In many ways, combat was like dancing. Sure, your partner was now your opponent, but that was often the only difference. Both were expressions of emotion through physicality. While dance allowed for a wide spectrum of feelings, battle was almost always steeped in rage. In particular, just like dance, there was a specific "beat" to a fight: a prelude, rising action, a climax, and a denouement.
By that logic, Kratos was a veteran "dancer." A connoisseur, even. He had participated in every form of the art imaginable. So he was certain that when the "prelude" dragged on past its natural limit, the ten-headed Rakshasa was not here to fight him.
Well, it wasn't just the delayed tempo, but the setting itself. Instead of a prison cell - or worse - he was being housed in a rather decadent suite. And the Rakshasa was unarmed. That is, if one could overlook the horrific nails and dagger-like canines jutting from his crimson lips.
The monster let out a gust of air through his mouth. It sounded like an aggressive snort, but Kratos could sense that it was a weary sigh. It approached the large portrait hanging above the bed and ran its fingers over the frame.
"His name was Meghanad," it spoke sorrowfully. "He was bright. Strong! He was... my son."
"For someone who's lost his son, this one is oddly nonchalant when facing his son's murderer," Brahma commented from Kratos' hip.
At that moment, the door opened once again, and an imp-like creature skittered in, balancing a gold tray above its head. It turned past the bed and stopped in front of Kratos. Looking down, Kratos noticed a large brass cup atop the tray filled with an aromatic liquid that was a rich golden shade.
Seeing as the creature hadn't moved, Kratos realised that it intended for him to drink it. He lifted the cup, and on cue, the creature skittered out of the room, closing the door behind it.
Kratos took a whiff of the liquid. It carried a pleasant scent of ginger and other aromatic spices. It was warm to the touch. Without thought, he brought it to his lips and slowly sipped it. The liquid danced on his taste buds and activated a myriad of sensors that he didn't even know existed. It then gently caressed his throat as it slid down, coating every nook and cranny of his oesophagus with a soothing, thin film.
"It isn't nonchalance, Your Excellence," the Rakshasa expressed. The voice came from a single head that turned in their direction; the rest remained affixed at the portrait of the man. "I feel great sorrow and immeasurable rage. But it does me little good to express it. When-" all heads turned to face them, "-I knew of the nature of his demise at the time of his birth itself."
Kratos squinted his eyes as he tried to comprehend the Rakshasa's statement, when Brahma demystified it immediately. "His Astrological charts?"
All ten heads nodded solemnly.
"You believe in that nonsense?" Kratos spat in disgust. "One could get a more accurate reading of one's destiny from a blind fool."
"Do not dismiss the craft so plainly, Kratos," Brahma responded. "It gives the mundane a peek into the machinations of the universe. Not even I am exempt from the universe's whims."
"But you are the one who created all of this," Kratos argued, as he found the head's statement contradictory.
"It is a complex scenario to unwrap. You could say that the universe, as a concept, was created by a being far more powerful than me. My purpose was to simply populate it with the abstract and concrete 'things' that you see around you," Brahma explained.
"My eldest's charts foretold that he wouldn't inherit the Empire that I built. In fact, none of my children had the fortune of inheriting my Empire. And my own charts said that I would outlive my children," the Rakshasa continued. "I could not let that happen. I did everything within my power to alleviate it. And believe me when I say that I truly exhausted every. Possible. Avenue. But evidently, nothing changed."
The Rakshasa finally turned away from the portrait. He moved toward a heavy wooden table in the centre of the suite. His movements were fluid, lacking the jerky aggression one might expect from a creature of his size. He rested his hands on the table and leaned forward. The ten heads creating a disturbing fan of expressions - some mournful, others blank.
"It is like watching a lineup of stacked dominoes," he said. "I saw the sequence clearly. I saw the collapse. So, I reached out to try to remove a single tile. I thought if I took that piece away, the momentum would die, and the line would stand."
All his heads laughed together, forming a sort of natural echo and reverberation.
"But the line corrected itself. The momentum simply bridged the gap. The tile I tried to save fell all the same. I spent a lifetime, sacrificed everything to cheat the stars. Only to end up where I knew I would be from the very beginning."
Kratos set the cup down on a nearby side table with a heavy thud. "In that way, if I am just the force that knocked over your domino, why allow me to live?"
"I do feel rage," the monster confessed. His voice grew lower as he continued, "When I heard of my son's death. When I saw his quartered body. I felt unimaginable rage. I felt the urge to tear his executioner limb from limb and feed him his own appendages before ending his life once and for all."
