God of War - Karmic Cycle [AU]

"Are you trying to waste my time on purpose, boy?" Kratos asked. His voice was an agitated growl.

"What do you mean?" Ganesh responded. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

"What does a fish have to do with... anything for that matter?!" Kratos demanded.

Ganesh nodded his head wisely. He answered, "Can you imagine just how powerful these beings could be? They have the power to create the universe and everything within it."

Kratos shrugged dismissively.

"Well, beings of such power cannot step foot into the natural world," Ganesh explained. "Their mere existence could shred the fabric of reality as we know it. So, you must be wondering how the Preserver can accomplish his task. He cannot personally manifest in the world. Well, he does so through Avatars. These are incarnations."

A silence hung in the air. A realisation then started to dawn on Kratos.

"The fish?" he asked. His voice held full certainty.

Ganesh nodded his head. He said, "That is the only way possible. Any action taken to fix the disorder must not, by itself, go against order. Things have to follow a natural 'flow'."

But a single point nagged Kratos. "It cannot be pure coincidence. The fish and the horse-headed demon's paths did not cross like that by chance."

"That is true," Ganesh affirmed. He gave a vigorous nod. "Some minor manipulation is necessary. And those manipulations are acceptable. But ultimately, this is the limit. It is the limit of the intervention that the Preserver can personally perform. And this is also the cause of Brahma's imprisonment."

___

Asuras and Devas are two sides of the same coin. The distinction between them appeared a few aeons after Hayagriva's death.

While Manushyas, or humans, survived with Matsya's assistance, another group of beings also managed to survive the chaotic eras.

These beings did not escape into the chaos. Instead, they weathered the entire onslaught. Because of this, these beings emerged far superior. They were also more powerful.

They could wield powers and magics. These abilities were beyond the imagination of mortal lifeforms.

Of course, such power brought conflict. Fights between these beings could cause unimaginable havoc. When these titans clashed, mountains would crumble into dust. Seas would boil and turn to steam. The very sky would crackle with uncontrolled energies. Lands would be scarred beyond recognition, sometimes for centuries.

Of these superior entities, there were two primary factions. One faction was led by Indra. Indra was a powerful being. He had the power to manipulate the storms themselves. His command over tempests and lightning allowed his faction to weather the chaotic storms of the past. The second faction was led by Mahabali. Mahabali was immensely powerful. Many considered him invulnerable. His strength was legendary, and his resilience unmatched.

After years of destructive conflict, they both realised a grim truth. They would be cursed to remain in a war of attrition. This constant fighting would eventually destroy them all. They needed to found a kingdom for themselves. They needed a place of stability and prosperity.

Coincidentally, both kings received a vision in their dreams. The vision spoke of a beautiful, hidden realm. This realm was untouched and fertile. They could take it over and call it their own. The vision also warned them about what was necessary to reach this promised land. They would need to bore a path through the oceans of chaos itself. To do this, they would need to create a massive drill. The vision specified that a mountain would serve as the drill bit. They would also need a mighty anchor. This anchor would hold up the mountain-bit, so it would not sink and be lost in the endless chaos. A rope of immense strength was also required. This rope had to withstand the storms of chaos and not break under the strain. Crucially, the vision insisted they would need to collaborate with their sworn enemy.

Following the vision's guidance, the two kings held a temporary truce. They agreed to meet on a neutral island territory. This was a small patch of land unclaimed by either faction.

In this island territory, as they discussed their uneasy alliance, they saw a small turtle. The turtle was diligently carrying various items on its sturdy back. This mundane sight sparked an idea in both kings simultaneously. They took that small turtle from its clutch. Then, both factions, in a rare show of cooperation, began to raise it. They fed it generously. They nurtured it carefully. The turtle grew, and grew, until it reached the size of a small mountain.

Once the turtle was of sufficient age and colossal size, they carefully guided it to the shores of the chaotic ocean. Mahabali then, with his incredible strength, uprooted the very mountain where his faction resided. He carried this massive peak. He placed it firmly upon the great turtle's back. The turtle bore the weight stoically. Its massive legs were like unshakeable pillars.

Indra, in turn, received another dream. In this dream, he found a large, many-headed snake. This serpent, Vasuki, resided deep in the depths of a lake near their faction's current residence. The snake, surprisingly, was docile. It was open to being used as the rope they so desperately needed.

