A furious and terrifying wind swept across the battlefield, tearing apart forests and splitting open cliffs with its force. Even Viduratha’s mighty chariot was tossed about, flung here and there by the storm’s wrath. He was buffeted like a broken branch caught in a raging river, and in the midst of this chaos, Viduratha—the master of great weapons—decided to relinquish the mountain weapon he had wielded. The wind, which had seemed intent on thickening the very sky, finally ceased under the blow of the mountain weapons. As calm returned, tranquility settled over the land. The trees that had been suspended in the air by the storm’s power now fell back to earth in rows. In the midst of the many fearsome battle formations, countless crows gathered, filling the air in all directions with cries, shrieks, and howls. The noise of the wind-torn trees was like a cacophony of incoherent babbling. The warriors beheld a strange sight: mountains themselves seemed to be falling from the sky, drifting down like leaves torn from branches. Rivers surged up here and there, swelling like the ocean itself, and even the mountain Mainaka and others rose up. Then, a blazing thunderbolt weapon was unleashed, and thunderclouds roared in response. Like wildfires devouring mountains, the weapons shattered peaks and mountain cities with countless strikes. The summits were split apart, scattered like fruits by fierce winds. To pacify the havoc of the thunderbolt weapon, Viduratha invoked the mighty Brahma weapon. When both the Brahma and thunderbolt weapons were subdued and their fury calmed, Sindhu, the opposing king, unleashed a dark and ghastly demon weapon. Immediately, lines of ghosts arose, spreading endless fear. The world became as dark as twilight, thick with dread, as if fear itself had descended to smother the day. The ghosts seized the world, moving like pillars of ash, their gestures wild and unnatural. They appeared in great and terrible forms—some visible enough to be grasped, yet insubstantial as nothing. Some had hair standing on end, thin and emaciated bodies, and some even sported beards. These spirits, dirty and thin, resembled villagers wandering the sky. In the assembly, they stared with dull eyes, behaving wickedly and without restraint. Wretched, gluttonous, and cruel, they were as miserable as rural outcasts—unstable, living in empty homes at the ends of muddy streets or beneath trees. Licking hungrily, taking on the forms of the dead, their bodies black as outcast dog-eaters, they seized the remnants of the enemy’s forces in a drunken frenzy. Nearby soldiers, their minds disturbed and terrified, abandoned their weapons and armor, overcome with fear for their lives. They stumbled and fled, desperate to escape. The ghosts’ eyes, limbs, faces, and feet were twisted into grotesque shapes, striking terror into all who saw them. Some abandoned their loincloths and garments, running naked and laughing wildly in their fright. Some defecated and urinated as they danced madly, and amidst this wild display, the king of the goblins approached the king, who was not far away. The wise king, seeing this, recognized the illusion for what it was—a magical display conjured for battle by the goblin king. With this illusion, the goblin king set his army upon the enemy, and while his own soldiers remained unharmed, the opposing warriors were transformed into goblins themselves. In anger, the king unleashed another magical weapon—the form-changing missile. From earth and sky arose beings with the power to change their shapes, their hair bristling upright. Naked, with terrifying eyes, sagging hips and breasts, some appeared old yet bursting with youthful energy, some were plump, others emaciated. Some had natural hips, others grotesquely unnatural, their genitals exposed in monstrous dances. Some had human heads and hands like lotuses, their bodies blood-red. They chewed half-eaten flesh, licking blood and marrow from their palms, twisting and turning their many limbs, raising and lowering their faces in a ghastly dance. Their arms, faces, thighs, breasts, sides, and hands were streaked with veins as they beat upon the corpses of children, dragging out entrails like ropes. Their faces resembled those of dogs, jackals, and owls, with sunken mouths, jaws, and bellies. They seized the weaker goblins as if they were helpless children. This army of goblin-like beings became united, naked and dancing, with faces, limbs, and eyes turned upwards. They attacked and terrified each other, their great tongues protruding, their faces contorted into various monstrous forms. Each carried burdens of corpses, dragging away limbs of the dead, their shining bodies rising and sinking in pools of blood. With hanging bellies, arms, ears, lips, and noses, they tossed each other about in the mire of blood, flesh, and fat. Just as the churning of the milk ocean by Mount Mandara produced a tumult of froth, so did this illusion create utter confusion on the battlefield. Recognizing the speed and power of this sorcery, the king quickly created the same illusion in response. Then, wielding the Vetāla weapon, he caused hosts of corpses to rise up. Some were headless, some with heads, all possessed by the frenzy of Vetālas, bound together in a mass of goblins and Vetālas. A formidable force arose, so powerful it seemed capable of swallowing the earth itself. In answer, the other king conjured yet another illusion. Swiftly, he created a demon army, intent on conquering the three worlds. Massive demons appeared everywhere, mountain-like in their forms, leaving their bodies as if emerging from hell itself. This force became truly terrifying, striking fear into the hearts of gods and demons alike. Their sounds were monstrous, roaring like thunder from dark clouds. Headless bodies danced wildly; in the forms of ghosts and ghouls, they stood firm in their haunted abodes. Their heads were adorned with heaps of lotuses, and the air was filled with the clamor of flutes. Intestines hung as garlands, dripping with streams of blood. The drums of the Vetālas resounded with delight, their ghostly radiance shining. The scene was rich with fat, flesh, and marrow, beautiful in its own dreadful way with streams of blood-wine. The battlefield was crowded with drunken Vetālas, skulls, and the tumult of wild, frenzied dances.