"But then reality struck, and I was sobered immediately. I saw who his executioner was, and realised that in front of the momentum of the universe I am nothing but an ant," he concluded. "Because, in order to quell my invincible son, the universe sent an immortal incarnate of war."
Kratos' brows furrowed. He looked at the monster, who was now looking back at him. All ten of his heads revealed a tranquil smile.
"You know who I am," Kratos probed.
"We have met before," the monster suggested. "Maybe a more familiar form would spark your memories."
As he said this, the monster stood up. A translucent mist started to bubble out of his body, covering him completely. The mist turned more and more opaque as seconds passed before it dispersed within a split second.
Kratos had to lower his head because the large creature had disappeared, and in its place stood a human man.
The man returned a smile, or at least that was what the faint twitching of his exposed cheek sinews implied.
"Faceless!" Brahma exclaimed first.
"That is I, Your Excellence," he responded. "Though now I have been awarded a name by the masses. Ravana. That is what they call me."
The trio conversed about the time following Ravana's departure from Kailasha. Eventually, it veered in a direction so as to address the elephant in the room.
"What happened to you, kid?" Brahma asked. One of the (literal) impish attendants of the palace carefully placed a spoon filled with the sweet tea against the head's lips and allowed him to sip it slowly. "You were human when you left. But your 'scent' now is anything but."
"Ambition," Ravana said as he took a sip of his tea. "And a ceiling that I could not break with human hands."
"I had reached the absolute zenith of what a mortal could achieve. I had wealth, I had knowledge, I had strength. But when I looked up, I saw the Devas looking down. I saw Sages transcending reality."
"Then why not become a Sage?" Brahma asked. "You had the intellect for it."
Ravana revealed a wry smile; at least his facial muscles twitched that way. "Sagehood requires subtraction. To rise, a Sage must cast off his desires, his anger, and his connections. He must become hollow to be filled with the divine. That was not my vision. I did not want to be less, I wanted to be more."
He took another sip of his drink as his eyes darkened.
"I looked at my sons, at my people. If I became a Sage, I would have to abandon them to the whims of the gods. I would have to leave my empire defenceless against the 'momentum' of this petty universe." He slammed the cup down. "I refused. I needed power that did not require me to give up who I was. I needed a power that fed on desire, not one that starved it."
"So you chose the other path," Kratos realised.
"I paved my own," Ravana corrected. "Or at least I thought I did. You see, a Rakshasa is both born and made. They are a manifestation of strong, negative emotions. These emotions can coalesce in a location and form a Rakshasa. And then a Rakshasa can give birth to more of their kind. But if these emotions are contained within a sentient creature, they can trigger an evolution."
"You engineered your own corruption," Brahma noted, his voice tinged with a mix of horror and scientific fascination.
Ravana added, "But I realised that limiting it to my physical vessel wasn't enough. The power embodied by a Rakshasa is proportional to the concentration and volume of the emotion that triggers their evolution. And so, I extended the vessel to contain these emotions from myself to my Empire." Ravana spread his hands. "Ultimately, it changed me. It broke the limits of my human form. My mind expanded, splitting into ten to process the influx of raw knowledge. My body grew to house the strength I demanded."
"And your people?" Kratos asked. He remembered the imp-like creature and the guards outside.
"My Empire was my vessel," Ravana said simply. "When the head changes, the body follows. The ritual did not affect just me; it also turned my subjects - the ones with the same spectrum of emotions as mine. My transformation brought out their own and pushed them beyond humanity."
"It was unintentional, but a welcome outcome. Because it ultimately sparked an evolution of my Empire that placed it toe-to-toe with the kingdom of Svarga itself. I was finally in a position to fight against my assigned destiny. And yet," he glanced back at the portrait of his son, "here we are."
A morose silence pervaded the air after Ravana's confession.
Ravana added, "If I could go back in time and do things differently, I would. But I fear that I would end up in this position again."
"To fight against the hand that was dealt to you, you must be ready to abandon everything that you own," Kratos said in a low voice. "That is the only way."
"Fate is like gangrene," Kratos added. "You do not treat it. You cut it off."
"What should I have done, my Lord?" Ravana asked as he leaned closer, letting his composure crack slightly. "Is there no way to save my Empire without destroying the foundation?"
"What exactly is troubling you right now? The way I see it, your Empire seems pretty prosperous!" Brahma interjected with confusion.
Ravana pursed his non-existent lips and stood up. The weary sadness in his eyes shifted into something more desperate. "I will show you the powder keg."
Ravana led them out of the suite and through a series of winding, gold-plated corridors. They eventually arrived at a wide terrace that overlooked a lush, sunken garden. It was a stark contrast to the sharp, aggressive architecture of the palace. Here, nature had been allowed to breathe.
