The three cities did not explode. They dissolved —turning into a rain of white lotus petals that fell upon the three worlds. Vishnu stood beside Shiva as the last petal landed on the Ganges.
the mirror murmured, “you have won. The Devas hide. Brahma’s boon makes you eternal. Why do you still fear the sound of a bowstring?”
Vishnu stepped forward from behind a pillar of smoke. He was no longer a mendicant. He was —the cosmic form. Thousands of arms, each holding a weapon given by every god who had ever suffered an Asura’s tyranny.
A low chanting began. Not of praise—of reckoning .
“Brother,” Vishnu said softly. “The alignment happens at dawn. But you are lost in bliss.”
the reflection agreed. “But a dancer might.”
“Mahadev,” Vishnu’s voice was a billion thunderclaps. “The alignment is now. But you cannot use my weapons. You cannot use Brahma’s. You must use the one thing they never built defense against.”