Chapter 27 — Shape shifter
Year 2291, Dwapara yuga
173 years before present day
Malasāra remained invisible, and watched the wounded hunter.
A large leopard lay dead beside the man, a long blade sticking out from its great neck. He winced as he struggled to sit up. A deep gash ran from his shoulder to his waist. Blood trickled from the innumerable cuts on his body. He grabbed at a nearby rock, trying to prop himself up.
He is big and strong. He did put up a good fight. Malasāra slowly apparated before the hunter. “Took you by surprise, did it not?”
The hunter’s eyes went wide with fear at the sight of the creature before him. He hastily pulled out a small knife from his side. “Wh—what are you, demon!”
“A yamadūta.” Malasāra gestured at the hunter’s body. “Your injuries, you do not survive them. I am here to take your soul.”
The hunter stared. His breathing quickened, and a lump formed in his throat. He looked up at the creature that towered over him. Though frightening to behold, the yamadūta stood there calmly, its face impassive. I am to die. He looked back down at himself, sharp throbs of pain from the wounds that oozed crimson. I am to die. He took a deep breath. I am to die. That was strangely calming, and a sense of finality took over him. The pain seemed to subside slowly. He spat the blood that had collected in his mouth. “I always thought old age would take me, but what a silly notion to have as a hunter!” he smiled weakly, and dropped the blade.
Malasāra remained silent.
“But a better death I could not have wished for,” he ran his hand over the dead leopard by his side. “A magnificent beast, is she not?”
“What is your name, hunter?”
“Pāri.” the hunter coughed. “Bear my soul swiftly to Yamā, O dūta. I hope I am judged well by the Gods!” he coughed again, this time blood spilled from his mouth. He keeled over, dead.
Malasāra knelt, put his hand on the hunter’s lifeless chest, and began to chant under his breath. A small orange orb rose out of Pāri. It glowed bright in the waning evening light, floating in Malasāra’s palm. Nay, no divine judgment for you, hunter. You, I shall need. Malasāra brought the soul up to his face, and devoured it.
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