Chapter 253 - 251: Anandamohana Kusuma... Drug Enough To Make A God Lose Himself In...

(A/N):

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The seventy-first day of the war dawned beneath a sky veiled in dark clouds.

By now, the war itself had become predictable.

The soldiers knew exactly what would happen.

After the initial clash between the two armies,

The attention of every warrior, whether human or Rakshasa, would slowly drift towards the centre of Malikavana,

Where two kings continued their duel that had already become the stuff of legends.

For forty-five consecutive days,

Devaratha had subjected Pushpasura to a form of suffering unlike anything the Rakshasa King had ever experienced.

At first, Pushpasura had fought proudly.

Then he had fought angrily.

After that, he had begun relying on his Yogic powers whenever Devaratha closed the distance, using roots, shockwaves, and every dirty trick he possessed just to avoid being caught in another painful grapple.

But no matter what he tried...

No matter how desperately he escaped...

Devaratha always found a way to drag him back into close combat.

The result never changed.

Another shoulder shattered.

Another elbow dislocated.

Another knee twisted until the bones snapped apart.

Pushpasura’s regeneration restored his body almost instantly, but the agony remained etched into his mind.

It had reached the point where the Rakshasa King no longer feared Devaratha’s weapons.

He feared Devaratha’s hands.

As the battle raged around them on the seventy-first day,

Pushpasura charged with a furious roar, his enormous fists tearing through the air with enough force to shatter stone.

Devaratha calmly stepped inside the attack instead of retreating.

His movements had become frighteningly efficient after weeks of studying the Rakshasa King’s every habit.

He no longer wasted energy.

Every shift of his footing served a purpose.

Every movement flowed naturally into the next.

Pushpasura swung his right fist.

Devaratha slipped beneath it.

Before the Rakshasa King could recover, Devaratha’s shoulder struck his chest, breaking his balance. His right arm wrapped around Pushpasura’s waist while his left hand caught hold of the giant’s wrist.

With a sharp twist of his hips, he redirected all of Pushpasura’s own momentum.

The gigantic Rakshasa was lifted completely off the ground before crashing onto his back with a deafening impact.

The earth trembled beneath them.

Dust exploded into the air.

Pushpasura tried to roll away.

Too late.

Devaratha was already on top of him.

One knee pressed firmly against Pushpasura’s chest while his forearm slid beneath the Rakshasa King’s jaw.

His other hand gripped the back of Pushpasura’s head.

It was a position the Rakshasa King had come to dread.

His eyes widened with genuine fear.

"No..."

he muttered under his breath.

"Not again..."

Devaratha’s grip slowly tightened.

He wasn’t rushing.

He knew exactly how much force was required.

One sharp rotation...

One precise movement...

And Pushpasura’s neck would snap before instantly regenerating again.

Pushpasura struggled with all his strength, but after weeks of having half of his physical power constantly stolen by Vali’s boon, he simply couldn’t overpower Devaratha in close quarters.

For the first time in many days...

Panic appeared on his face.

Then...

Something unusual happened.

A small bud emerged from the skin near Pushpasura’s left shoulder.

At first, Devaratha barely noticed it.

His entire concentration remained fixed on maintaining the hold.

But within a single heartbeat, the tiny bud rapidly grew into a beautiful flower unlike anything found upon Earth.

Its petals shimmered with colours that seemed to shift every time one looked at them.

Deep violet blended into silver.

Silver melted into crimson.

Golden veins ran through every petal, pulsing faintly as though the flower itself possessed a heartbeat.

Then the blossom opened completely.

A soft breeze carried its fragrance directly towards Devaratha.

The scent reached him before he even realised what had happened.

He instinctively inhaled.

Immediately... His body froze.

His fingers loosened ever so slightly.

"...."

The battlefield tilted.

His vision blurred around the edges.

It felt as though the very ground beneath his feet had begun to sway like the surface of a calm lake.

A strange warmth spread through his body.

His heartbeat slowed.

His thoughts, which had remained razor-sharp throughout the past seventy days, suddenly became sluggish.

"...What..."

Devaratha whispered, pressing a hand against his forehead.

The sensation wasn’t painful.

That was what made it so dangerous.

It was... Pleasant. Unnaturally pleasant.

Around his neck, the sacred pearl necklace blessed by Goddess Yamuna suddenly reacted.

Each pearl emitted a cool azure radiance.

Tiny streams of divine water seemed to flow invisibly across his body, washing over his senses as though attempting to purify his mind.

The dizziness lessened.

But it did not disappear.

The divine blessing was resisting the strange influence, yet even it could not completely nullify whatever power hid within that flower.

Seeing Devaratha stumble backwards, Pushpasura immediately rolled away before rising to his feet.

For the first time in weeks...

It was Devaratha who had voluntarily released his hold.

The Rakshasa King’s face slowly stretched into a triumphant smile before erupting into booming laughter that echoed across the battlefield.

"Hahahahahaha!"

His laughter carried genuine relief.

"So..."

he said between laughs,

"you finally breathed it in."

Devaratha remained silent, trying to steady his breathing.

"...."

The battlefield still refused to remain still.

Every heartbeat made the dizziness worse.

Pushpasura proudly pointed towards the fading flower upon his shoulder.

"Do you know what this is?"