Once all the preparations were finally done, the two sides worked together. They wrapped the giant serpent Vasuki around the mountain that rested on the turtle's back. Then, positioning themselves on opposite sides, the two factions gripped the serpent's body.

And then, they started to churn.

One faction pulled hard as the other let the snake slacken. Then, the other faction pulled with equal force while the first let their side slacken. The mountain on the large turtle's back began to spin. It accelerated clockwise, then it halted. After a brief pause, it started turning counter-clockwise. This rhythmic, powerful churning continued.

Indra's faction, as the ones who found the snake, managed to grab it by its tail. Mahabali's faction was therefore left to hold it near its head. This position ultimately caused a problem for Mahabali's side. The churning inflicted great pain on Vasuki, causing it to eject venom involuntarily. The venom debilitated Mahabali's faction, though Vasuki's own efforts greatly reduced its potency, allowing them to endure.

A vortex began to build at the very tip of the mountain. This vortex drilled deeper into the fabric of chaos. Suddenly, the chaos cracked. From this crack, a vile mist oozed out. It was a poison of decay and destruction. This poison was the manifestation of all the worst parts of chaos. The deadly mist immediately started to wreak havoc. It spread rapidly. It began to destroy and kill everything in its path.

It was at that precise moment that the third entity, formed after the great split, took shape. The third was the Destroyer. His purpose was to ensure that the world, once it had achieved stagnation, would be restarted anew. He saw the newly forming world being demolished before his very eyes. A deep sadness welled within him. Thus, he did the unthinkable. He immediately took a deep, powerful breath. He sucked all the poisonous mist into his own being. He did this knowing full well that the poison could destroy him.

Luckily, his devoted pet snake, which always coiled around him, acted swiftly. The snake wrapped itself tightly around the Destroyer's neck. This action prevented the deadly poison from passing further down into his body. The Destroyer adamantly kept his mouth closed. He refused to let any of the poison escape back into the world. In the end, the potent poison damaged the Destroyer's neck. It left his neck marked with a deathly, permanent blue shade.

___

Kratos stared at Ganesh. An awkward frown creased his brow.

The hints were there in the description; Kratos had met the Destroyer before.

Ganesh simply nodded. Then, he continued his tale.

___

The churning of the chaotic ocean resumed with renewed vigour. The crack in the chaos grew wider and wider. It expanded until a massive explosion rocked the very foundations of existence. This explosion revealed two vast, shimmering dimensional shards.

Energy, raw and potent, began to flood into these newly formed shards. It swirled and coalesced, hinting at new realities taking shape.

But the two shards did not form equally. Both absorbed an equal quantity of energy. However, one converted this energy optimally. It created a realm that was paradise itself. This realm was filled with beautiful fields and meadows. Flowers of countless colours, shapes, and sizes grew there. It contained magnificent natural formations, and majestic creatures lived in balance with the land.

The second shard appeared simpler, though it was not barren. The remaining energy, instead of enriching the lands, condensed. It formed a single, vast lake.

With two options before them, and one which looked clearly superior at a cursory glance, the two factions immediately descended into a brawl. But the two leaders were more level-headed.

Mahabali immediately stepped forward. He declared that his faction deserved consideration. They had, after all, endured the brunt of the damage from the snake ejecting its venom.

Indra was about to refute. Then, he noticed the turtle. The turtle holding the mountain was slowly inching towards the simpler shard. It began to descend into the lake there.

A flicker of intuition made him pause. He held his tongue. He conceded the larger, more paradise-like realm to Mahabali's faction.

Indra's faction was livid at his decision. How could they give up such a bounty to their opponents?

It was only later that they realised this single decision had secured their future.

The water in the lake was special. It carried the bounty of energy that should have enriched the land. Instead, this energy filled the water with immense vitality. Those who drank from it received the gift of immortality.

___

"He picks favourites," Kratos commented.

"Humans in particular are the Preserver's pet project," Saraswati cut in. "Short-lived, capable of great compassion and evil in equal quantity."

"But most important of all, easily manipulated," Ganesh supplemented. "Which was why they were granted the entirety of Bhuloka to colonise and expand in. The Devas who colonised Svarga were his second pet project. A few simple nudges here and there were all it took for them to take the bait. And now, with immortality in their grasp, nothing was stopping them from enforcing their superiority."

