The leader's body collapsed to the ground with a lifeless thud, and Arjun's breath hissed through his teeth, but his victory was short-lived.

He did not see the group of assassins behind him, swords raised high, ready to bring down death with a blinding swiftness.

The metallic gleam of their blades sliced the air, hurtling towards him like lightning.

But then, a pulse of energy rippled through the clearing—a shudder that seemed to come from the very earth beneath them.

Draupadi’s eyes fluttered open, her vision blurry and her head pounding with searing pain.

The world around her was hazy, but she could make out the dark figures advancing on the man who had saved her, their intentions clear as death loomed above him.

Agony shot through her as she forced herself to move, her muscles screaming in protest.

Her body was a battlefield of wounds and fatigue, but a surge of fury burned through the haze, driving her to act.

She summoned the energy from deep within her, letting it course down her limbs, igniting a blaze of vivid color that seemed to burst from her skin.

The air around her shimmered, glowing with an otherworldly luminescence that formed a fiery halo.

It danced like a living thing, coiling and twisting around her as though the very essence of wrath and power took shape in the space between breaths.

The armband she wore—black and serpentine, its emerald eyes glinting like malevolent jewels—began to move, shifting with an unnatural fluidity.

It slithered down her arm like a living creature, winding itself into her hand, where it unfurled into a long, wicked whip. But this was no ordinary weapon.

At Draupadi’s command, the whip morphed, five distinct heads of snakes sprouting from its length, each one snapping and hissing, baring fangs that gleamed in the dim firelight.

Their eyes, filled with venomous intent, glowed with a hauntingly beautiful malevolence.

With a flick of her wrist, the whip cracked through the air, the snake heads lunging forward with terrifying precision.

They struck like lightning, their mouths widening as they found their marks—the heads of five assassins whose swords hung uselessly in the air.

The jaws of the snakes clamped down with a sickening crunch, and the men’s screams tore through the night as Draupadi pulled the whip back, ripping the heads from their bodies.

Blood sprayed in a gruesome arc, and the sound of bones shattering filled the clearing like the breaking of dry twigs.

Five heads dangled grotesquely from the whip as she stood, her form wreathed in the glow of the fading halo, her expression cold and unyielding.

The five lifeless bodies fell to the ground, blood pooling around them like dark flowers blooming in the moonlight.

Arjun spun around, drawn by the screams that tore through the forest, and froze at the sight before him. For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief, his eyes widening as they took in the scene.

The five decapitated heads hung from the snake-headed whip, which seemed almost alive in Draupadi's hand, coiling and twisting as if tasting the blood in the air.

The aura that surrounded her was both terrifying and mesmerizing—a manifestation of wrath that seemed to consume the night itself.

Draupadi’s hair fell in wild waves around her face, streaked with blood and dirt, but her eyes burned with an inner fire that seemed to scorch the very air.

There was a dangerous grace in her stance, her form poised like a vengeful goddess.

She looked less like a human and more like a force of nature—an avenging angel cloaked in darkness, her beauty made more terrible by the blood that dripped from the whip in her hand.

Draupadi’s breath hitched as her gaze fell upon him. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, and her heart stuttered painfully in her chest.

It couldn’t be. . .

Her mind was surely playing tricks on her—a cruel mirage born of the blood loss and exhaustion that blurred the lines of reality.

Yet there he stood, amidst the carnage that littered the forest floor, an unyielding figure with a bow gripped in one hand, his broad shoulders framed by the dying light of the fire.

The same molten hazel eyes that had once looked upon her with such intensity now scanned the forest with lethal purpose, the lines of his face sharper, harsher than she remembered.

Arjun.

It was as if the air itself stilled, the sounds of battle dulling to a muted roar as memories surged back to her—memories she had tried to bury in the deepest corners of her mind.

The boy she had once known was gone, replaced by a man who looked every inch the deadly warrior prince.

But it was the same face that had haunted her dreams, the same eyes that had followed her into the depths of countless sleepless nights.

Draupadi’s pulse quickened, her chest tightening painfully.

She had refused to utter his name for so long, had forced herself to forget the syllables that had once rolled so easily from her lips.

She had buried the ache, covered the scars with layers of anger and indifference.

And yet, here he was, as if destiny had decided to mock her efforts, slapping her across the face with the cruelest reminder of all.

It was real.

He was real.

Standing right there, surrounded by the chaos of battle, the scent of blood heavy in the air. The man she had once loved.

A ragged breath escaped her as she watched him, struggling to reconcile the boy from her memories with the lethal force before her.

