Night at the Edge of the Eastern Ridge
The stars barely glimmered. Even the wind felt strange—slow and cautious, like nature itself was afraid.
A rebel scout named Lavi tore through the underbrush. Branches sliced across her arms, but she didn't stop. She burst into the rebel camp, stumbling in front of Aravan and Bahubali, gasping for air, eyes wide with terror.
"They're coming," she managed to whisper. "Not riders. Not men. I don't even know what they are…"
Bahubali stepped forward, calm and steady. "Tell me what you saw."
Lavi looked up, trembling. "Nothing. That's just it. No sound. Just... bodies. Lying there with their eyes open. Like something took their souls."
The Release of the Widow's Legion
Earlier that night in the dungeons beneath Mahishmati, heavy iron doors opened. Smoke slithered across the floor as cold torchlight revealed figures stepping out of the shadows.
The Widow's Legion.
Dozens of them. Clad in armor the color of dried blood, faces hidden behind metal masks and black veils. No banners. No horns. No words.
They carried blades dipped in old curses and moved with terrifying silence.
They did not speak. They did not feel. They only obeyed.
The command was simple.
"Leave nothing breathing."
The Rebel Camp Braces
Bahubali stood before the fire with his sword unsheathed. Around him, the rebels waited in tense silence. Even the bravest among them could feel it—something unnatural was on its way.
"Tonight," Bahubali said, his voice clear and steady, "we don't fight ordinary soldiers. We fight shadows. But shadows fear light. They fear unity. Stay close to the fire. Protect each other. Guard the weak."
He turned to the younger warriors. "If you want to live, do not stray."
Aravan stepped forward, his jaw clenched. "Will that be enough?"
Bahubali didn't hesitate. "No. But I will."
The Attack Begins
Without warning, it started.
A single torch dropped to the dirt.
A scream rang out—and was cut short.
Then, nothing.
Figures slipped through the trees like ghosts. One by one, guards vanished into the dark. There was no shouting, no clashing of swords. Just shadows and death.
Near the central fire, a young rebel named Malya turned in fear. Behind her, a Widow crept silently, blade raised to strike.
Steel met steel.
Bahubali blocked the strike with precision, then struck back with power.
"You've taken enough," he growled. "Now you face me."
He slashed across the chest. The Widow staggered, fell, and hit the earth with a sound like dry clay breaking. No blood. No scream. Just dust.
Devasena's Shelter
In a small hut near the edge of the camp, Devasena clutched her son to her chest, whispering prayers. Outside, her guards stood watch, but even they knew they wouldn't hold long.
The door burst open.
Devasena reached for a weapon, but paused when she saw Aravan.
"We need to move," he said. "He told me to bring you to the Ridge."
She nodded, no questions. They slipped out into the trees.
Behind them, a masked Widow struck, blade flashing past Devasena's hair. Aravan turned mid-step and hurled a dagger. It struck the figure through the eye slot. The body fell limp, faceless and still.
"We have to keep going," he said, breathing hard.
The Battlefield ...Fire and Fury
Bahubali stood in the heart of chaos, a force of nature.
Hemoved like a lion among wolves. A Widow lunged. He disarmed and dropped it in two moves. Another came from the side. He turned, twisted its blade away, and struck its neck.
They tried to overwhelm him.
They couldn't even touch him.
One after another, the Widows fell. Some by fire. Some by steel. But most by Bahubali's hand.
Even the shadows seemed to avoid him.
Reinforcements Arrive
Just as the rebels started to break, the blast of a war horn echoed from the cliffs.
Reinforcements had come.
Three allied tribes, loyal to Devasena's bloodline, had arrived under cover of night. Arrows flew through the trees, flames dancing on their tips.
The Widows faltered.
One hissed for the first time as fire licked its armor.
The rebels surged forward, pushing back. Together, they forced the invaders out of the camp and into the forest.
The tide had turned.
Victory at Dawn
When the sun finally rose, smoke curled through the trees. The rebel camp was battered but still standing.
Bodies lay still across the dirt, but the fire still burned. Hope still burned.
Devasena rushed into Bahubali's arms. He held her tightly, both of them breathing hard, but alive.
Aravan stepped forward, wounded but proud, carrying the boy. The child cried out and reached for his mother.
Bahubali looked at them, then turned to the rising sun.
"They tried to kill hope," he said quietly. "But we're still here."
He sheathed his sword and stared toward Mahishmati.
"It's time we take the fight to their gates."
In the Palace
Bhallaladeva stared into the flames of the war chamber.
"The Widow's Legion has failed," a priest muttered behind him.
Bhallaladeva said nothing. His hand tightened around the edge of his throne.
"Then it's time," he whispered. "Unseal the altar below. Summon the War Beast."
A dark tremor ran through the stones beneath the palace.
In the chamber below, old fire stirred.
And something ancient… opened its eyes.