Without waiting for an answer, he continued,

"This is Anandamohana Kusuma¹..."

"The Blossom of Ecstatic Delusion."

"It is one of the rarest abilities born from my Yogic cultivation."

He slowly began pacing in front of Devaratha like a teacher explaining a treasured lesson.

"Most poisons attack the body."

"Some attack the mind."

"But this..."

He gently touched the fading petals.

"...this attacks desire itself."

"The fragrance slips into your lungs with your very breath."

"From there it reaches your mind before your body even realises something is wrong."

"It doesn’t make you unconscious."

"It doesn’t paralyse you."

"No..."

His smile widened.

"It gifts you happiness."

The last word rolled off his tongue with unsettling delight.

"A happiness so overwhelming that every sorrow you’ve ever carried simply melts away."

"A bliss so intoxicating that you stop caring about everything else."

"The battlefield."

"Your responsibilities. Your loved ones."

"Even your own survival."

"They all begin to feel distant... unimportant."

He spread both arms wide.

"The victim feels as though they have entered a paradise beyond imagination."

"A place where fragrant winds endlessly embrace them."

"Where laughter never ends. Where they float freely through an endless sky."

"And once they experience that joy..."

His crimson eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.

"They begin craving it. They beg for another breath. And then another."

"Eventually... They no longer fight the fragrance."

"They willingly surrender themselves to it."

Pushpasura laughed once more before looking up towards the heavens.

"The Devas believed themselves immune."

"They mocked this gift when they first heard of it."

"But every creature with senses can fall."

His voice carried unmistakable pride.

"I released this fragrance inside Amaravati itself."

"The guardians of heaven stumbled about like drunken fools."

"They laughed. They sang."

"They embraced empty air as though greeting old friends."

His laughter grew louder.

"And Indra..."

Pushpasura could barely contain his amusement.

"The mighty King of Heaven..."

"He inhaled far more than anyone else."

"For hours he wandered through his own celestial palace in complete ecstasy."

"He laughed without reason. He danced through the heavenly gardens with his crown hanging crooked upon his head."

"He cared nothing for dignity."

"Nothing for status."

"He begged only for the fragrance to return."

"He wanted to breathe it again... and again... and again."

The Rakshasa King threw his head back, roaring with laughter.

"That day I learned something. Even gods possess weaknesses."

His laughter gradually faded as he looked directly at Devaratha.

"And now... it is your turn."

By now, Devaratha could barely hear the words.

The battlefield around him was slowly dissolving.

The screams of warriors became distant echoes.

The smell of blood vanished.

The heat of the sun disappeared.

Instead...

He found himself standing in a vast valley filled with endless fields of flowers.

Gentle winds brushed across his face.

Every breath carried the same irresistible fragrance.

The air itself felt warm and comforting.

It was peaceful. Far too peaceful.

His body became incredibly light.

It felt as though gravity itself had disappeared.

He could almost believe he was floating high above the clouds, free from war, free from responsibility, free from every burden he had carried throughout his life.

For one dangerous moment...

The illusion felt more real than the battlefield itself.

Then something shifted. A shadow appeared in the distance.

It was Pushpasura.

No...

Two Pushpasuras.

Then four... Eight... Sixteen...

Their figures continued multiplying until the entire valley seemed filled with countless copies of the Rakshasa King.

Every one of them smiled. Every one of them laughed.

Every one of them slowly walked towards him from a different direction.

The laughter merged into a single deafening chorus that echoed endlessly throughout the illusion.

Devaratha narrowed his eyes, trying to focus.

His vision refused to obey him.

Every figure looked equally real.

Every voice sounded identical.

Around his neck, the pearls blessed by Goddess Yamuna continued glowing with a soothing blue radiance,

Desperately protecting his mind from being completely swallowed by the intoxicating illusion.

The blessing was enough to keep him conscious.

Enough to stop him from losing himself entirely.

But it could not restore the clarity he normally possessed.

For the first time since the wrestling matches had begun...

Pushpasura had discovered a way to rob Devaratha of his greatest weapon.

Not his strength. Not his technique.

But the calm, unwavering focus that had guided every move he made throughout the war.

Devaratha’s emerald-green eyes slowly began to lose their sharpness.

The calm, unwavering focus that had carried him through seventy days of relentless warfare gradually dissolved beneath the influence of Anandamohana Kusuma.

His pupils struggled to remain fixed.

The countless images of Pushpasura standing before him refused to merge into one.

Instead, they continued multiplying.

It felt as though the entire battlefield had become crowded with laughing Rakshasa Kings, each one circling him from a different direction.

Their voices overlapped until they became an endless chorus.

Every laugh sounded distant.

Every movement left behind blurred afterimages.

The fragrance itself had become suffocatingly sweet.

Every breath made the illusion stronger.

Every heartbeat pulled him further away from reality.

Around his neck, the sacred pearls blessed by Goddess Yamuna continued glowing with a gentle azure radiance.

Tiny streams of divine energy continuously flowed into Devaratha’s body, washing over his mind in an endless effort to dispel the intoxicating influence.

The blessing was doing everything within its power.

Without it...

Devaratha would have already been completely lost inside the illusion.

But even a divine blessing had limits.

It could slow the poison. It could weaken its grip.

It could not erase it entirely.

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(Author note:)

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