He stood firm and resolute, manifesting in a wondrous eight-armed form, imperishable and adorned with many weapons, ready for battle. In his hands, he grasped a mighty bow and sharp arrows, his whole being intent on slaying the lord of the hosts. As he drew his bow, he unleashed a torrent of arrows, swift and piercing, descending upon his foes like the heavy rains of the monsoon season. The bodies of those struck by his arrows became drenched and stained with blood, glowing crimson like the blossoming kimshuka trees. Witnessing this sudden and terrible onslaught, O sage, the gods themselves rose up in alarm, seizing their own weapons to join the fray. Foremost among them were the twelve radiant Ādityas led by Indra, and the eleven fierce Rudras. Alongside them came the Yakshas, the Kimpurushas, the great birds, and the mighty mountain-bearers. Ugra, famed among the Bhojas and mighty-armed, born of the Soma lineage, joined as well. All these powerful beings, armed and ready for war, rushed together against the fierce Vīrabhadra. But Vīrabhadra charged at them with unyielding speed, sending forth another storm of arrows. Ganesha, too, fought valiantly, cutting down enemies and striking them with heavy weapons. The gods and their allies were thrown into confusion and turmoil by Vīrabhadra’s ferocity. Meanwhile, the sages who were conducting the sacrifice continued their offerings into the sacred fire. But, terrified by the chaos, they abandoned their rites and fled, seeking refuge in the imperishable one. To calm their fears, the wielder of the great weapon rose up, assuring them, "Do not fear," and unleashed weapons designed to pierce even the strongest armor upon Vīrabhadra. But those weapons were shattered and fell to the ground, as useless as beggars bereft of hope. The gods prepared to overwhelm Vīrabhadra with a barrage of divine weapons, but he stood his ground, blocking their attacks with his trident, his mace, and a rain of arrows. With a mighty blow of his trident, he struck his adversaries down to the earth. Ganesha, too, stood firm, parrying the plough with his mace. Enraged, Khagadhvaja hurled his discus at Vīrabhadra. At that moment, the lord of the gods, fish-bodied, abandoned his trident and rushed at the discus as if it were the demon Madhu. Murari, the enemy of Mura, drew near the lord of the hosts, seized him, and hurled him forcefully to the ground. Blood poured from his mouth, and the discus was brought to a halt. Hrishikesha then retrieved the discus and hurled it once more at Vīrabhadra. Afterward, he went to Vasudeva and reported the defeat. Anger flared in the imperishable one, who hissed like a furious serpent. He stationed himself, armed and ready, at the place previously determined. The trident-bearer, his eyes blazing red with rage, entered the sacrificial enclosure. The destroyer, he who brings the end of all things, strode into Daksha’s sacrifice, filling even the foremost of seers with fear. Withdrawing from the tumult, he concealed himself within the twisted branches of a mango tree. In that moment, she became the best of rivers, known henceforth as Sita Sarasvati. The Kandishikas, approaching Shankara, attained dissolution in his presence. Having obtained the sacrificial cake and other offerings, O great sage, he leapt up, ascended the skies, and returned to his own abode. Those who remained stood with hands joined, offering flowers in reverence. Meanwhile, she mourned deeply for Indra and the other lords of the gods who had fallen. Many of the immortals had been struck down by the blows of Vīrabhadra’s palm, and others—gods and their kind—were destroyed by the very fire of his gaze.