Rudhra and Yodhika
A lone bird cut across the vast sky over the Arabian Sea, its shadow gliding over a solitary island spread across nearly three thousand square kilometers. Two immense harbours lay on opposite ends of the coast, carved into the shoreline like enormous crescents—wide enough to swallow small towns. Three cargo ships rested in one harbour, while two massive warships stood anchored in the other. Beyond the coast, a vast forest wrapped the island in a green perimeter, broken only by the two roads leading into the harbours and by two rocky mountains rising through the canopy, their grey stone faces patched with life. Inside this natural boundary lay a sprawling town of towering buildings, massive factories, convenience stores, a shopping mall, and three enormous apartment complexes. Hundreds of two-storey mansions filled the remaining space. At the very heart of it all stood a palace—its marble dome gleaming beneath the sun.
“Do you have a battle today, Rudhra?”
The woman stood by the doorway with a warm smile. She looked to be in her early thirties, dressed in a blue saree matched perfectly to her blouse.
“Yes, mom,” Rudhra replied, carefully cleaning his sword. “Aren’t you late to open your shop?”
“Your father already left,” she said. “He was in such a hurry he forgot to say goodbye to you. I came only for that.” She smiled softly. “I’ve kept your favourite—idiyappam and ishtu—on the table. Don’t forget to eat.”
“Bye, mom.”
“Bye, dear.”
She left the room. Rudhra finished polishing his sword, placed it in its holder, picked up his towel and brush, and went to the bathroom. Moments later, he studied his reflection as he pulled on a blue tracksuit, a white T-shirt, and a black windbreaker. Slinging the sword’s holder over his shoulder, he entered the living-cum-dining room. Steam still clung to the steel plates on the table. He washed his hands, sat, and ate slowly, savouring every bite. When he finished, he washed again, secured the sword belt across his torso, inhaled deeply, and stepped out—locking the door behind him.
“I thought you were still fixing your makeup.”
Sabo lounged on a concrete step outside the ten-storey apartment, legs stretched casually. She wore a black army combat suit, two swords strapped to her right hip and a dagger to her left.
“I’m right on time,” Rudhra replied flatly.
“Relax, I was kidding. What did you have for breakfast?”
“Idiyappam and ishtu.”
She laughed. “Mama’s boy. Ready to go?”
“Sure.”
They moved through the bustling market street as morning trade surged around them.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” she asked. “You know we’re meeting the King, right?”
“This is my battle attire,” Rudhra said without hesitation. “It helps me focus.”
After a pause, Sabo spoke again. “Don’t hold back today—not even because they’re the King’s children. Only then can I evaluate your team properly.”
“I never weaken myself in any battle,” Rudhra replied calmly. “Doing so would dishonour my opponent.”
“Good,” she said with a grin. “Just don’t kill them.”
“Definitely.”
The palace gates—towering and gold—opened slowly as cameras above tracked their movement. White marble pathways led them to colossal wooden doors nearly thirty feet tall. Inside the grand courtroom, rows of empty seats lined both sides. At the far end, elevated upon the throne, sat King Devansh Pranvar, proud and composed in his golden bandhgala and white pyjamas. Beside him rested a wooden crown coated in silver. The Queen, Rekha Augustine, sat on a matching throne, clad in an ivory lehenga-gown woven with gold.
Rudhra and Sabo knelt.
“Rise,” Devansh commanded.
The Queen’s gaze hardened. “Is this how you present yourself before the ruler of this land?”
“My Queen—”
“It’s fine,” Devansh interrupted. “Times have changed.”
She turned away slightly. “Forgive me, my lord.”
Her eyes returned to Rudhra—still filled with contempt.
“Are you prepared?” Devansh asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then let the test begin.”
A guard was summoned. “Call my children. It is time.”
They entered the elevated platform overlooking a massive glass-domed arena—two hundred and sixty thousand square meters, divided into three city-like zones. Four figures stepped forward: a man, a woman, a teenage boy, and a younger child. All wore black combat suits. All bore emotionless faces.
“Come forward, Adhrivan.”
The well-built man stepped out.
“Take him to Site A,” the King ordered.
As they descended, Rudhra asked, “Nervous?”
“Don’t speak to me, scum.”
Sabo smirked. Rudhra fell silent.