"Except the burden of responsibility," Saraswati added. "Indra, the god of storms. Vayu of the wind. Agni of fire. Surya of the sun... All it took was a few well-placed visions, and the world was already worshipping them as deities."

"Just as it worships us," Ganesh expressed with a defeated sigh.

"Anyway, with Bhuloka cleared of its greatest threats and its inhabitants cordoned off in Svarga and Patala, the world had once again regained order... For a while."

___

Patala was a beautiful paradise. But under the haphazard rule of the Asuras, this realm started to lose its splendour.

Mahabali could not hold the faction together for long. Once word spread that immortality had slipped through their fingers, the group started to splinter.

Eventually, these groups started to skirmish. This caused a large portion of Patala to devolve into a wreck.

One of the groups that split off was led by two brothers: Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu. The former was stronger than he was cunning. The latter was more cunning than he was strong. Together, they were a perfect pair of rulers. Their reign expanded to encompass most of the splinter groups from the Asura faction.

One particular day, Hiranyakashipu was performing his usual introspection. He suddenly found himself whisked away. He was deposited in a world that was somewhat reminiscent of Patala of yore. This new realm shimmered with an ethereal light. Its landscapes were sculpted with an artistry that bespoke ancient, potent magic. Lush flora, unlike any he had seen, pulsed with gentle luminescence, and the very air hummed with a quiet power.

As Hiranyakashipu ventured deeper, he came upon a clearing. There, nestled amidst colossal, crystalline formations, lay a figure of immense presence, seemingly lost in a profound slumber. The being possessed of five heads.

But the entity's sleep wasn't as deep as it appeared. Because as he drew nearer, the figure started to stir. One by one, ten eyes opened and fixed upon him.

A wave of power, controlled yet undeniably vast, washed over Hiranyakashipu as the being let out a calm breath.

Hiranyakashipu, for all his might and the dominion he held in Patala, felt an instinctual recognition of a superior force. This was no mere powerful Asura or Deva; his existence transcended them, and he could not fathom just by how much.

Almost instinctively and without a moment's hesitation, Hiranyakashipu fell to his knees. He pressed his forehead to the glowing earth, and with the utmost deference, he said, "O, magnificent one! O, radiant being of untold power and wisdom! Forgive this humble one's intrusion into your sacred repose. My eyes are blinded by your glory, my spirit trembles before your majesty!"

He continued in this vein, his words a torrent of praise, extolling the perceived virtues, the evident power, and the sheer awe-inspiring presence of the five-headed entity. He lauded the serenity of its faces, the depth within its eyes, the aura of ancient knowledge that clung to it like a shroud of starlight.

A gentle smile graced the being's faces. And as the initial shock from the awakening subsided, a semblance of conversation began.

Hiranyakashipu, ever the opportunist, began to subtly weave questions into his continued adulations. He spoke of his own realm, his ambitions, and his frustrations with the limitations he faced.

The five-headed being listened. Its expressions were unreadable, yet its attention was absolute.

After a while, Hiranyakashipu did not realise that he had droned on excessively, going so far as to unburden himself emotionally. It was almost too easy.

"I... I should go," he said before quickly extricating himself. That moment of weakness had rattled him subconsciously - he was not used to it.

Hiranyakashipu constantly wore a mask of ruthlessness and strength. The freedom to speak openly in the hidden realm was, therefore, intoxicating. He found himself returning regularly. There, he would find the five-headed entity and allow his true self to emerge.

"The more I consider it, the stranger it seems," Hiranyakashipu said one day. He lay vulnerable, his head resting on the being's thighs. "The churning, the division of realms... it all feels orchestrated. My kind were disadvantaged at every opportunity. Mahabali will not explain how he and Indra received the same dream. That is simply unheard of!"

At this, the being spoke for the first time since their initial meeting. "Dreams are merely gateways to other realms and realities. Only those with immense mental power can make these dream realms solid and lasting. Beings in the lower realms lack such capacity."

All five heads spoke at once in a symphonic harmony. The being's voice was calm and methodical. His words were plain and brief. Yet, as Hiranyakashipu considered them, a realisation dawned. A greater power was manipulating events. Everything was orchestrated. All involved were made to believe the ideas were their own.

After several days pondering this revelation, Hiranyakashipu approached his younger brother, Hiranyaksha. He shared his conclusion. Predictably, this infuriated Hiranyaksha.

