Chapter 42: The Final Dagger

The once beautiful garden that had once blossomed with life and color was now a desolate wasteland, strewn with the broken bodies of soldiers, soaked in blood and dust.

What had once been a sanctuary of peace was now a graveyard.

Ayushman stood amidst the carnage, his eyes scanning the bodies of his fallen men, their lifeless forms sprawled across the ground.

Fury, raw and visceral, surged through him like a tidal wave. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

From behind him, Draupadi’s voice cut through the suffocating silence, soft but unyielding, like the calm before a storm. “No matter what you do, Ayushman, you can never win.”

Her words, though quiet, radiated a strength that challenged the chaos around them. The quiet certainty in her voice pierced through the air like a blade.

A feral growl slipped past Ayushman’s lips, his handsome features twisting into a snarl. His eyes, dark as midnight, locked onto hers with a hatred that burned deep within him, a fire that could not be extinguished.

“I will never lose,” he hissed, each word dripping with venom. “Not to them.”

Draupadi held his gaze, her eyes unwavering, filled with a sorrow that ran deep. “Look around you,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. “You already are. Wake up from your delusions, before it’s too late.”

She gestured to the bodies scattered across the ground, the blood staining the earth.

The once-loyal soldiers, the friends who had fought for him, now lay broken and discarded, like remnants of a nightmare.

She took a breath, her voice softening with a plea she knew was futile. “Ask them for forgiveness, Ayushman. It’s not too late.”

For a moment, just a fleeting second, something flickered in Ayushman’s dark eyes—a hesitation, a crack in his fury.

But it was gone as quickly as it came. His face twisted into a maniacal grin, and a laugh, wild and unhinged, burst from his lips.

“Forgiveness?” he sneered, his hand wrapping around her arm with a cruel grip, his fingers digging into her skin.

He yanked her closer, his face inches from hers, his breath hot against her cheek. “Forgiveness is for the weak.”

Before Draupadi could react, Ayushman pulled her hard, his fingers biting into her arm with brutal force.

Pain shot through her body, and a scream tore past her lips, raw and agonizing.

His grip felt like iron, his strength suffocating. She tried to twist free, but his hold tightened further, sending fresh waves of pain through her.

“You’ll regret this,” she gasped, her voice strained.

Ayushman’s lips twisted into a cruel smirk, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure.

“There are many things I regret in my life, Draupadi,” he murmured, his voice dark and taunting. “But destroying the Kuruvanshis? That isn’t one of them.”

Draupadi’s chest heaved with pain, but her spirit remained unbroken. She glared up at him, her eyes filled with a fierce defiance.

“They treated you like family,” she spat, each word laced with disgust. “And you betrayed them.”

Ayushman’s face contorted with rage. With a snarl, he jerked her around, his hand tightening in her hair, tugging her hard enough that she stumbled.

Another scream ripped from her throat, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

“They were never my family!” Ayushman roared, his voice booming across the battlefield.

“They were weak! They were nothing compared to what I have become!”

The distant sounds of battle—the clashing swords, the dying screams—echoed in the background, blending with the chaos inside Ayushman’s heart.

He was unraveling, losing control, the hatred and power consuming him. Every word, every snarl that slipped past his lips was filled with the bitterness of betrayal and a hunger for destruction.

“They treated you like a brother,” Draupadi managed to say through the pain, her voice shaking. “And you chose this? You chose blood and death over loyalty?”

Ayushman snarled again, his grip tightening.

“Loyalty? Loyalty is for the weak! Power—true power—is what rules this world, Draupadi. You, of all people, should understand that by now.”

Her heart clenched, but she refused to back down. “Power that destroys everything around you is not power, Ayushman. It’s madness.”

Another burst of laughter escaped him, more deranged than the last. “Madness?” he echoed, his voice mocking. “Perhaps. But madness is what wins wars, isn’t it? And I will win.”

Ayushman muttered under his breath, his words growing in fury. The sharp pain shooting through Draupadi’s skull was unbearable. Each whispered incantation twisted her mind tighter in his grasp.

Fear coiled around her heart like a serpent, squeezing with every passing second. Her thoughts raced in agony. How had I been so blind? How could I never see this monster before?

Ayushman’s voice rose from an angry growl to a full incantation.

