With a thunderous fury, the hosts born of Virabhadra surged forth, wielding pestles, swords, spikes, splitting rods, and axes. Their assault fell upon all the gods and the guardians of the worlds, who stood helpless before the storm of violence. The mighty warriors, sprung from Virabhadra's own body, struck and broke, hurled and destroyed with swift power, their voices echoing through the chaos: “Cut! Break! Throw! Tear! Rend!” Their cries—“Strike! Attack! Split! Uproot!”—rang out, harsh and terrifying, the sounds of their wrath chilling all who heard. Wherever the lords of the hosts appeared, ready for battle, their faces betrayed their fierce intent: some with wide, glaring eyes, others biting their lips, teeth, and palates in rage. They dragged ascetics from their hermitages, slew them without mercy, seized their ladles, and hurled fire into the sacred waters. Pots were smashed, jewel-laden altars shattered, and the air was filled with singing, shouting, and laughter, again and again. Shiva’s foremost attendants, intoxicated with blood-wine, danced amidst the carnage, having crushed the gods and even mighty Indra. These leaders of the hosts were like chiefs among bulls, serpents, and lions, their actions incomparable and their hair bristling with delight. Some rejoiced, some struck, some ran wildly, others babbled incoherently. They danced, they laughed, they leapt, their strength unmatched. Some tried to seize the clouds, others leapt to grasp the sun, while others wished to rush along with the wind; the fierce Pramathas stood in the sky, their power unbounded. Some, snatching up mighty weapons, moved about like Garuda among great serpents, so that even the gods fled, and they roamed the sky like mountain peaks. Others uprooted houses, complete with latticed windows and railings, and hurled them into the waters, roaring like storm clouds. Doors, walls, and balconies were overturned and destroyed, and the sacrificial enclosure was left broken and abandoned, like a statement without meaning. As the houses were torn apart, cries of abandonment echoed from the women: “O protector! O father!” “O son!” “O brother!” “O mother!” Fear and panic overwhelmed the principal gods, led by Vishnu and Indra, and they fled from the onslaught. Seeing the gods attacked—though their own bodies were blameless—and the guilty unpunished, the foremost leader of the hosts was filled with anger. He seized the trident that subdues all powers, his gaze uplifted, mighty arms ablaze, flames issuing from his mouth. Even the gods were driven away, as a lion disperses elephants, and his advance was exceedingly beautiful. Like a maddened one in Varanasi, he became a spectacle, disturbing the great army of the gods. He moved like a wild leader of elephants in a great lake, displaying many colors—blue, pale, and red. He wore a garment of tiger skin, adorned with golden stars, and moved among the assemblies of gods, noble as fire in the forest, bearing the trident with great speed. All the gods saw him as a thousand, and Bhadrakali, enraged and intoxicated by battle, advanced alongside him. Her trident blazed as she pierced the gods in battle; she shone, born from Rudra’s wrath. Bhadrakali appeared in the fray, her radiance flickering like smoke-darkened fire at the end of an age, and the gods scattered in fear. As the worlds are consumed by the flames of Shesha’s fire at the end of a cycle, so Bhadrakali, foremost among the Rudras and their hosts, attacked the Sun mounted on his horse. Swiftly, she struck the head of the Sun playfully with her left foot, assailed Agni with swords, and Yama and his consort with spears. She struck the Rudras with a sturdy trident, Varuna with heavy maces, Nirriti with iron clubs, and Vayu herself with a sharp-edged weapon. Effortlessly, the heroic Lord of the Ganas shattered in battle all the hosts of gods and sages who opposed Shambhu. With the tip of his fingernail, he cut off the beautiful tip of Sarasvati’s nose, and likewise that of the mother of the gods. With an axe, he severed Agni’s arm, and sliced off two finger-widths of the goddess mother’s tongue in front of all. He cut off the right nostril of the goddess Svaha with his fingernail, and her left nipple as well. Bhadrakali, of supreme speed, forcibly tore out the large, lotus-like eyes of Bhaga. With the tip of his bow, he struck down the shining row of teeth of Pushan, which gleamed like pearls, so that Pushan could no longer speak clearly. Then, playfully pressing the Moon with his big toe for a moment as if he were a worm, the god rubbed him against the ground. In the height of her wrath, Bhadrakali cut off Daksha’s head and gave it to herself, while Vairini wailed in sorrow. Delighted, the goddess took the head, round as a palm fruit, and played ball with it on the battlefield. Daksha’s sacrificial wife, like a puppet with her husbands, was struck by the Lords of the Ganas with their feet and hands. Ariṣṭanemi, Soma, Dharma, Prajapati, Bahuputra, Angirasa, Krishashva, and Kasyapa—all were seized by the powerful Ganas, lion-like in their stride. They grabbed them by the throat, rebuked them harshly with words, and struck their heads with their fists, leaving the battlefield echoing with the triumph of Shiva’s hosts.