"What is the point of this?" Hiranyakashipu asked, his voice tinged with defeat.

"What do you mean, Brother?!" Hiranyaksha retorted in disbelief. "We must do something! This is unfair!"

"Exactly. What can we do?" Hiranyakashipu replied. "Consider this. If someone is stronger than us, stronger than Mahabali, stronger than all Devas and Asuras combined, what action can we take against such a person?"

"Are you saying we should just... give up?" his younger brother bellowed.

Hiranyakashipu did not explain further. He removed himself from the argument. As the more practical brother, he understood the limits of rebellion. The entity orchestrating everything was an unstoppable force. It had clearly shown that they were not immune to its influence.

He journeyed to the most remote corners of Patala. There, he settled himself, unmoving. He entered a meditation so deep his skin hardened like stone. In this state, he separated his soul from his body. His soul then entered the realm of the five-headed being, and he began to learn.

Hiranyaksha initially disagreed with this path. However, he soon realised his rebellion would be against a nameless, faceless power. Without a clear target, he could not rally forces. His efforts began to falter.

His morale crushed, Hiranyaksha followed his brother. He too settled into deep meditation in a distant part of Patala.

Sensing his brother had joined him, Hiranyakashipu guided Hiranyaksha's soul into the being's realm. Together, the two brothers began to expand their understanding. They learned from the vast knowledge held within the many heads of the being they now knew as Brahma.

The brothers proved to be eager students. They absorbed Brahma's teachings like parched earth drinks the first rains. Both were sincere in their pursuit of knowledge. The ever-cautious Hiranyakashipu weighed each lesson carefully. He analysed its implications with his sharp intellect. Hiranyaksha, in contrast, was more open and immediate. He quickly shed his inhibitions. He mentally adopted Brahma as a father figure with pure and unquestioning devotion.

For a span that felt like an eternity within Brahma's timeless realm, the trio coexisted in a state of focused learning and mutual respect. It was a period of profound intellectual growth for the brothers. They delved into cosmic secrets and universal laws under Brahma's tutelage.

Yet, even in this haven of knowledge, Brahma sensed a subtle dissonance. At times, the brothers felt hollow; their vibrant spirits would become momentarily dimmed by an echo of some unaddressed void. It was a fleeting sensation, but it troubled the Creator. A growing paternal affection for his diligent students stirred within him. He observed their earnest efforts and their underlying vulnerabilities.

Driven by this burgeoning fondness, Brahma eventually decided to offer them a gift. "You have studied well," his chorus of voices resonated with warmth. "Your dedication is commendable. As a mark of my satisfaction, I shall grant each of you a boon. Ask what you will."

Hiranyakashipu became thoughtful. His mind raced, calculating the possibilities, the potential pitfalls of any request. Hiranyaksha, however, did not hesitate. His impulsive nature took over. "Great Father Brahma!" he exclaimed, his eyes alight with fervour. "Grant me this: that I may not be slain by man or beast, by Deva or Asura! Make me invulnerable to all these!"

Having received his boon, Hiranyaksha's spirit surged with newfound power and a burning desire for retribution. He abruptly left his meditative state. He concluded that the orchestrating power Brahma had hinted at was deeply invested in Bhuloka, the realm of mortals. He resolved to strike there. A relentless campaign began. He would subjugate Bhuloka and demonstrate the folly of underestimating the Asuras.

With Brahma's boon protecting him, no man, beast, Deva, or Asura could stand against Hiranyaksha. His path of conquest was swift and brutal. With his power unchecked, he carved a swathe of destruction across Bhuloka.

In a final, terrible act to inflict maximum carnage and despair, Hiranyaksha infiltrated Svarga itself. He sought out Bhumi Devi, the gentle goddess embodying the Earth. He seized her and dragged her from her celestial abode. Through cruel torture and overwhelming force, he compelled her to submerge Bhuloka beneath the cosmic waters. A cataclysmic flood ensued, rivalling the deluge that had marked the very dawn of creation. The cries of drowning mortals and the despair of the Earth goddess echoed through the devastated realm.

And true to his prediction, the great orchestrating power did take action. The Preserver could not let such devastation stand.