Dark words wrapped around her, suffocating her spirit. Draupadi gasped, her breath caught in her throat as panic seized her gut, terror swelling like a relentless wave of a tsunami, threatening to drown her entirely.

Her mind thrashed against the invisible bonds, but with every effort, the pain intensified.

Her skull felt as if it were shattering, splitting apart beneath a merciless hammer.

A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she tried to focus on breathing through the torment.

Ayushman’s smirk twisted cruelly as he saw her weakened. “That’s what you get for talking back to me.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the ongoing battle.

The Pandavas were still engaged in the fight, the Kuruvanshis struggling under the weight of the dead soldiers Ayushman had summoned.

But even he knew it wouldn’t last much longer. His enemies were powerful—his control was slipping.

Eyes darting around, he dragged Draupadi with him, weaving through the shadows like a predator with his prey. His hand clamped tightly over her mouth, her muffled cries barely audible over the din of the battlefield.

Ayushman’s heart pounded in his chest as they slipped through the remains of a shattered wall. Panic began to gnaw at him; everything was falling apart—his soldiers, his magic, his carefully laid plans.

His allies were dead, and soon, he would be next. But not if he played his final hand. Not yet.

A loud thunderclap reverberated through the sky, as if the heavens themselves were enraged by the chaos below.

Dark clouds gathered ominously overhead, lightning flashing like jagged knives cutting through the blackened sky.

The symphony of death around them intensified, a macabre background to the terror unraveling within Ayushman.

Draupadi’s pain only grew, sharp and unbearable, but Ayushman pressed on, dragging her further into the shadows.

He still had his final Ace—the one thing no one could take from him.

He turned to flee, desperation creeping into his movements, but his escape was cut short.

A towering figure appeared before him, stepping out from the darkness like a force of nature.

Lightning cracked again, illuminating the battlefield for the briefest moment.

It was Yudhisthir.

Ayushman’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded like a drum as he stared into the cold, storm-like fury in Yudhisthir’s eyes.

Those eyes, dark as midnight, burned with the promise of retribution, a force so terrifying that it sent chills crawling down Ayushman’s spine.

Yudhisthir stood like an unmovable mountain, his broad shoulders squared, his spear gripped tightly in his hand.

Every inch of him radiated power, strength, and a cold, controlled fury that was far more terrifying than any battle.

“Let. Her. Go.”

The words were spoken with deadly calm, but they reverberated through the air like thunder.

Each syllable was a warning, a promise of the violence to come if Ayushman did not comply.

Yudhisthir’s handsome features were set in grim determination, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on Ayushman with unyielding rage.

He was the embodiment of power, his presence so commanding that even the battlefield around them seemed to pause, waiting for his next move.

Ayushman tightened his grip on Draupadi, pulling her closer to him, his hand tangling in her hair with brutal force. She screamed, her voice filled with pain and desperation.

Yudhisthir’s gaze hardened, the sight of his wife’s suffering igniting the fire of rage inside him.

The calm king was gone—replaced by a husband ready to kill for the woman he loved. His body thrummed with the need for vengeance, every fiber of his being focused on ending Ayushman’s life.

“Ayushman,” Yudhisthir’s voice was low, laced with a venom so potent that it cut through the chaos like a blade. “You’ve made a fatal mistake.”

Ayushman sneered, yanking Draupadi again to provoke Yudhisthir. “I’m not afraid of you, Yudhisthir. I hold your wife in my hands. You should be afraid.”

But Yudhisthir did not flinch.

Instead, he took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his spear. “You’re wrong, Ayushman. I am not afraid. But you should be.”

Ayushman’s bravado faltered for a moment, fear creeping into his chest as Yudhisthir’s gaze bore into him.

The king was not bluffing. He was a man possessed—by love, by vengeance, and by the unbreakable bond he shared with Draupadi.

“Let her go,” Yudhisthir repeated, his voice sharp as steel. “Or I will tear you apart.”

Draupadi sobbed, her body trembling in Ayushman’s grasp as she reached for her husband with what little strength she had left. “Arya…” she gasped, her voice weak but filled with hope.

Yudhisthir’s eyes, hard with fury moments ago, softened as they locked with hers. “I’m here, Drau,” he said, his voice filled with love and worry.