"There," Ravana pointed.
Kratos followed his gaze. In the distance, beneath the shade of an Ashoka tree, a woman sat. She was clad in simple, unadorned robes, collecting fallen fruit into a basket. She was far away, barely a speck against the greenery, yet the moment Kratos focused on her, the air in his lungs seemed to thicken.
A scent hit him. It wasn't perfume or flowers. It was a raw, visceral pull that bypassed his logic and tugged directly at the base of his skull. It felt like the call of a Siren, but where a Siren promised pleasure to mask death, this promised fulfilment. It was a gravity that demanded he step off the ledge and fall toward her.
Kratos gripped the stone railing. His knuckles turned white as he anchored himself against the sensation. He had felt mind control before. But this was subtle, like water seeping into stone.
He looked at Ravana. The human guise was failing. The mist flickered and tore apart, revealing the ten-headed monstrosity beneath. All ten faces were twisted in a grotesque mixture of adoration and agony, staring fixedly at the woman in the garden. He couldn't maintain the illusion; the sheer intensity of his emotion was tearing his control to shreds.
"Fascinating," Brahma murmured, seemingly unaffected. "I haven't seen a phenomenon like this in a while."
"She is a witch?" Kratos growled, forcing his eyes away from the woman to break the connection.
"Not a witch," Brahma corrected. His eyes analysed the distortion in the air around the garden. "In this world, Kratos, there are people who are naturally charismatic. They possess a 'Reality Distortion Field' of sorts. They don't just exist in a room; they warp the atmosphere of the room to centre around them."
Brahma gestured with his nose toward the woman.
"If she were a man, that charisma would compel armies to march into hell for him. She would command an Empire that would rival Ravana's own." Brahma paused. "But she was born a woman, and one with no martial capability to channel that power. So the universe corrected itself. The field warped. It transformed that command into desire."
"So you took the object of desire of someone powerful, it seems," Brahma commented offhandedly.
"You are correct in your evaluation, Your Excellence," Ravana responded. "This woman does evoke a field of that sort. I only realised it after I had kidnapped her and brought her to my Empire. And do you know something interesting, Your Excellence? The only way to suppress one Reality Distortion Field is with another. Evidently, this woman's husband was another such individual. And now, he has brought an army of Vanaras and creatures of every shape and size to my shores."
"Once again, the universe corrected its course and brought me to my inevitable conclusion," Ravana lamented. "Now, all I can do is fight pointlessly to my eventual demise. I can at least rest easy knowing that my Empire won't fall completely. The man has influenced my younger brother. I am certain that once he conquers these lands, he will place my brother in my stead, at least as a figurehead."
Once again, there was a long pause. The screams of the birds in the garden seemed to fade, leaving only the heavy breathing of the monster.
Suddenly, Ravana clapped his hands together. The sound was sharp, like a thunderclap in the small space. His expression had hardened. The melancholy was gone, replaced by cold resolve.
"Cut off the gangrenous limb..." he muttered.
He looked up at Kratos. "It has gone too far to save the body. But I refuse to let the mind perish entirely."
Without warning, Ravana reached up. His massive hand wrapped around the throat of his far-left head. The head's eyes widened in confusion, then terror. Ravana didn't hesitate. He pulled.
It was a brutal, wet tearing of sinew and muscle. A sickening crunch echoed as the spine gave way, followed by a dark fountain of blood that splattered across the golden terrace floor. The other eight heads screamed in unison, in a chorus of agony, but the main head remained silent, with its teeth gritted and focused entirely on the task.
He held the severed, bleeding head up. It was twitching and gasping for air that no longer reached it. Ravana brought it close to his central face. He began to whisper. The words were unintelligible, but reverberated silently nonetheless.
As he whispered, the flesh of the severed head began to grey. The panicked eyes solidified into quartz. The blood turned to dust. In moments, the gruesome trophy became a pristine statue of stone.
He held it out to Kratos.
"Please take this head with you, Lord Kratos," Ravana said in a ragged but steady voice. "As thanks for teaching me, I cannot return a proper Dakshina. I hope that in time, this gift will give you an apt Dakshina."
Kratos eyed the stone object. It was heavy with magic and secrets. He looked from the head back to the monster. Slowly, he reached out and took it. He fastened it to his belt, right beside Brahma's head.
At that moment, the heavy doors burst open. One of the impish servants rushed onto the terrace with its limbs flailing in a haphazard, panicked dance.
Ravana listened to the creature's unintelligible drivel, and his expression hardened to a silent rage.
"It seems we have unwelcome guests looking for you, Lord Kratos," Ravana expressed. He then gestured for Kratos to follow him as he left the terrace overlooking the garden.