The last time she had seen him, he had been younger, softer—his face free of the shadows that now darkened his gaze.

Back then, she had loved him with the kind of innocence that belonged only to the young and unscarred.

But that love had not withstood the cruelties of time. It had been shattered, ground to dust beneath the weight of betrayal and loss.

The forest around her blurred as her mind reeled, and she wondered for a fleeting moment if this was some nightmare conjured by her exhaustion.

It would not have been the first time that the past clawed its way into her present, tearing at her sanity with jagged nails.

But as she blinked, the vision did not fade. He did not vanish into the mist like some tortured figment of her imagination.

No, he was here. Flesh and blood.

The man who had once known the secrets of her heart now stood amidst the wreckage of this bloody night, close enough to touch. Close enough to rend open old wounds that had never truly healed.

For a heartbeat, she could not breathe, as the years unraveled and the pain she had buried clawed its way to the surface, raw and unforgiving.

Memories assailed her—of laughter shared in the quiet corners of the palace, of stolen glances that spoke of promises unspoken, of a love that had burned so fiercely it had left nothing but ashes in its wake.

The sound of his voice reached her, low and commanding, barking orders to someone she could not see, and she flinched at the familiarity of it.

She had been certain she would never hear that voice again, and now, when it echoed through the forest, it was as if destiny itself were mocking her, forcing her to confront the very person she had sworn to leave in the past.

Her jaw clenched, and her hands tightened around the whip, the muscles in her arms trembling with the strain.

She wanted to scream, to hurl some cutting remark at him, to demand why he was here, why fate had seen fit to thrust him back into her life at such a moment.

But she could not form the words. Her throat felt raw, as if choked by the weight of her emotions.

The forest stretched around them, soaked in blood, the air thick with the stench of death.

It was an ironic setting for such a reunion—a twisted mockery of the innocence they had once shared.

She had often wondered what she would say if she ever saw him again. Would she be able to look him in the eye without breaking? Would she feel anything at all, or had the years numbed her heart beyond recognition?

But there were no words for this moment.

No easy way to confront the chaos that swirled within her.

She could only stare, as the man who had once meant everything to her fought his way through the encroaching darkness, as if he belonged there, amidst the violence and the bloodshed.

Draupadi’s chest tightened with a mixture of emotions she did not care to name, and she let out a breath that trembled at the edges.

Her pain mingled with the remnants of fury still simmering in her veins, and she could do nothing but watch as he carved a path through the chaos, a vengeful angel bathed in firelight.

Destiny had played a cruel hand indeed, thrusting them together once more on a night when the world had come undone.

She forced her emotions deep in the back of her mind locking them in. No. She wouldn't break now. Maybe later. Not now.

Not infront of him. He would never have the satisfaction of seeing her break. Not today.

She met Arjun's gaze, her eyes alight with a lethal calm. There was no trace of the pain that had dulled her expression moments ago—only the fierce determination of a warrior who would not bow to death.

“We meet again,” she said, her voice low and laced with venom, “Poetic reunion, ain't it?”

The five snake heads recoiled back along the length of the whip, and with a swift motion, Draupadi snapped it to the ground, letting the severed heads tumble free.

Her gaze flicked to the remaining assassins, who had hesitated at the sight of such a grotesque spectacle, their expressions painted with horror.

“Come then,” she taunted, the words a snarl on her lips. “Let me show you how death welcomes its prey.”

Arjun's chest tightened at the sight of her—this woman who had once been so different, so untouched by the savagery of battle.

Now, she embodied it, wielding death with a cold elegance that sent chills down his spine.

He could see the change in her, the scars that had shaped her into the creature before him—a queen of the battlefield, drenched in the blood of her enemies.

As the surviving men began to close in, the fear that clouded their eyes betrayed them.

They were no match for the deadly grace with which Draupadi moved. She was not just fighting for her life—she was a harbinger of retribution, a figure who blurred the line between warrior and avenger. . .

***

The forest crackled with the aftershock of violence, the air thick with the stench of blood and burning leaves.

Draupadi and Arjun moved like two shadows in the night, their forms blurring into a frenzy of blades and bloodshed.

The assassins who remained scattered, each one knowing that to step within striking range of these two was to embrace death itself. But desperation drove them forward.

"You can't stop playing the saviour can you?" She spat, her voice thick with venom, as she parried a blow aiming for her her side.

