold.
Then he heard the name.
Parashurama.
His breath caught.
His heart pounded.
"The warrior-sage," he whispered.
"The destroyer of kings."
"The teacher of Dronacharya."
He had searched for this man across forests, rivers, and shrines.
And now he was here.
But enraged.
Unforgiving.
Unleashing divine fury.
Karna's hands trembled.
"If I fight him now," he thought, "he may never accept me as his disciple."
"But if I do nothing… my brothers will die."
He stood frozen.
Torn between dream and duty.
The Battle Begins
Dhira didn't wait.
He grabbed Adolita.
The stick glowed faintly.
He charged.
Parashurama met him with a swing that split the air.
The clash echoed through the forest.
The group scattered.
Bhairava joined the fight.
The five followers tried to help—with stones, sticks, and mangoes.
They were thrown back easily.
Parashurama was not a man.
He was a storm.
Adolita Unleashed
Dhira fought with everything.
He used Adolita at full potential—its strikes fast, precise, unpredictable.
He dodged divine arrows.
Deflected energy blasts.
But the gap was too wide.
Parashurama summoned a celestial weapon—Agneyastra, the fire lance.
He hurled it toward one of the followers.
They had never seen anything like it.
No shield.
No counter.
No time.
Dhira moved.
The Shield of Flesh
He leapt.
Spun.
Took the blast on his back.
The fire seared through him.
His skin burned.
His breath vanished.
But he didn't drop Adolita.
He didn't fall.
He turned.
And kept fighting.
Then came Varunastra, the water spear.
Dhira blocked it with his body.
Then Vayuastra, the wind blade.
He took it on his shoulder.
Then Shulastra, the piercing trident.
He caught it mid-air and redirected it into the ground.
Each divine weapon tore into him.
But he stood.
Bleeding, Burning, Unbroken.
The Push
Karna finally moved.
He stepped forward.
Raised his bow.
Stood beside Dhira.
But Dhira turned.
And pushed him back.
Hard.
Karna stumbled.
"What are you doing?" he shouted.
Dhira didn't answer.
He just smiled.
A soft, tired smile.
His eyes met Karna's.
And they said everything.
"Protect them."
"Buy them time."
"You're strong. Stronger than me."
Karna froze.
Then nodded.
The Collapse
Dhira was bleeding.
His robes torn.
His body trembling.
He fell.
Got up.
Fell again.
Got up again.
His will moved his limbs.
Not strength.
Not pride.
Just loyalty.
The group cried.
They tried to protect him.
Bhairava fought like a lion.
But they were defeated.
One by one.
Six bodies lay unconscious.
Only Dhira stood.
Barely.
The Final Strike
Parashurama raised his axe.
His eyes glowed.
The weapon shimmered with divine fury.
He hurled it toward Dhira.
The boy didn't move.
He couldn't.
But he didn't drop Adolita.
And then—
Karna moved.
The Brother's Vow
He stepped forward.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just memory.
"Once you eat with us," they had said, "you're our brother."
Karna raised his bow.
Stood beside Dhira.
The divine axe flew—spinning through the air like a comet of judgment.
Karna's fingers tightened around the string.
He was ready to intercept.
But before he could release—
Dhira struck him.
A sharp blow to the shoulder.
Karna stumbled sideways, shocked.
"What are you doing?" Dhira shouted, voice hoarse, blood dripping from his lips.
"Are you going to injure your future guru?"
Karna froze.
Dhira's eyes locked onto his.
And in that moment, Karna understood.
Dhira knew.
He knew who they were fighting.
He knew Karna's dream.
And he wasn't going to let it die here.
"You want to learn from him," Dhira said, panting. "You've searched for him. You've bled for him."
"If you raise your bow now… he'll never accept you."
Karna's breath caught.
Dhira smiled.
A broken, tired smile.
His eyes said everything.
"Let me buy you time."
"Let me protect your dream."
"You're my youngest brother now."
Then Dhira turned.
Faced the axe.
Alone.
And the river rose.
The River's Hand
Just as the weapon was about to strike—
The water rose.
The Ganga surged.
A massive hand formed from the river itself.
It caught the axe mid-air.
Held it.
Stopped it.
Parashurama froze.
The forest fell silent.
The river Rored.