Years Ago — The Forbidden Foundry of Mahishmati
Few knew such a place existed beneath the palace, deeper than any dungeon and buried beneath the bones of forgotten kings. It was not mapped, not named. It lived only in whispers passed down through terrified generations.
Vaartal.
The place where life was twisted into weaponry.
Inside, the fires never stopped burning. The walls were charred black by centuries of heat. Chains dangled like vines from the ceiling, and in the center stood the one they called the Beastmaker. He had once been a scholar. Now he was something else entirely.
A man who had once studied harmony in nature, now obsessed with tearing it apart.
"The perfect warrior," he murmured one night, hunched over a journal streaked with ink and blood. "Not born. Not raised. Forged."
He started with wild beasts—wolves, tigers, serpents. Then he blended metal with flesh. Most experiments ended in screams and silence.
But one survived.
Not a beast. Not a man. Something in between.
A creature formed from a dying prisoner's body, the ash of a dragon's bone, and fire taken from the old gods.
It took seven years just to survive. Seven more to bend its will. And when its eyes finally opened, the Beastmaker wept.
Not from guilt.
From awe.
"I will call you Marakth. The Fire of Silence."
He gave it a name. He gave it purpose. Then he sealed it away, hidden beneath the palace, waiting for the day when Mahishmati would require a terror that no one could understand.
That day had finally arrived.
Now — Mahishmati Burns
The creature Marakth, the War Beast, prowled the outskirts of the kingdom, waiting in the mist, its claws sinking into the wet soil.
Its cracked mask glowed with molten heat. Its breath burned the dew from the trees before the sun had even touched them.
But something stirred deep inside its hollow chest.
It remembered pain. Fire. Screaming.
A face.
The face of the man who first fed it light.
The Beastmaker.
And in some dark corner of its mind, it remembered chains.
Chains that whispered still.
Kill for them… and you will be free.
The Palace Tower — Bhallaladeva's Wrath
Lightning crawled across the skies above Mahishmati as Bhallaladeva slammed his iron fist onto the war table.
"You told me it would be invincible," he growled.
The Beastmaker stood hunched before him, older now, trembling, skin pale and sickly in the torchlight.
"It is invincible," he replied, his voice unsteady. "But it wasn't finished. You awakened it too soon. The final seal was not set."
Bhallaladeva narrowed his eyes.
"I don't care if it's complete. I want Bahubali dead."
The Beastmaker hesitated.
"Then release the second one."
Silence flooded the room like water through a crack.
Bhallaladeva stared at him. "There's another?"The old man nodded slowly.
"A twin. Created in secret. But unlike the first, this one was never meant to feel. No memory. No empathy."
He looked up, his voice barely a whisper.
"If the first was fire... the second is hunger."
Meanwhile — The Storm Brews
In the rebel camp, the skies had darkened. Wind howled through the trees like a warning from the gods.
Bahubali stood at the edge of a cliff, watching thunderclouds churn like angry waves. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, unmoving.
Devasena walked to him in silence. She stood beside him, gaze locked on the horizon.
"What is it?" she asked.
He didn't answer at first.
Then he said, "There's another one coming."
Her eyes widened slightly. "How do you know?"
He turned to her."Because the last one hesitated."
He looked back toward the storm.
"This one won't."
Final Scene — The Unchaining
Beneath the palace, deep in the forgotten halls of Vaartal, chains rattled against steel.
Flames curled around the edges of an ancient vault. Smoke slithered up through cracks in the stone.
Then a sound tore through the silence.
A scream.
But not of pain.
Of birth.
The second beast opened its eyes. They were empty, like windows into nothingness.
Where the first had been forged in suffering and fire, this one was born of hunger. A void wearing a body.
It tore its chains apart with a single movement.
The sky above Mahishmati cracked with thunder.
And the kingdom trembled again.