Arjun's laugh, was a bitter humour less sound, "And you still can't resist running straight into trouble." He retroted driving his sword in the gut of another asssasin, the man's scream dying on his blade. "Some things never change.

She spun through flicking her wrist, slicing through another attacker. "Oh how noble of you, the self proclaimed hero comes to save the damsel in distress. Wasn't that always your role Prince?" She snapped back, refusing to let his name surface on her lips, while she stepped an attack, moving closer to him.

His eyes flickered with irritation as he deflected a strike aimed for her neck, his jaw tightening with fury at bastard who dared aim for her. 

He wrapped his hand around the attacker's hand pulling him closer, as he twisted his arm.

The sickening crunch of the bone shattering filled the air, the man screamed on top of his lungs begging for mercy. Arjun's furious hazel orbs locked with the man's. He leaned closer whispering in his ear, soft enough that only he could hear.

"There are some mistakes that you only make once. And touching her is the deadliest kind." He hissed, his words were laced with a menacle acidic warning.

Before Arjun drove his dagger in the side of his neck, blood splashed on his face as he watched the man crumple on the ground. 

"If you hadn't gone and gotten yourself surrounded, I wouldn't have to play hero." He snapped answering her earlier retort, a sigh passing through his lips, when he noticed she had her back facing to him, when he had killed the bastard who attacked her.

"You always did know how to stir up a mess." He snapped.

"And you always did know how to stop in at the worst possible time." She growled, turning in time to kick a dagger out of another assailants' hand.

"You're still the same reckless woman, aren't you? Always jumping to worst possible conclusion." He shouted, over the clash of steel, flaying another man. "And charging into the battle without a single thought."

Their eyes clashed as they gazed at each other with fury. "At least I was doing something and not lurking in the shadows. Or maybe that's all you're good for now, watching people bleed from afar."

"Keep talking." He hissed, while they both stepped towards each other with a warning look on their faces. "And I'll be again here to save your reckless hide-again."

"What's the matter Draupadi? Can't handle a real fight without someone to blame?"

"You think I need your help?" She snarled her voice breaking with the rawness of her rage. "I rather die fighting alone, than let you take credit for saving me." She kicked a man in the chest sending him crashing into a tree, where she swiftly plunged a sword in his heart.

Arjun's jaw set his eyes hardening with fury, as her words pierced deep in his heart.

He knew the truth, yet when he heard her say it hurt. He glared at her, his fury rising in waves in his heart. This girl was as stubborn as the first day he had seen her.  

His thoughts shattered as an assassin lunged for Draupadi’s exposed back.

Arjun moved like lightning, yanking her against him just as the blade sliced through the air where she had stood.

The impact of his grip sent a jolt through her, sparks flaring wherever his hand pressed against her waist.

Their bodies collided, breath mingling in the charged air, the fierce closeness crackling with an intensity that couldn’t be ignored.

For a heartbeat, everything around them faded—no more enemies, no more bloodshed—just the ragged rhythm of their breaths and the searing heat where they touched.

But the moment shattered like glass as another assassin rushed forward.

Draupadi’s blade shot out from her side, swift and deadly, slicing across the man’s throat before he could reach them.

Simultaneously, Arjun pivoted, his own sword flashing in a lethal arc that disarmed an opponent behind her, the edge of his blade burying deep into flesh.

Even as they tore through their enemies with ruthless precision, the closeness lingered—each movement synchronized, a deadly waltz of blood and steel.

It was as though they were bound by some invisible force, a connection too fierce to deny and too dangerous to acknowledge.

His voice cut through the chaos, sharp and mocking, as he effortlessly cut down an assassin, “Still holding a grudge, are we? I thought you’d have grown out of that by now.”

Draupadi’s laughter was bitter, slicing through the air as she lunged at an approaching man, slashing her sword across his throat, “You think too highly of yourself. I’ve forgotten better men than you.”

Better men. . .

The implications wasn't lost on him, his grip tightened on him as an emotion arose in hum, he dare not name it.

He wanted to smash heads.

His jaw clenched, muscles rippling as he swung his blade to parry an attack, “Oh, really? Is that why you’re so damn angry to see me?"

“You're delusional,” she spat, blocking a strike aimed at her side and shoving her opponent back with lethal force. “As if I would waste my emotions on someone like you.”

He let out a dark, humorless chuckle, “Funny, you’re doing just that. Or is this just your idea of a lover's quarrel?”

“Lover?” She scoffed, her eyes blazing with fury as she disarmed another man, sending him crumpling to the ground. “We were never lovers. You and I…we were nothing but a mistake.”