But the softness disappeared as quickly as it came. His attention snapped back to Ayushman, his expression deadly once more.

Ayushman’s fear bloomed into full panic. He yanked Draupadi back harder, forcing another scream from her lips.

“You can’t stop me!” Ayushman snarled, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’ll take her from you! I’ll kill her before I let you have her!”

Yudhisthir’s face twisted with a fury so intense it seemed to shake the ground beneath them. His calm shattered in an instant.

“Touch her again, and I’ll make your death so slow that you’ll beg for mercy.”

Ayushman tried to retreat, but Yudhisthir lunged forward with lightning speed.

His spear flashed through the air, slicing across Ayushman’s arm, drawing blood. Ayushman howled in pain, stumbling backward, but Yudhisthir was relentless.

“I told you, Ayushman,” Yudhisthir growled, advancing with lethal precision. “You should’ve never touched my wife.”

With each step forward, Yudhisthir’s grip on his spear tightened, his eyes burning with a righteous fury that terrified Ayushman.

The king had become a force of vengeance, and nothing would stop him from ending this.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and burning flesh, and the distant sound of steel clashing against steel mixed with the dying screams of men.

“You think I fear you, Yudhisthir?” Ayushman spat, though his voice betrayed the growing panic in his heart.

He knew, deep down, that he could never match Yudhisthir’s prowess in battle.

Not with brute strength, not in a fair fight. But he still had the king’s weakness in his grasp, and that was enough.

Yudhisthir’s gaze swept over the battlefield, the fallen bodies of his men, the wreckage of a world once beautiful.

His voice, deep and steady, echoed with the weight of judgment. “Look around you. Your world is falling apart, Ayushman. You cannot win.”

The words sent a violent wave of dread crashing into Ayushman’s stomach, but he bared his teeth, sneering.

He could still hear the agonized screams of his soldiers, but he would not surrender.

Not now.

He tightened his grip on Draupadi, forcing her body closer, her soft neck inches from the blade of his sword.

Yudhisthir’s eyes flicked to Draupadi, and for a moment, the burning fury in them softened.

His wife. His queen.

Her eyes, wide with terror, locked onto his, filled with silent, desperate pleas.

The need to tear Ayushman apart—to end this nightmare—was barely contained within him. His heart thundered in his chest, but as his gaze met hers, something tender flickered beneath the rage.

“Drau,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with love.

For a brief second, the fury that had consumed him melted, replaced by worry and devotion. She was everything to him.

“Arya…” Draupadi’s voice broke as she cried out, her trembling hand reaching for him.

But Ayushman jerked her back violently, and she screamed in pain. That was it.

The calm mask Yudhisthir had worn shattered instantly, replaced by an unrelenting storm of rage. His eyes, once soft with love, now burned with an inferno of fury. He took a step forward, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Ayushman smirked, pushing Draupadi even closer to him, the sharp end of his blade pressing into her neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

“You’re in no position to make demands,” he hissed, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

“I’ll make you watch as I take everything from you—starting with her. She’s just a pawn in the game, and I’ve already won.”

Yudhisthir’s face darkened, the storm building within him ready to explode.

His grip on his spear tightened, the knuckles of his hand turning white.

“You have made the last mistake of your life,” he said, his voice icy, sending a shiver down Ayushman’s spine.

“You think you can break her, torment her, and still walk away?”

Ayushman’s smirk widened, insanity glinting in his eyes. “I don’t think, Yudhisthir,” he spat, his voice rising to a frenzied pitch. “I know. Because no one—especially not you—can stop me. I am the darkness itself!”

Without warning, Ayushman flung Draupadi to the ground with a force that made her cry out in pain.

He raised his hands, dark energy crackling from his fingertips, and with a primal scream, he hurled it toward Yudhisthir.

But Yudhisthir was ready. He swung his spear with lightning speed, deflecting the blast. The impact sent him back a step, but his stance remained steady, unshaken.

Ayushman’s laughter echoed through the battlefield, manic and unhinged.

Bloodlust danced in his eyes as he summoned more dark energy into his hands, the ground around him blackening under its weight.

“You’re nothing compared to me!” he roared, the magic swirling chaotically around him. “You and your righteousness—your so-called love—are weak! Power is what wins wars, not love!”

