Kiara's body ached. Cuts on her arms stung, her shoulders burned, but she forced herself to rise. She wiped a thin line of blood from her temple, letting her eyes blaze with defiance.
Mohana's smirk widened, sharp and cruel. "Stubborn," she hissed, voice dripping venom. "Always refusing to fall. Always thinking you can fight me."
The arrow—the very one Mohana had sent spinning—trembled in the air, then began moving again, faster now, heading straight for Kiara from behind. The metallic hum was chilling, a whisper of impending pain.
Kiara didn't falter. She twisted at the last possible moment, arms outstretched, catching the arrow mere inches from her eyes. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple as she exhaled, steadying herself, gripping the arrow like a lifeline.
The room seemed to hold its breath. Family members watching from the side let out silent sighs of relief, seeing her unbroken resolve.
Vinod's eyes flicked to the hallway. He gave a sharp, decisive nod. "Aakash, Angad—now."
Aakash and Angad surged forward, hands steady as they grabbed their shotguns, ready to join the fight, their resolve hardened by the sight of Kiara standing firm despite the pain and the danger pressing in.
The air crackled. Shadows and tension thickened. Every second felt stretched, every heartbeat a drum of suspense. The battle wasn't over—it was just beginning.
The shotguns roared. Aakash and Angad fired in unison, the shells kicking back against their shoulders. The pellets streaked through the air, aimed directly at Mohana.
For a heartbeat, it seemed like the attack might land. But then—her form shimmered, shadows rippling across her skin—and the wounds healed almost instantly, as if the bullets had never touched her.
Mohana's lips curled into a cold, sharp smile. Her braid unfurled, long and serpentine, moving with a will of its own. In a blur, it lashed out at Aakash and Angad, striking them with bone-jarring force. They crashed back against the walls, sliding across the floor, groaning as they struggled to regain footing.
The room went silent for a split second, save for their ragged breaths.
Susheela's hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified. "Oh my sons…!" she whispered, frozen in disbelief.
Bhoomi's hands clenched at her sari, her heart hammering. "Oh God!"
Chandrika stepped forward, her voice shaky but urgent, "We cannot let her… she's… she's too powerful!"
Kiara, bloodied and wounded, tightened her grip on her arrow. Pain flared in her arms, but her eyes—sharp, burning, unyielding—never left Mohana. She whispered under her breath, steadying herself, "I won't let you… I will protect him… no matter what."
Mohana's laughter echoed through the room, low and menacing, reverberating off the walls as shadows danced like living flames.
The air thickened with tension. Every heartbeat was a drum of suspense. Every movement, every glance carried the weight of fear, courage, and the fight to survive.
The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos. Smoke and dust rose from the ground, mingling with the acrid scent of blood and scorched earth. The dark forces surged forward relentlessly, their movements synchronized, ruthless, unstoppable.
Vikram and Varun stood their ground, blood trickling from shallow wounds, sleeves torn, muscles trembling from exhaustion. Yet they fired arrow after arrow, every shot precise, every release a desperate prayer. Each arrow struck, but for every enemy that fell, two more surged forward, dark eyes glinting with malice.
Vikram's voice cracked as he shouted, "Varun! Keep pushing! Don't let them break through!"
Varun gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with grime. "I'm trying… but there are too many…"
Amid the chaos, Yuvaan sat on the throne he had created atop a rise, his black robes swirling around him like smoke, eyes glowing with dark satisfaction. A smile, thin and cruel, tugged at his lips as he watched the Reevavanshis struggle.
"They fight bravely… but it is futile," he murmured, almost to himself. "Every arrow, every strike… it only delays the inevitable."
Around him, the ground trembled under the weight of his presence. The eclipse he summoned in Kaalvansh cast a dim, ominous light across the battlefield, bathing friend and foe alike in a shadowed gold.
Vikram's eyes flicked upward, noting the unnatural sky, the oppressive darkness pressing down. "Hold your line!" he bellowed. "We cannot let them fall! Not now!"
But each push forward seemed to be met with double the force. Every breath came heavy, every step a struggle against the tide of darkness. Yet despite the pain, despite the fear, the Reevavanshis held, their spirits unwilling to break—though with each passing moment, Yuvaan's pleasure grew, feeding the power coursing through him.
He leaned back slightly, observing the battlefield with a predator's calm. His laughter, low and cruel, cut through the clamor of battle, chilling the hearts of those who heard it.
"Their courage is admirable… but it is meaningless," he whispered, his gaze dark, eyes flashing. "Soon… everything will belong to me."
The Reevavanshis pressed forward, struggling against the overwhelming tide, their movements desperate but precise, as though every action could change the course of what seemed like an inevitable defeat.
The battlefield held its breath, waiting for the next strike, the next move, the inevitable clash between the dark king and those who refused to bow.