Chapter 384 - 352: Cruel Curse For The Guardian Beast...

(A/N):

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The deeper they ventured into the cave, the colder the air became.

The faint light from the entrance disappeared behind them, leaving only the dim glow of Devara’s divine aura to illuminate the rocky passage.

Their footsteps echoed against the walls, each sound returning to them several moments later as though the cave itself were quietly listening.

Then Devara suddenly stopped.

Karna nearly walked into him.

"What happened?" Ashwatthama asked.

Devara looked down.

The ground beneath their feet was wet.

At first, he thought it was ordinary water seeping through the cracks in the stone.

But when he looked more carefully, his expression immediately changed.

The liquid was red.

It had gathered in shallow pools across the uneven ground and was slowly flowing deeper into the cave through narrow cracks between the rocks.

A foul smell filled the passage.

It was thick, metallic and nauseating, carrying the unmistakable scent of something that had been left there for far too long.

The tribe leader immediately covered his nose.

"What is that smell?"

Karna pulled part of his cloth over his mouth and nose.

"It is disgusting."

Ashwatthama crouched beside the red liquid.

"Don’t touch it yet," Devara warned.

Ashwatthama ignored the warning only long enough to carefully place two fingers into the liquid. He lifted them and rubbed the substance between his fingers.

His expression changed.

"It is thick."

He examined it more closely, then brought his fingers near enough to inspect without touching his face.

"There is no doubt."

He looked up at Devara.

"Blood."

The tribe leader’s face paled.

"Blood?"

Ashwatthama nodded.

"Fresh enough that it has not completely dried."

Devara’s gaze moved across the cave floor.

There was far too much of it.

The red liquid wasn’t merely a few drops left behind by an injured animal.

It covered portions of the passage, gathered beneath cracks in the stone and formed a thin trail leading deeper into the darkness.

Karna slowly looked ahead.

"Then something is injured inside."

"Or something has been feeding," Ashwatthama replied.

The words made the atmosphere inside the cave feel even heavier.

Devara crouched and examined the blood without touching it.

There were no obvious footprints.

No scraps of fur. No bones.

Nothing that immediately revealed where it had come from.

But the trail continued.

Deeper. Much deeper.

Devara slowly stood.

"Whatever happened here, it happened recently."

The tribe leader looked toward the darkness.

"Should we turn back?"

Devara looked at him.

"We came here searching for the guardian of this forest."

His eyes shifted toward the blood trail.

"And now we have found evidence that something else is happening inside this cave."

Karna tightened his grip around his weapon.

"Then we continue."

Ashwatthama wiped the blood from his fingers against the ground and rose.

The four men continued forward, this time much more cautiously.

The foul smell grew stronger with every step.

The blood trail became thicker.

And somewhere far ahead, from beyond the darkness, came a faint sound.

A low, heavy breathing.

Devara stopped again.

The sound echoed through the cave.

Once. Twice.

Then silence.

Devara’s eyes narrowed.

Whatever was waiting deeper inside was not dead.

And judging from the amount of blood covering the ground, something had happened to it that had left the ancient cave drenched in red.

The deeper they went, the stronger the metallic stench became.

The blood that had first appeared as scattered pools was now flowing in a continuous trail beneath their feet, following the natural slope of the cave.

Devara, Karna, Ashwatthama and the tribe leader moved cautiously through the darkness until the narrow passage suddenly opened into an enormous underground chamber.

All four stopped.

Before them stood a massive stone platform.

A wide channel had been carved around it, forming a circular trench that completely surrounded the stage.

It was filled with dark red blood.

The liquid flowed slowly through the channel, fed by countless streams dripping from the platform above.

But it was not the blood that truly horrified them.

It was what stood upon the stage.

The creature from the ancient carving was there.

The guardian.

A gigantic lion-like being with enormous wings folded against its body, its magnificent mane hanging around its head.

Yet the majestic creature they had expected to find was barely recognizable.

Its body was covered in wounds, and enormous black chains were driven directly through its flesh, binding its limbs, wings, torso and neck to the stone platform.

The chains were unlike ordinary metal.

Dark energy crawled across them like living veins.

Every few moments, one of the cursed chains pulsed.

The guardian’s body immediately convulsed.

Blood flowed from the wounds.

It ran down the platform and into the channel surrounding it.

Then something extraordinary happened.

The wounds began healing.

Flesh slowly regenerated around the chains. Torn muscles reformed. Broken skin closed. Even some of the deeper wounds vanished.

For a brief moment, the guardian’s body appeared almost healed.

Then the cursed chains pulsed again.

The wounds reopened.

Blood poured out once more.

The healing began again.

Again.

And again.

