By the power of a formidable enchantment, lines of terrifying ghosts arose, spreading endless fear across the land. It was as if the very twilight had become fear itself, and the day was shrouded in darkness. These ghosts seized the world, filling it with gloom; they moved with wild, erratic gestures, resembling pillars of ash. Their forms were immense and visible, yet when one tried to grasp them, they were nothing at all—some appeared with hair standing on end, their bodies thin, and some even sported wild beards. Gaunt and filthy, these spirits drifted like villagers wandering the sky, their eyes dull and their actions wicked and aimless amidst the assembly. Wretched and gluttonous, cruel and unstable, they were as miserable as outcasts, haunting empty homes at the ends of muddy streets and lurking beneath trees. In the forms of the dead, black-bodied like those who eat dogs, they licked and seized the remnants of the enemy’s force, intoxicated by their ghastly feast. Nearby, the soldiers’ minds were thrown into chaos and terror. Abandoning their weapons and armor, they fled in panic, stumbling over themselves, desperate to save their lives. The ghosts, with their distorted eyes, limbs, faces, and feet, inspired even greater dread. Some cast aside their loincloths and garments, running naked and laughing in wild response. Amidst wild dancing, some defecated and urinated openly, and as this madness unfolded, the king of the goblins approached the opposing king, who was not far off. As the goblin king advanced, the wise king saw through the illusion, recognizing it as a conjuring for battle, a magical display wrought by the goblin king. With this illusion, the goblin king unleashed his army upon the enemy forces. His own soldiers remained unharmed, while the opposing warriors were transformed into goblins themselves. Enraged, the king unleashed another magical weapon—the ‘form-changing missile.’ From earth and sky, shape-shifting beings arose, their hair stiff and upright. Naked, with terrifying eyes, sagging hips and breasts, some were old yet bursting with unnatural youthfulness; some were plump, others emaciated. Among them, some had natural hips, others grotesque and unnatural, their genitals exposed in obscene dances. With human heads and lotus-like hands, their bodies shone blood-red. These beings chewed half-eaten flesh, licking blood and marrow from their palms, twisting their many limbs as they raised and lowered their faces. Their arms, faces, thighs, breasts, sides, and hands were streaked with veins; they beat upon the corpses of children, dragging out entrails like ropes. Their faces resembled dogs, jackals, and owls, with sunken jaws and bellies. They seized the weaker goblins as if they were helpless children. This ghastly army united, naked and dancing, their faces, limbs, and eyes turned upwards. They attacked one another, terrifying each other with their monstrous tongues and distorted faces. Each carried burdens of corpses, dragging away limbs of the dead, their shining bodies sinking and rising in pools of blood. With bellies, arms, ears, lips, and noses hanging loosely, they tossed each other in the mire of blood, flesh, and fat. The confusion and tumult were as great as when the Mandara mountain churned the milk ocean and froth arose everywhere. Seeing the speed and chaos of the illusion, the king quickly created the same illusion again. Then, by means of the Vetāla weapon, he caused hosts of corpses to rise up—some headless, some with heads, all possessed by the frenzy of Vetālas—so that the battlefield became a mass of goblins and Vetālas, bound together in madness. A formidable force arose, so vast and terrible it seemed capable of swallowing the earth itself. In response, the other king conjured yet another illusion. He swiftly created a demon army bent on conquering the three worlds. Massive demons, mountain-like in form, emerged everywhere. Leaving their bodies, they appeared like hell-beings, terrifying both gods and demons. With monstrous roars like thunder from dark clouds, headless bodies danced wildly. In forms of ghosts and ghouls, they stood firmly in their haunted abodes. Their heads were crowned with heaps of lotuses, and the air was filled with the clamor of flutes. Garlands of intestines hung from their necks, dripping with streams of blood. Delighting in the drumming of Vetāla spirits, their ghostly radiance shone, rich with fat, flesh, and marrow, beautiful with streams of blood-wine. The place was crowded with drunken Vetālas, skulls, and the tumult of wild dances. With skulls, wild dances, clubs, and feet stirring waves of blood, they splashed through surging currents; radiant spirits, like masses of twilight clouds, built bridges across rivers of blood. Amidst this dreadful turmoil, one among them, seeking to destroy all enemy armies and to calm his own, took decisive action. Steadfast in memory and possessing boundless, noble patience, he recalled the supreme weapon of Vishnu—illustrious and equal to Shiva’s, the lord of weapons. He released an arrow empowered with the Vaishnava mantra; from its tip, blazing missiles shot forth like firebrands. Rows of whirling discs radiated light, turning the quarters into a hundred suns. Advancing maces appeared, their shafts like a hundred bamboo thickets in the sky. Thunderbolts, their many streams like arrow-tips, filled the heavens, while spears and swords formed groves along the riverbanks. The second king, too, to pacify the Vaishnava weapon, offered the very same Vaishnava weapon, filled with power to subdue all arms. From that, too, emerged rivers of weapons, their force neutralizing others: streams of arrows, spears, maces, lances, swords, and axes. In the sky, these rivers of weapons and missiles clashed, destroying the spaces between mountains and shattering the peaks of noble ranges. Spears were split by arrows, swords shattered by blades, lances struck by mighty javelins, and missiles cleft by spears. Thus, a battle of supernatural power and illusion raged, filling the world with terror and wonder.