Yudhisthir’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he took another deliberate step forward.

The weight of his rage seemed to hang in the air, thick and suffocating.

“You think this is about love?” he said, his voice a low growl, vibrating with intensity.

“This is about justice. You harmed my queen, and for that, you will pay with your life.”

With a scream, Ayushman unleashed another wave of dark magic, but Yudhisthir dodged it with ease, his spear slicing through the air with lethal precision.

The blade caught Ayushman’s side, tearing through flesh. A spray of blood followed, painting the ground red.

Ayushman screamed in pain, clutching his wound, his face twisted in agony.

Blood seeped between his fingers, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “You think you can beat me?” he hissed, his voice shaking with rage. “I am more than human! I have power beyond your comprehension!”

Yudhisthir’s lips curled in a sneer as he stepped closer, his spear poised for another strike.

“You are nothing but a coward hiding behind stolen magic,” he said, his voice sharp as steel. “Without it, you are powerless.”

Ayushman’s fury exploded. With a roar, he lunged at Yudhisthir, hurling another blast of dark energy.

But Yudhisthir deflected it effortlessly, his spear slicing through the air once more. T

he blade slashed across Ayushman’s chest, the force of the strike sending him staggering backward. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his torn robes.

Ayushman fell to his knees, gasping for breath, his body trembling as the life force drained from him.

His vision blurred, and as he looked up at Yudhisthir, standing tall and unyielding before him, fear finally pierced through the veil of madness.

Yudhisthir’s expression was cold, merciless. His spear was raised, ready for the final blow. “You have terrorized my wife long enough,” Yudhisthir said, his voice calm but filled with deadly intent. “Now, you face judgment.”

Yudhisthir bore down on him, a figure of deadly grace and unwavering fury.

Agony ripped through Ayushman’s legs as Yudhisthir’s blade sliced clean through flesh and muscle, the precision too fast to be seen.

His scream tore through the air, a guttural sound that mingled with the cries of his men—a perfect, horrific symphony of death.

He staggered, desperation clawing at his chest, his mind grasping for the dark magic that had always been his salvation.

Incantations formed on his lips, the words thick with venom, but before he could complete them, Yudhisthir’s foot connected with his chest.

The force sent him flying across the garden, his body slamming hard into the stone wall.

A loud, painful gasp slipped from his lips as the breath was knocked from his lungs. Agony exploded through his body, each breath a battle as he trembled on the ground.

For a moment, the world dimmed.

Ayushman’s vision blurred, the ringing in his ears deafening.

But then he felt it—Yudhisthir’s iron grip in his hair, yanking him back to brutal reality.

His scalp burned as Yudhisthir tugged his head upward, forcing a scream to tear from Ayushman’s throat.

Yudhisthir’s smirk was sharp, his eyes dark with cruel satisfaction. “Feel good, honey?” he taunted, tightening his hold as he dragged Ayushman across the rough ground.

Stones and dirt tore through Ayushman’s back, his body shredded by the unforgiving terrain.

Yudhisthir slammed him hard into the earth, the force cracking bones.

A loud crunch echoed in the night, followed by Ayushman’s agonized scream, piercing and inhuman. His hand, twisted unnaturally, felt as though it had been doused in kerosene, each nerve alight with searing pain.

Yudhisthir pressed his knee into Ayushman’s spine, pinning him down as he leaned close, his voice a whisper of fury.

“I told you,” he hissed, his breath hot against Ayushman’s ear. “You dare touch my woman, and I will collect your screams as debt. Piece by piece, I will make you beg for death, but you won’t have that pleasure anytime soon.”

There was a terrifying calmness in his voice, a promise of suffering that sent a cold shiver down Ayushman’s spine.

But Ayushman’s arrogance—his defiance—was not so easily broken.

Through the agony twisting his body, he laughed, a hollow, maniacal sound that only enraged Yudhisthir further.

Without a word, Yudhisthir slammed him face-first into the rock, the sharp crack of bone splintering filling the air.

Blood sprayed across the ground, dark and thick, mixing with the soil.

Pain shot through Ayushman’s body, radiating from his broken face as his vision swam in a sea of red.

“AAHHH!” Ayushman roared, the sound primal and filled with rage.