Devara’s eyes widened as he finally understood what they were witnessing.

"It cannot die."

The guardian lifted its head weakly.

Its eyes were still filled with life.

Its healing factor continuously repaired its body, but the curse immediately reopened every wound and drained the newly restored blood.

The cycle had no end.

Heal.... Bleed.

Heal.... Bleed.

Forever.

Karna stared at the creature in horror.

"This is not a prison."

Ashwatthama’s expression darkened.

"It is torture."

The tribe leader could barely speak.

"How long has it been here?"

No one answered.

The sheer amount of blood collected around the platform suggested that this had been happening for an incomprehensibly long time.

Devara slowly stepped toward the edge of the blood-filled channel.

His expression had changed completely.

He had expected to discover the forest’s missing guardian.

He had not expected to find it condemned to an eternity of suffering.

The guardian slowly opened its eyes and looked toward him.

There was no rage in them.

Only exhaustion.

Devara stared at the cursed chains.

Now he finally understood the cruelty of Indra’s curse.

Indra had not simply killed the guardian.

He had not even imprisoned it in the conventional sense.

He had turned its own immortality and healing ability against it.

The guardian could never die.

It could never escape.

Its body would constantly heal, only for the curse to tear it apart again.

The blood draining from its body had become the very evidence of its endless punishment, filling the channel around the platform while the forest above slowly suffered from the absence of its protector.

Karna clenched his fist.

"Indra truly intended this to last forever."

Ashwatthama stared at the chains.

"He made its greatest strength into its greatest weakness."

Devara said nothing.

He simply stood there, staring at the guardian.

The creature that had once protected the entire forest had been reduced to a prisoner beneath the earth, bleeding endlessly while the ecosystem it had once guarded slowly deteriorated without it.

The forest spirit had told them that Indra cursed the guardian after it refused to go to Indra Lok.

Now they understood just how terrible that punishment had been.

Devara’s eyes slowly hardened.

"No one deserves this."

The guardian’s ears twitched at his words.

For the first time in countless years, someone had entered its prison and spoken to it not as a monster, not as a forgotten creature, but as a living being.

And Devara was already looking at the cursed chains with one thought forming in his mind.

He was going to break them.

Devara slowly stepped toward the stone platform, his eyes fixed upon the tortured guardian.

Every instinct within him urged him to break those cursed chains immediately, but the moment his foot moved closer to the blood-filled channel, something unexpected happened.

The entire channel suddenly ignited.

WHOOM!

Flames erupted from the dark red liquid, racing around the circular trench in an instant.

What had looked like ordinary blood only moments ago now burned like an enormous ring of living fire.

The flames rose several feet into the air, their color shifting between deep crimson and almost black, while strange symbols briefly appeared within the fire before disappearing again.

Devara stopped.

Karna and Ashwatthama immediately raised their weapons.

The tribe leader stumbled backward, covering his face as the sudden heat swept across the chamber.

"What in the name of the gods..." he whispered.

The blood was burning.

Not merely catching fire from some external source.

The liquid itself seemed to possess the properties of fuel, feeding the flames as they flowed endlessly through the channel.

The guardian lifted its head.

Its exhausted eyes moved toward the fire surrounding the platform.

There was recognition in its expression.

It knew what those flames meant.

Devara’s gaze hardened as he studied the phenomenon.

"So that is another part of the curse."

The flames suddenly surged higher.

The message was unmistakable.

Anyone who attempted to cross the channel and interfere with the chains would pay a terrible price.

Ashwatthama stepped closer to Devara but kept his distance from the flames.

"It was designed to prevent anyone from rescuing it."

Karna looked around the chamber.

"And whoever created this curse expected someone to eventually try."

Devara remained silent.

The flames crackled loudly around them, casting grotesque shadows across the cave walls.

The guardian remained trapped at the center of the burning circle, its body continuing the endless cycle of healing and bleeding.

For centuries, the curse had remained untouched.

The chains were the prison.

The blood was the warning.

And the fire was the punishment waiting for anyone foolish enough to interfere.

The tribe leader looked nervously at Devara.

"Maharaja, perhaps we should leave. Whatever curse this is, it clearly does not want anyone approaching."

Devara slowly turned his head toward him.

"That is precisely why I am not leaving."

The tribe leader stared at him.

Devara looked back at the guardian.

"If a curse has been designed to frighten people away from rescuing its victim, then whoever created it was not simply trying to imprison the guardian."

His eyes moved toward the black chains.

"They wanted it to remain alone."

The guardian’s eyes met his.

For the first time, a faint spark appeared within them.

Hope.

Devara stepped closer to the edge of the burning channel.

The flames immediately rose higher, as though challenging him.

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(Author note:)

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