In the dense, mist-shrouded forests of a remote floating island, a unique creature took its first breath. A wild boar - a Varaha - was born, but it bore a strange mutation. Instead of four hooves, it possessed two powerful arms and two sturdy legs. Its siblings were born vibrant, squirming with the energy of new life. This Varaha, however, felt strangely hollow.

Unlike its brethren, this peculiar Varaha showed no interest in typical porcine pursuits. It did not forage idly or wallow in mud. A singular, dogged pursuit consumed its existence. From a young age, it would venture to the island's edge and swim out into the vast, churning ocean below. Each day, it pushed itself further, increasing the distance and the duration of its swims. It learned to dive and plunged into the cold depths, again extending its depth and time submerged with relentless practice.

The ocean teemed with life. The Varaha feasted on the abundant fish, and its strange body grew rapidly. It became massive, and its muscles became thick and powerful. It would sharpen its formidable tusks against the ancient trees of its island home. It ground them against the rocky hillsides and even the island's mountainous spine. Its tusks became like lethal spears.

Once it attained a colossal size and unmatched strength, the creature took a final, decisive dive. It plunged deep into the dark abyss of the cosmic ocean. Using its keen hearing, it picked up faint, subdued whimpers. It followed these sorrowful sounds that were the cries of the Earth Goddess, Bhumi Devi.

The Varaha found her imprisoned. She lay captive within a lightless volcanic ravine, which was a scar in the deepest confines of the ocean floor. Hiranyaksha stood guard, gloating over his prisoner and the drowned world above. He sensed the Varaha's approach and turned, a sneer twisting his features. The two titans clashed.

The battle raged for days without pause. The ocean floor buckled and smoked from the force of their blows. Hiranyaksha, protected by Brahma's boon, fought with savage confidence. He landed blow after blow, and the Varaha, though immensely powerful, seemed to falter. Ecstasy filled Hiranyaksha. He anticipated his victory, relishing the thought of crushing this unexpected challenger.

But in a surprising, brutal turnabout, the Varaha found an opening. With a speed that belied its bulk, it lunged. It sank its massive, sharpened tusks deep into Hiranyaksha's neck. The tusks tore upwards, through his jaw, silencing his triumphant roar. Hiranyaksha died instantly, his invulnerability pierced by a creature that was neither man nor beast in the conventional sense, nor Deva, nor Asura.

The Varaha then gently lifted the weeping goddess from her prison. It carried her on its broad back, swimming upwards through the dark waters, back towards the light and its floating island sanctuary.

Bhumi Devi turned to thank her saviour. But before she could utter a word, the great Varaha shuddered violently. Its massive form convulsed. Then, with a sound like tearing thunder, the creature exploded in a shower of blood and gore. Its purpose fulfilled, the vessel was empty once more.

News of his brother's demise reached Hiranyakashipu in his meditative seclusion. The loss was profound. A deep, cold sorrow settled within him. It was in stark contrast to the burning ambition that usually fueled his being. Yet, this grief did not ignite an immediate, fiery rage. Instead, it brought a chilling clarity. He had witnessed, albeit indirectly, the swift and decisive power of his true adversary - the Preserver. This was not a foe to be underestimated or challenged rashly. The fate of Hiranyaksha served as a grim testament to that.

After a long period of silent contemplation, his mind sifting through layers of grief and strategic calculation, Hiranyakashipu resolved to claim his own boon from Brahma. He approached the Creator, his demeanour was outwardly calm, but his eyes burned with an unyielding resolve. "Great Father Brahma," he began, "the time has come for me to request what you so generously offered." He then meticulously outlined his desire: "Grant me that I cannot be killed by any being born of your creation, whether human, Deva, Asura, animal, or any hybrid thereof. Ensure that my death cannot occur during the day, nor during the night. I shall not be slain on the earth, in the air, or in water. I cannot be killed where I reside, nor outside. No weapon, whether mundane or divine, shall be the instrument of my end."

Brahma listened, his five faces etched with a profound weariness. "Hiranyakashipu," his voices intoned, "this path you choose is fraught with peril. The power you seek to defy is fundamental to the order of existence. This is not a conflict you can win." But Hiranyakashipu's heart, now encased in the ice of his loss and the fire of his ambition, was deaf to the warning. Revenge had blinded him to all else. He respectfully, but firmly, insisted on his boon. With a heavy sigh, Brahma granted it.