He was inches away now, the intensity between them crackling like electricity. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

She glared at him. "Leave. I don't need your help." She hissed, blocking another attack.

Arjun’s jaw was set with a lethal calm as he tore through an attacker, the tip of his blade finding the soft spot between rib and lung with deadly precision.

“You still think you can handle this alone?” he snarled, parrying an incoming strike and delivering a crushing kick to his opponent’s chest.

Her eyes flashed with defiance, and she spun on her heel, her blade cleaving an assassin’s skull.

“I don’t need anyone’s help, least of all yours,” she spat, her voice sharp with contempt. “I’ve been handling myself long before you decided to crawl out of whatever hole you were hiding in.”

The crack of steel against steel rang out, sparks flying as Arjun’s blade collided with hers, blocking her furious strike as they found themselves clashing for a split second, as though unable to distinguish the assassins from each other. “Don’t kid yourself,” he snapped, his tone biting and filled with venom. “I came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to save you.”

“Good,” she hissed, her movements swift and vicious as she pivoted and gutted another man, crimson spraying across her cheeks.

“Because I’d sooner die than owe my life to you.” She ducked beneath an incoming sword, driving her own through an assassin’s chest with a brutal twist.

Their combined fury was a storm unto itself, a deadly dance as they cut down their enemies with the precision of a hawk’s talon.

Arjun’s strikes were quick and merciless, his every movement speaking of years of refined skill and raw power, while Draupadi was like wildfire, her strikes unpredictable and lethal, her movements a blend of grace and ferocity that left bodies in her wake.

Together, they were a force that seemed unstoppable, the forest itself trembling in the wake of their wrath.

“You think this is still about you?” Arjun roared, his voice thundering through the chaos as he sliced through an assassin’s throat, the man’s head lolling back before his body crumpled to the ground.

“You think the world stops and starts with your pride?” His blade flashed again, cutting down another man who lunged for her back. “You’re not the only one who’s lost something.”

“And you’re not the only one who’s fighting for more than themselves!” Draupadi shouted back, her tone shaking with a mixture of rage and pain.

She drove her sword through an attacker’s heart, ripping it free as she stepped over his twitching body. “You act like you’re some kind of savior, swooping in with your precious righteousness. But you’re nothing more than a weapon—a weapon without a purpose.”

The last few men fell in rapid succession, their blood spilling into the dark earth as the two warriors unleashed the full extent of their wrath.

The forest had become a slaughterhouse, and their combined powers were a terrifying spectacle to behold.

Draupadi’s blade glinted like the harbinger of death, while Arjun’s arrows cut through the air with devastating accuracy, each strike resonating with the bone-chilling finality of fate itself.

As the last assassin gurgled on his own blood, collapsing in a heap, Draupadi and Arjun stood amid the carnage, chests heaving, eyes burning.

Their faces were painted in crimson, their breaths came in ragged gasps, and the world seemed to hold its breath around them.

Arjun’s gaze met Draupadi’s, and he stepped toward her, defiance in his every move. “You’ve become a ghost,” he said, his voice low and trembling with suppressed rage. “A shell of the girl I once knew.”

“And you’ve become a stranger,” Draupadi replied, lifting the tip of her sword and pressing it against his chest, her hands steady despite the tremor of emotion in her voice.

“A man whose kingdom stands against mine, whose hands are stained with the blood of my people.” She pushed the blade forward, a mere fraction, just enough to make her point. “Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten who you are now.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back down, didn’t even flinch at the cold kiss of her blade. “Then don’t,” he said, his tone as cutting as the edge of a knife.

“Remember me however you want, Draupadi. But know that the blood on my hands isn’t the only thing that binds us.” His gaze bore into hers, unyielding, his fury and frustration palpable. “We were always more than enemies.”

The air between them was electric, their hatred burning brighter than any flame.

But for a brief moment, amid the carnage, the echoes of their past screamed louder than the silence.

Then Draupadi lowered her blade, turning sharply away from him, as if the sight of him was a wound she couldn’t afford to reopen.

“Stay out of my way, Prince,” she threw over her shoulder, her voice cold and unforgiving. “Or the next time we cross paths, it won’t be assassins I’m killing.”

As she disappeared into the dark depths of the forest, Arjun remained rooted to the spot, the echoes of her words hanging in the air like a challenge.

He felt the weight of the battlefield fall away, leaving only the taste of unfinished business.

And somewhere beneath the layers of anger, an old ache throbbed, familiar and painful. . .

***

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