Ram stood on the jagged outcropping and watched the water churn below. Minutes stretched into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the wind whistling through the mountain pass. Finally, the surface broke.
Maruti shot out of the ocean and landed heavily beside Ram. Water streamed from his fur and pooled on the rock. He shook his head, spraying droplets everywhere, and looked at Ram with a sombre expression.
"Nothing," Maruti reported. "The curren' is strong, but I searched deep. There is no body. Neither of Meghanad nor the Traveller."
Ram hummed thoughtfully. He looked toward the south, where the dark silhouette of Lanka marred the horizon. "Then the probability shifts. The absence of evidence is evidence in itself."
"He's survived," Maruti concluded.
"I anticipate a thirty per cent chance that the man is still alive," Ram affirmed aloud. "If he does possess a sort of functional immortality, his survival isn't an impossibility."
Ram walked to the edge of the cliff. He clasped his hands behind his back. "However, if he is alive, he is in the heart of the enemy's stronghold. Ravana will not relinquish such a prisoner easily. Especially not the one who killed his son."
"Then we go get him," Maruti said, stepping forward. "I promised I would return for him."
"And we shall honour that promise," Ram agreed. He turned to the Vanara. "Furthermore, if Ravana refuses to hand him over, we will simply extract him alongside my wife when the war concludes."
Maruti offered his back, and Ram climbed on. "You sound cert'n of victory now, my Lord."
"Ravana is strong," Ram said as Maruti launched them into the air. The ground fell away, replaced by the dizzying blur of the ocean. "But he's lost the most powerful arrow in his quiver. Meghanad was the greatest thorn in our side. He was as cunning and powerful as his father. If both he and Ravana had descended onto the battlefield, we would be hard-pressed for a victory. But with him removed, victory is a straight path."
Maruti accelerated. The wind roared in their ears and tore at Ram's clothes, but he remained immovable. They pierced the cloud layer and left the whitecaps of the ocean far below.
"Lanka ahead!" Maruti shouted over the gale.
The Golden City glittered in the sunlight. It was a jewel of architecture, defiant and proud. But as they crossed the unseen threshold of its airspace, the city's defences reacted.
Dark shapes detached themselves from the towers. At first, they looked like a flock of birds, but they grew rapidly in size. Wings of leather and skin beat against the air. Shrieks echoed and pierced the wind.
"Patrol!" Maruti warned. He banked hard to the left and dodged a spear of magical energy that sizzled past them.
A horde of Rakshasas began to circle them. They were a motley nightmare - some with faces of boars, others with the wings of bats. They circled them and cut off their escape routes.
"They intend to swarm us," Ram noted calmly. He reached over his shoulder and unslung his bow. "Keep your course steady, Maruti. I will clear the path."
Ram nocked an arrow and pulled the string back to his ear. The wood groaned under the tension. But right as he was about to release, the monsters froze. In unison, their heads twitched in one direction behind them, and the swarm siphoned back to the tower they spawned from.
Ram lowered his bow and followed their gaze. Far below, on a high terrace, stood a lone figure. Even at this distance, the aura of authority was unmistakable. Ravana stood with his arms folded behind his back. His gaze was locked firmly onto Ram and Maruti.
He didn't attack. He didn't shout. He merely watched. It was evident that he was giving them an invitation to approach.
Ram tapped Maruti's shoulder. "He waits for us. Go."
Maruti hesitated for a second, wary of a trap, but he obeyed. He angled his descent and glided toward the terrace.
As they drew closer, the details of the infamous Rakshasa King became clear. He wore fine silks that fluttered in the wind, and his jewellery caught the light with every subtle movement. But Ram's eyes were drawn to something jarring.
Ravana was missing a head.
Where there should have been ten, there were only nine. A jagged, freshly-formed scar marred the space where a head used to be. Ram narrowed his eyes. Was it an illusion? A coincidence? Or was there a greater meaning to it?
Maruti landed on the terrace with a soft thud. Ram slid off his back and straightened his robes, meeting Ravana's nine-faced gaze.
"Not a particularly cordial welcome for envoys," Ram commented as he gestured to the retreating patrol.
"I would be a fool to welcome that monkey back here after what he did the last time," Ravana's primary head snorted derisively. "Remedying the damage he caused nearly drained our coffers."
"'twasn't my fault!" Maruti defended with a shrill shriek. "You set my tail on fire!"
"What do you want?" Ravana interjected, ignoring the Vanara's outburst.
Ram stepped forward. He kept his posture open and non-threatening. "My condolences for your loss."
The words were sincere. Ram knew the pain of loss, and he held no joy in the death of a father's son, even if that son was an enemy.
