As the fierce battle raged, Bhadra, his arrow blazing like the tongue of fire, struck Vishnu firmly in the chest. The arrow, swift and intense, brought Vishnu to great pain, causing him to fall down, bewildered by the force of the blow. Yet, after only a moment, Hari regained consciousness, rose up, and unleashed all his divine weapons against Bhadra. Vishnu, lord of the army of arrows, swiftly repelled the incoming barrage with terrifying counter-arrows. His eyes reddened with anger, and he released an unimpeded arrow marked with his own name, aiming it at the lord of the hosts. But Bhadra, undaunted, countered with his own excellent arrow called Bhadrāhvaya. Even before Bhadra’s arrow could reach its mark, the Blessed One cut it into a hundred pieces mid-flight. Then, with a single arrow, he severed the mighty Śārṅga bow, and with two more, clipped the wings of Garuda. This display of skill was wondrous, all accomplished in the blink of an eye. Then, by the power of yoga, Vishnu released from his body fierce divine beings—thousands, bearing conch, discus, and mace in their hands. Yet in a mere moment, Bhadra burned them all up, just as Śankara had destroyed the cities of Tripura. With fire emitted from his eye, the mighty-armed hero incinerated them, prompting Vishnu to become even more enraged. He quickly raised his discus, preparing to hurl it. At that moment, as Vishnu stood ready with the discus raised, the lord of the hosts smiled and, with effortless power, rendered the terrible, peerless discus motionless. Vishnu, though wishing to release it, found himself unable; panting, he raised one arm with the discus attached, but could not move. He stood there, exhausted and unmoving—his body inert, like a lifeless being or a bull deprived of its horns. Like a lion baring its fangs, Vishnu remained, while Indra and the other gods, seeing him in such a dire state, rushed forward, roused by the lord of the hosts, like bulls charging a lion. Grasping their weapons, enraged and ready for battle, the gods approached. Yet Bhadra regarded them as insignificant, just as Hari dismisses wild beasts. The hero, a direct embodiment of Rudra, surrounded by chosen warriors, let out a terrible, roaring laugh, standing fearless and unassailable. Likewise, Shatamukha’s right hand, adorned with the thunderbolt, appeared ready to strike. The arms of the other gods, though bloodied, seemed feeble, their efforts faltering as they advanced. The lord of the hosts thwarted their entire splendor, and the immortals could not stand before him in battle. Their limbs rigid and shaken by fear, they fled, overwhelmed by his valor and brilliance. Yet in the turmoil, some took their stand. Vīrabhadra, mighty-armed, struck the fleeing gods with sharp arrows, as Magha showers mountains with rain. His many arms, resembling iron clubs, shone with blazing weapons, like serpents with fiery flames. Releasing countless weapons and missiles, the hero shone, as the origin of the universe once released all beings. Just as the sun covers the earth with its rays, so did he cover all directions with his arrows in an instant. The arrows of the lord of the hosts, adorned with gold, soared through the sky, flashing like lightning. The mighty ones separated the gods from their lives, like frogs startled by drums, and drank the intoxicating blood. Some gods had their arms severed, others their faces torn, some ripped at the sides; thus did the immortals fall to the earth. Their bodies pierced by arrows, joints shattered, eyes turned upward, some fell dead to the ground, wishing to enter the earth or longing to ascend the sky. Unable to restrain themselves, some melted together, others fled into mountain caves. Some entered the sky, others dove into the waters. Amidst this carnage, the hero shone among the gods, with all limbs severed. Like Bhairava, the Lord, surrounded by his hosts, as the destroyer of Tripura, he consumed the multitude of beings. The entire army of the gods, wretched and hideous to behold, assumed a pitiable form, born from the lord of the hosts. From the heroes among the gods, a dreadful river of blood began to flow, foretelling terror for all living beings. The sacrificial ground, drenched in blood, appeared clothed in red, dark as the night, like Kaishiki bereft of her beauty. As this great and exceedingly fierce battle unfolded, the earth itself trembled, as if seized by fear. The vast ocean surged with mighty waves and whirlpools; blazing meteors fell as ominous signs, and trees cast down their branches. All the quarters became inauspicious, and an unwholesome wind blew. Alas, this was a reversal of order—this horse sacrifice was not proper, even though the sacrificer was Daksha himself, son of Brahma and lord of creatures. The upholders of righteousness and the assembly members were protected by the one with the Garuda banner, and the gods led by Indra directly received their shares. Yet for the sacrificer and the priests, together with the sacrifice, immediate beheading became the result—an unworthy outcome. Therefore, the lesson was clear: what is not prescribed by the Veda, nor sanctioned by the Lord, should never be performed.