Yudhisthir flipped him onto his back, and Ayushman, through the haze of pain, tried to kick the king—desperate, wild—but it was useless.

Yudhisthir was too fast, too practiced. With each punch Yudhisthir delivered to his face, agony throbbed violently through his skull.

Over and over, Yudhisthir’s fists rained down upon him, each strike driven by the fire of his fury.

“You dared make her cry!” Yudhisthir roared, his voice a weapon as sharp as the blade he wielded.

The hurt and anger burning in his heart poured out with every blow.

He grabbed Ayushman by the neck, lifting him off the ground, choking the breath from his lungs.

Then, with a savage kick, he sent Ayushman flying across the battlefield.

Ayushman landed hard, coughing up blood, his body broken, his mind teetering on the edge of insanity.

Craziness flickered in his eyes, even now.

He hummed softly, a twisted smile curling his bloodied lips as Yudhisthir stalked toward him—like a tiger moving in for the kill.

“You can do all that,” Ayushman rasped, blood leaking from his mouth.

“But can you undo the screams I tore from her lips? The terror I sowed deep in her heart? I was right under your nose, torturing your beautiful wife while you mourned her, thinking she was dead.”

Yudhisthir’s face darkened, his voice cold as ice. “And I’ll tear more screams from your lips than you could ever imagine.”

With no hesitation, Yudhisthir struck again, driving his spear through Ayushman’s leg.

The blade tore through muscle and bone, the wet, sickening sound of flesh ripping filling the air.

Ayushman’s scream was a high-pitched, agonized wail as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his mangled leg.

Blood poured from the wound, soaking the dirt beneath him.

“You feel that?” Yudhisthir’s voice was steady, calm—almost too calm.

His eyes, however, blazed with fury. “That’s pain. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done to my wife. But I’ll make sure you understand. Slowly.”

Ayushman’s hands trembled as he tried to summon the last of his magic, but his strength was gone.

His vision blurred with tears of pain and fear. His heart raced as he realized the inevitable—he was losing. His grip on power was slipping through his fingers like sand.

“You… you can’t win,” Ayushman gasped, blood leaking from his mouth as he coughed. “I am immortal. I cannot die by your hand!”

Yudhisthir knelt beside him, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You think you’re untouchable?” His sneer was filled with contempt. “You are nothing. And now, you will die knowing that you failed.”

In a final, desperate act, Ayushman lunged at Yudhisthir, ready to strike. But Yudhisthir twisted, dodging the feeble attack easily.

Ayushman’s eyes gleamed with insanity, his bloodied lips parting in a twisted grin. “Say goodbye, Yudhisthir,” he whispered, blood bubbling in his throat.

Confusion marred Yudhisthir’s face—until pain, sharp and excruciating, burst through his side. His breath caught, his body stiffening as he turned to face the source of the attack.

His dark eyes met hers—those once familiar, beloved eyes that now blazed with a wild, unfamiliar fire, twisted with something dark and unrecognizable.

The warmth, the love he had known in her gaze had vanished, replaced by a deadly, hollow glare that tore through him more savagely than any blade ever could.

The dagger in her trembling hand was buried deep in his side, the searing pain radiating through his body as warm blood poured from the wound, soaking into the fabric of his clothes.

It was a numbing, cold sensation, but the real agony lay in his soul.

Time seemed to slow to an unbearable crawl. Yudhisthir’s world, already ravaged by war and bloodshed, shattered anew.

His body froze—not from the physical wound, but from the devastating truth he could not bring himself to accept.

His heart clenched, the betrayal burning through him with a viciousness that left him gasping for breath. All the strength in his limbs drained away, as if his very soul had been ripped apart.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Not her… not the woman he had fought for, bled for, loved beyond reason.

No...

The word formed on his lips, but the sound was nothing more than a broken whisper, drowned in the storm of disbelief and agony.

“Drau…” he rasped, his voice cracking, barely audible as it escaped his throat. His mind screamed against the truth, every fiber of his being rejecting what his eyes saw, what his body felt.

She twisted the dagger deeper, the sharp, excruciating pain ripping through his flesh, but it was her eyes-cold, unfeeling-that broke him.

In the depths of his mind, he knew he could end it—end her—but how could he?

When the enemy standing before him was none other than the woman who was his heart, his soul. . .

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