Ravana's eyes twitched slightly. The sorrow was there, buried deep beneath layers of pride and rage.
"What. Do. You. Want?" Ravana repeated with his voice dropping an octave.
"We came to pick up a guest who inadvertently entered our conflict," Ram explained. "He is merely a bystander-"
"A bystander kills my son, and you wish that I just return him to you?" Ravana cut in. He took a step forward, looming over them. "You think me so generous?"
"Be reasonable," Ram pleaded. "It was in self-defence. Your son was the one who instigated the conflict. He acted dishonourably by fighting outside of our agreed-upon times. The rules of engagement-"
"I never agreed upon anything," Ravana shrugged. "All is fair in war. I should just kill you right now and be done with it."
The threat hung in the air. A tense silence followed. But Ram didn't reach for his bow. He looked into Ravana's eyes and saw... nothing. No killing intent. No preparation for a strike. It was an empty threat.
"We are willing to concede-" Ram started, prepared to offer terms for the release of the Traveller.
Ravana raised his hand and cut him off.
"Your so-called bystander is not my prisoner," he said flatly. "He is free to leave as he wishes."
Ram stopped. His brows quirked inadvertently. For the first time, the stoic mask slipped, revealing genuine confusion. Something wasn't right. By Ravana's own words, a stranger kills his son, but isn't treated as a prisoner, or worse?
On queue, an ashen figure matching Maruti's description of the Traveller stepped out onto the terrace.
"Traveller! Knowledgeable Head!" Maruti exclaimed with an enthusiastic screech. The figure in question responded with a low growl. Ram, too, bowed as a greeting and received a growl of acknowledgement.
"I believe our guest is lacking his weapon," Ram stated, noticing the lack of the axe Maruti was talking about.
"Stop fishing for information," Ravana countered. He then turned to the ashen man and gave an unusually low bow. Ram did not think that the proud Rakshasa King was even capable of lowering his heads below his shoulders.
"I would like to say, 'till we meet again'," Ravana said with a bitter smile, "But I don't know if our paths will cross again the same way, My Lord."
This statement was also received with a growl of acknowledgement. Ram understood immediately that the Traveller was a man of very few words.
Maruti quickly approached the man and gestured for him to climb onto his back, which the man readily obliged.
"We shall meet again on the battlefield, Your Majesty," Ram said to Ravana.
"Sure," the Rakshasa responded offhandedly. His attention was still on the ashen man.
Maruti hovered slowly and grabbed Ram by his torso. Then, with a controlled ascent, they rose up towards the skies.
Ram looked back. He watched the figure of the Rakshasa King shrink until it was nothing more than a dark speck against the gold. Then, the clouds rolled in.
The return journey was silent. Ram was lost in thought as he dissected the anomaly he had just witnessed. Maruti focused on speed; he was eager to put distance between them and the enemy capital.
A while later, they descended rapidly. The cool mountain air was replaced by the humid, salty breeze of the coast. Maruti flared his limbs to break their momentum and landed on the sandy outskirts of the encampment. Sand sprayed outward in a wide arc.
Ram slid off the Vanara's grasp and smoothed the creases of his robe. The ashen man followed suit, landing with a heaviness that shook the ground beneath them.
The camp was buzzing. Vanaras paused their sparring and their chores. They stared with wide, curious eyes at the towering stranger who had returned with their Prince and General.
The man didn't acknowledge them. He turned to look north, towards the faint outline of the land bridge.
"I go now," he grunted towards Maruti.
He took a step forward, but Ram moved faster. He stepped into the man's path and raised a hand to pause
"Wait," Ram said gently.
The man stopped. He looked down at the Prince, his brow furrowing in irritation. "I have no business here."
"You saved our General," Ram countered while gesturing to Maruti, who was busy shaking the remaining water from his fur. "You fought our enemy. You are not a stranger here, but a guest."
"I do not require a host," Kratos replied. "I only require a path back"
"And you shall have it," Ram assured him. "But the sun is high, and the journey ahead is long. It is not the way of my people to let a guest depart with an empty stomach. Once that is done, Maruti will personally take you back to your destination."
The Vanara nodded eagerly from the side.
"It is simple tea," Ram pressed, noticing the man's adamant stance. His voice remained unwavering in its politeness. "A small meal, and a moment to wash the salt from your skin."
The ashen man stared at Ram and looked at the Vanara. Ram could see that a quick calculation had just transpired internally. The man then let out a sharp breath through his nose.
"Tea," he conceded. "Briefly."
Ram smiled and agreed, "Briefly," he turned and gestured towards his tent and added, "Please, follow me."