Empowered and seemingly invincible, Hiranyakashipu's first act was not one of immediate violence, but of information warfare. He returned to Patala, and from there, his words spread like wildfire across the realms. He publicised the existence of the Trinity - the Creator, the Preserver, and the Destroyer. He focused particularly on the Preserver, painting a vivid picture of a manipulative deity - a puppeteer pulling the strings of fate for his own inscrutable purposes. He highlighted the injustices, the perceived favouritism, the suffering caused by these grand, cosmic games.

His conquest was methodical. He turned his attention first to Bhuloka, the realm of mortals. His armies, bolstered by his own invulnerability, swept across the lands. Kingdoms fell, and resistance crumbled. He established his dominion with ruthless efficiency. However, this campaign forced a painful separation. He had to leave his wife and their newborn son, Prahalada, behind in the relative safety of Patala.

During Hiranyakashipu's long absence, young Prahalada grew. In the palace gardens of Patala, an old, unassuming gardener often tended to the boy. This gardener was, in secret, a devout follower of the Preserver. He saw the innate goodness in the young Asura prince. Gently, through stories and simple explanations, he spoke to Prahalada of the Preserver's true nature - his role in maintaining cosmic balance. He described the Preserver's avatars not as tools of manipulation, but as acts of selfless intervention to restore dharma. Prahalada, whose pure heart was untouched by his father's bitterness, listened intently. The gardener's words resonated deeply, and the boy, in turn, became a fervent devotee of the Preserver.

Upon Hiranyakashipu's triumphant return to Patala, his joy at reuniting with his family was short-lived. He soon discovered his son's unwavering faith in the very deity he had sworn to defy. Fury consumed him. That his own flesh and blood would worship his sworn enemy was an unbearable betrayal.

His rage escalated to a horrifying degree. He resolved to extinguish this spark of devotion, even if it meant extinguishing his son's life. He summoned his sister, Holika. She possessed a power that made her immune to fire. Hiranyakashipu commanded her to take Prahalada onto a pyre. "Let the flames consume his heresy," he roared. Holika, though perhaps with some reluctance, obeyed. She sat upon the pyre, cradling the calm Prahalada in her lap as the flames were lit. But as the fire blazed, Prahalada prayed fervently to the Preserver. A miracle occurred. The flames, instead of harming the boy, seemed to intensify around Holika. The heat grew beyond measure, and her power failed against the divine protection surrounding Prahalada. Holika, the fire-immune Asura, melted away into ash while Prahalada remained untouched.

At his wits' end, and with his fury now mixed with disbelief, Hiranyakashipu dragged Prahalada to the grand audience hall of his palace. "You speak of this Preserver, this god of yours!" he goaded, his voice dripping with venom. He dropped all pretence of paternal concern. "If he is so powerful, what is there to stop me from killing you right now? Where is your god, boy? Show him to me!"

Prahalada replied calmly, "Father, my Lord is everywhere. He is in the bark of the smallest tree, and the rust on this very pillar. He is in every particle of existence."

Enraged by this unwavering faith, Hiranyakashipu seized his heavy mace. "Is he in this pillar then?" he thundered. With all his might, he swung the mace and struck the stone pillar beside his throne.

Instead of shattering or crumbling, the pillar groaned. It began to warp and twist as if it were made of soft clay.

Suddenly, the pillar exploded outwards. From the dust and debris, a terrifying form emerged. It was a creature of nightmare, half-man and half-lion - a Narasimha. Its muscular torso and powerful arms were human-like, but its head was that of a ferocious lion, complete with a shaggy mane and eyes burning with incandescent rage. Four powerful arms ended in claws as long and sharp as daggers. The creature was not born of any womb; it was moulded from the very substance of the pillar. It let out a deafening roar, releasing a sound that was not only loud but carried the concussive force of a hundred thunderstorms that shook the palace to its foundations.

Hiranyakashipu, despite the shock, quickly composed himself. He was not reckless like his brother. His sharp mind instantly processed the nature of this new threat. This creature was not born of Brahma's creation in the usual sense. It had been made. One condition of his boon was already bypassed. He steeled himself for the inevitable conflict.

The Narasimha attacked with the ferocity of a rabid beast. It gave Hiranyakashipu no moment of respite. Its claws tore through the air seeking flesh, and Hiranyakashipu fought back with all his might. But he realised with growing unease that the Narasimha used no weapon, neither mundane nor divine. It fought with its natural endowments – its claws and teeth. Another condition of his boon was rendered useless.

