When Vishnu, the slayer of the Danavas, repelled the dreadful weapon hurled against him, he conjured forth the terrifying Kāladaṇḍa missile, a force so fearsome that it shook all the worlds. As Vishnu prepared this awesome missile, a harsh wind swept across the battlefield, the earth quaked, the goddess herself trembled, and the minds of the demons became clouded with confusion. Yet, the demons—undaunted and reckless—saw this fierce weapon and, in their desperation, unleashed their own divine missiles of many forms. Grasana seized the powerful Nārāyaṇa missile, while Nimi took up the discus, and each demon lord released his mightiest weapon. Jambha, seeking to counter Vishnu’s Kāladaṇḍa, prepared the formidable Aishika missile. But before twilight could descend and before the demon lords could fully counteract the missile, Vishnu struck in a single, decisive instant. He annihilated countless demon leaders—crores of them—along with their elephants and horses, their ranks decimated in a flash. Afterwards, the union of the demon missiles managed to pacify the Kāladaṇḍa, quelling its terrible force. Witnessing his weapon subdued, Hari—his form blazing with wrath and valor—took up his own supreme weapon. He grasped his discus, radiant as ten thousand suns and fierce as his own incarnate might. With unwavering aim, he hurled it at Grasana, the commander, targeting his neck—a blow as hard as thunder, as terrible as annihilation itself. The foremost of the demons, seeing the discus blazing through the sky, mustered all their strength but could not withstand its inexorable divine force, for fate rendered their efforts fruitless. That inconceivable and invincible discus struck Grasana’s neck, cleaving it in two. From the sundered neck, a torrent of terrible blood gushed forth, and the discus, shining like a blazing fire, returned to Janardana’s hand. With Grasana—the leader of worlds—fallen, the demons threw themselves recklessly against Hari. They hurled spears, maces, nooses, clubs, even corpses, sharp arrows, discs, and more, desperate to overcome him. Yet Janardana, wondrous in battle, countered every missile they loosed, multiplying each into hundreds with arrows that flashed like tongues of fire. Soon, the demons’ weapons and strength were spent. Their minds bewildered, they could no longer even lift their arms to fight. Still, the Daityas, innumerable, fought from all sides, using even the corpses of elephants and horses as weapons against Janardana. At this tumultuous moment, Vishnu assumed many forms and, appearing for a moment with subdued arms, turned to Garuḍa and spoke, “Garuḍa, are you not yet weary in this fight? If your strength endures, fly now toward Mathana’s chariot. But if you are tired, withdraw for a moment and rest.” Heeding Vishnu’s words, Garuḍa approached the dreadful demon Mathana. Mathana, seeing Vishnu—bearing conch, discus, and mace—met him in battle. He struck Vishnu on the chest with a sharp arrow from his bhindipāla, but Vishnu, unmoved by the blow, regarded it as nothing. Vishnu retaliated with five stone-tipped arrows, then ten more, all striking Mathana in the chest. Though pierced in his vital spots by Hari’s arrows, the demon lord did not falter. After a brief recovery, he seized his blazing iron club and struck Janārdana, shaking even Vishnu with the force of the blow. Now Mādhava’s eyes widened in anger. Furious, he seized his mace and crushed Mathana and his chariot in a single blow. The mighty demon fell to the earth like a mountain at the end of its age. Seeing their champion fall, the Daityas lost heart, like elephants mired in deep mud. As the arrogant demons faltered, Mahisha—the fierce lord of the Daityas, eyes bloodshot with rage and relying on his own strength—advanced against Hari. With a sharp spear, Mahisha wounded Hari, and with a lance, struck Garuḍa in the chest. Then, opening his mouth wide like a mountain cave, the demon sought to devour steadfast Garuḍa. But Acyuta, perceiving Mahisha’s intent, filled his mouth with divine weapons—his might manifest. Vishnu, the Garuḍa-bannered lord, released a stream of arrows at Mahisha, sealing his mouth with missiles empowered by sacred mantras. Struck by these arrows, the buffalo demon—massive as a mountain—rolled and crashed to the ground, but did not die. Seeing the fallen demon, Keśava spoke: “O Mahishasura, you are intoxicated; you are not destined to die by weapons here. The lotus-born Brahmā has decreed you will be slain by a woman alone. Rise, preserve your life, and quickly depart from this battle.” As the buffalo demon withdrew, Shumbha the asura, lips bitten in fury and brow furrowed, crushed his own hand in his palm. He seized his dreadful bow, strung it, and readied arrows as venomous as serpents. With a firm grip, he unleashed countless arrows at Vishnu and Garuḍa—arrows blazing like tongues of fire, never missing their mark. Though struck by the asura king’s arrows, Vishnu took up a dreadful club, as fearsome as death itself, and smashed Shumbha’s shield—massive as a mountain. Shumbha, leaping away from his slain ram and shattered shield, stood his ground, but Hari loosed volleys of arrows from the earth, shining like the fire of destruction. With three arrows, Vishnu pierced Shumbha’s arm; with six, his head; with ten, his banner; and, eyes wide, struck the asura’s ear with a drawn bow. Wounded and tormented, blood streaming from his wounds, the lord of asuras wavered. Then the one bearing conch, lotus, and bow—Vishnu—spoke to him, his words ringing out amidst the raging battle.