A colossal cross-shaped junction unfolded beneath towering walls of glass and steel. Layer upon layer of glowing billboards climbed upward, flashing faces, warnings, and stage-show smiles in frozen neon. Abandoned yellow cabs, buses, and trucks stood locked in place as if time itself had been arrested mid-motion. Above, steel scaffolds tangled into a maze. Cracked digital screens flickered silently. At street level, shattered kiosks and overturned carts whispered of vanished crowds. High above everything, a massive digital clock continued to tick. A city built to feel endlessly alive—now waiting for combat.
“I always wonder why we fight in places like this,” Rudhra muttered. “Why not use the training grounds?”
Sabo’s eyes darkened. “It’s for royal training. Now take position.”
She activated the countdown.
Ten… nine…
At the harbour, a fast-attack craft docked. A tall man in a grey Armani suit stepped onto the pier. A long scar ran down the right side of his face. Ten soldiers followed behind him.
“Take the Sandals to Dr. Chaithra,” he ordered. “Tell her to finish the assembly immediately.”
“Yes, Sir Ashura.”
He passed beneath a massive gate engraved with the words—Hanuman Gate—and looked up.
A massive wave of energy blasted a yellow car straight toward Rudhra. He dropped flat and slid beneath it as the vehicle flew a few feet above him and crashed away in the opposite direction. In one fluid motion, he sprang to his feet and drew the longsword from the holder strapped across his back. He raised the weapon, its hilt level with his head, both palms locked firmly around it, the blade aimed straight at Adhrivan.
Rudhra leapt.
The instant his feet left the ground, an energy surge exploded from Adhrivan’s core through the space he had just occupied. Adhrivan clenched his teeth in fury. “How did you know?”
Rudhra completed a perfect arc in the air and landed lightly behind him. “This is my nine hundred and eighty-fifth battle against a human,” he said with a smile. “More than fifty of those were with your uncle.”
Adhrivan’s expression twisted in rage. A stronger, far more violent wave ripped outward from his core. Rudhra flipped backward at lightning speed, rebounded off one hand, and burst through the window of a white bus with blue stripes. The energy slammed into the vehicle, hurling it several meters back and crushing its side inward in a wide, spherical dent.
Rudhra emerged from the wreckage with an iron rod driven clean through his leg and trousers.
A grin spread across Adhrivan’s face.
With a sharp cry, Rudhra ripped the rod free. Blood flashed for an instant—then the wound sealed itself almost immediately. The grin vanished from Adhrivan’s lips.
Rudhra broke into a sprint.
Another wave surged toward him. Rudhra squinted through the oncoming force, calculating its shape, speed, and path by reading the outward rush of air from Adhrivan’s body as he slid across the ground. He hurled his sword skyward.
Adhrivan’s eyes followed the spinning blade.
That fraction of distraction was enough.
Rudhra skimmed beneath the wave, missing it by a hair’s breadth. As Adhrivan shifted to avoid the falling sword, Rudhra swept his leg out from under him. Adhrivan crashed forward onto the ground. In the same instant, Rudhra recovered his blade, twisted Adhrivan’s arm hard behind his back, and drove the sword point to his throat.
“I’d advise you not to use your power,” Rudhra said calmly. “It might rip your arm clean off, Prince.”
Adhrivan struggled furiously against the iron grip.
“That’s enough,” Sabo called out from a distance.
Rudhra stepped back and lowered his sword.
Adhrivan lay still for a moment, then pushed himself up, his face burning with anger and humiliation. Sabo approached them.
“Well done, both of you. Adhrivan, you may leave.”
Adhrivan exhaled sharply in defiance and turned toward Rudhra.
“Walk away now,” Sabo said coldly, “or you’ll be facing me next—and I won’t go easy like he did.”
Adhrivan stiffened, then bowed his head slightly. “Sorry, ma’am.” He turned and walked toward the platform, casting one last venomous glare at Rudhra as he left.
“Is he going to be okay?” Rudhra asked quietly.
“Don’t relax,” Sabo replied, ignoring the question. “Prepare yourself for the next fight.”
Rudhra smiled faintly and returned to his position.
On the platform above, Devansh turned toward his daughter—the woman in her twenties. “Yodhika,” he said, “go to them. It’s your turn now.”
(To be continued)
Karun G Nath 
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