As the battle raged on, the lord of the hosts—Virabhadra—stood, a faint smile upon his lips, and with effortless might he rendered Vishnu’s terrible, peerless discus motionless. The mighty weapon, famed for its unstoppable power, became fixed in place, unable to move. Vishnu, desiring to release the discus, found himself powerless; panting and weary, he held aloft his arm, the discus still attached and unmoving. Exhausted, Vishnu stood as if turned to stone—his body inert, lifeless, like a bull deprived of its horns. Yet, like a lion baring its fangs in defiance, Vishnu remained steadfast. Witnessing Vishnu’s dire predicament, Indra and the other gods, stirred by the lord of the hosts, rushed forward, charging like bulls against a lion. Gripping their weapons, enraged and ready for battle, the gods pressed onward. But Bhadra, seeing them enter the fray, regarded them as insignificant, much as Hari views wild beasts. The hero, Virabhadra, a direct embodiment of Rudra himself, surrounded by chosen warriors, unleashed a terrible, roaring laugh—standing fearless and unassailable. Shatamukha, with his right hand wielding the thunderbolt, sought to strike, his hand appearing as if adorned with the divine weapon. Yet the arms of all the other gods, bloodied from battle, seemed feeble, their efforts faltering as they advanced, like the idle and indolent. Thus, by the power of the Lord, the entire splendor of the immortals was thwarted; in battle, they could not stand before him. Their limbs rigid, shaken by fear, the gods fled. Amidst the chaos, overwhelmed by Virabhadra’s valor and brilliance, they attempted to take their stand, but were swept aside. Virabhadra, the mighty-armed, struck the fleeing gods with sharp arrows, as Magha showers mountains with rain. His many arms, shining like iron clubs, brandished blazing weapons, resembling serpents with fiery flames. Releasing countless weapons and missiles, Virabhadra shone like the origin of the universe, who once released all beings. Just as the sun covers the earth with its rays, so did Virabhadra, in an instant, fill the directions with his arrows. The arrows, adorned with gold, soared across the sky, flashing like lightning. The mighty ones separated the gods from their lives, like frogs scattered by the beat of drums, and drank the intoxicating blood. Some gods had their arms severed, some their faces torn, others ripped at the sides—immortals fell to the earth, their bodies pierced by arrows, joints shattered, eyes turned upward. Some fell dead, wishing to enter the earth or longing to ascend the sky. Unable to restrain themselves, some melted together, others fled into the caves of mountains upon the earth, some entered the sky, others the waters. Amidst this carnage, Virabhadra shone among the gods, his enemies’ limbs severed. Like Bhairava, the Lord, surrounded by his hosts and as the destroyer of Tripura, Virabhadra consumed the multitude of beings. The entire army of the gods, wretched and hideous to behold, assumed a pitiable form, born from the wrath of 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, 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, though Daksha himself, son of Brahma and lord of creatures, was its sacrificer. The upholders of righteousness and 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 their fate—an unworthy outcome. Therefore, what is not prescribed by the Veda nor sanctioned by the Lord should not be performed. Even if one performs great merit and sacrifices hundreds of yajñas, without devotion to the Great Lord, one does not attain the fruit. Even if one has committed great sin, worshipping Shiva with devotion frees one from all sins—there is no doubt. Why say more? Charity, austerity, sacrifice, and oblation are all in vain for one who delights in reviling Shiva. Then, the hosts of gods—along with Narayana, the Rudras, and the guardians of the worlds—struck by the arrows loosed from the bow of the lord of the hosts, fled the battle, overwhelmed by intense pain. Some divine heroes wandered with hair disheveled, some staggered with limbs outstretched, some fell with faces shattered, and some could no longer move. There, some of the gods perished, their garments, ornaments, weapons, and armor scattered, collapsing with expressions of utter distress, having abandoned pride, arrogance, and strength. Having routed the path and scattered Daksha’s sacrifice with unbroken weapons, the lord of the hosts stood among the leaders of the hosts, shining like a lion among bulls. Thus, with their bodies shattered and broken, the gods led by Vishnu, in a moment reached a dire state, trembling, with only a few remaining. The Pramatha hosts, incited by Virabhadra and filled with supreme fury, pursued the terrified heroes—the gods and others—across the battlefield. Seizing them, they bound their hands, feet, necks, and bellies with strong iron fetters.