The battle raged. Time flowed, and the sun arced across the sky. The Narasimha fought without tiring like a relentless engine of destruction. Hiranyakashipu's endurance, however, was not limitless. The sheer ferocity of the man-lion's assault began to wear him down. As the sky outside the palace windows began to bleed into the hues of twilight - that temporal space that was neither day nor night - Hiranyakashipu found himself near defeat. Yet, another condition of his boon was met.

A grim satisfaction flickered in Hiranyakashipu's eyes despite his exhaustion. He could not die on earth, in the air, or water. He could not be killed inside his abode, nor outside. He was, he believed, still safe.

But Narasimha was a creature of shrewd intellect as well as brute force. In a swift move, it lunged. It grabbed Hiranyakashipu's arms with two of its powerful hands, wrenching them from their sockets with a sickening tear. With its other two hands, it seized the crippled Asura king. Narasimha then carried him, not inside the hall, nor fully outside, but to the threshold of the palace - the portico. It was a space that was neither within nor without. There, Narasimha sat and placed Hiranyakashipu across its lap. He was not on the earth, nor in the air, nor in the water.

Then, with a final roar, Narasimha plunged its dagger-like claws into Hiranyakashipu's abdomen. It disembowelled him with ruthless efficiency. The creature then began to devour him, tearing and rending. It consumed him from the inside out, meticulously ensuring that not a single drop of his blood touched its thighs or the ground below. All conditions of Brahma's boon were met, and all were overcome.

When its hunger and rage were finally sated, Narasimha's form began to shift. The raw, terrifying energy that composed it coalesced and solidified. The half-man, half-lion creature transformed back into stone. It became a permanent statue, forever frozen in a posture of fury, at the very entrance to Hiranyakashipu's grand castle. It stood as an eternal reminder to any who might dare to oppose the Preserver.

___

"Twice the Preserver had to descend, going against the cosmic laws through excess intervention," Ganesh explained. "The Varaha and Narasimha were direct manipulations of the natural laws, raw power forced into being. Such actions, while restoring a semblance of order, also frayed the very fabric of those laws."

Ganesh paused, allowing Kratos to absorb this information. "After the fall of Hiranyakashipu," he continued, "a great council was convened. The Preserver, as his presence was now known, addressed the assembled Devas and the remaining, somewhat chastened, Asura leaders. He spoke with compelling eloquence. He argued that the Creator, Brahma, in his boundless compassion and adherence to the letter of cosmic law, had inadvertently enabled such catastrophic disruptions. By granting boons of near-invincibility, Brahma, though well-intentioned, had become a point of vulnerability in the cosmic order. The Preserver painted a picture of a future where stability reigned, where such extreme interventions would no longer be necessary. This stability, he proposed, did not require further creation. There was no true need, he argued, for the Creator to be so readily accessible to all, especially those whose ambitions might twist his gifts into weapons of mass destruction."

The Preserver's arguments were persuasive. The Devas, still reeling from Hiranyaksha's rampage and Hiranyakashipu's reign of terror, were easily swayed. They craved security and a return to undisputed supremacy. Many Asuras, weary of constant conflict and seeing the futility of opposing the Preserver's might, also conceded. They saw a path to a more predictable existence, even if it meant diminished influence.

"And thus," Ganesh concluded, "the Creator was effectively banished. He was confined to his realm. The myriad pathways to his abode, once open to sincere seekers of self-improvement, were sealed. Great barriers woven from cosmic energies were erected. Brahma, the source of all creation, was banished by the decree of those he had created and nurtured. The universe, to protect itself from the consequences of its potential, had imprisoned its father."

With Ganesh's tale concluded, Kratos slowly turned. He faced the looming darkness beyond the stone gate that led into the cave. The shadows within seemed to writhe, a stark contrast to the faint, ethereal light of Ganesh's own realm.

A flicker of something akin to hope stirred within Kratos. Ganesh's story, despite its tales of cosmic manipulation and divine politics, had planted a seed. If this Creator, Brahma, possessed the power to grant boons of such magnitude – boons that could twist the very laws of life and death – then perhaps, just perhaps, he held the power to unravel a curse.

Kratos took a deliberate and cautious step into the oppressive darkness.