If there was one thing Kamsa hated more than prophecy, it was uncertainty.
And uncertainty had been haunting him ever since the night the eighth child vanished.
Reports from Mathura's spies had grown stranger with each passing week.
"A village where milk never spoils."
"A child with blue skin who smiles too calmly."
"A man sent to observe who never returned."
Kamsa crushed a goblet in his hand, wine spilling across the marble floor.
"Enough," he snarled. "If men fail, I will send something that does not."
Deep beneath Mathura, bound by mantras and blood oaths, something stirred.
Putana smiled.
She was beautiful in a way that made people uneasy—too perfect, too deliberate. Her laughter echoed softly as she bowed before Kamsa, eyes gleaming with hunger.
"Send me," she purred. "I will end your fear."
Kamsa leaned back, shadows carving his face into something monstrous. "Kill the child. Quietly."
Putana licked her lips. "Children are my specialty."
Far away, in Gokul, Krishna sneezed.
Yashoda glanced down at him with concern. "Cold?"
Krishna shook his head.
Within his awareness, a ripple passed through the web of fate.
Incoming anomaly detected.
Threat classification: Demonic.
Intent: Lethal.
The system chimed in lazily.
«Oh. That escalated quickly.»
Krishna suppressed a smile.
So this was how it would begin.
The next morning, a stranger arrived in Gokul.
She was breathtaking—tall, graceful, dressed in fine silks unsuited for village roads. Her smile drew eyes wherever she went, and her voice carried sweetness that felt almost heavy.
Yashoda noticed her immediately.
"Who could that be?" she murmured.
Putana approached calmly, gaze locking onto Krishna with predatory precision. To everyone else, she looked like a wandering noblewoman. To Krishna—
She was a mass of twisted energy, hatred wrapped in illusion.
Putana knelt before Yashoda. "What a beautiful child," she cooed. "May I hold him?"
Yashoda hesitated.
Something about the woman unsettled her.
Krishna felt it too—Yashoda's instinct flaring.
He intervened gently.
He reached out.
"Ma," he said softly, deliberately stumbling over the word. "Up."
Yashoda's resolve wavered instantly.
"Oh, you want to be held?" she smiled apologetically at the stranger. "Just for a moment."
She placed Krishna into Putana's arms.
The moment Putana touched him, her illusion flickered.
This was no helpless infant.
Krishna looked up at her, eyes clear and unafraid.
He smiled.
Putana's breath caught.
"What…?" she whispered internally.
Krishna latched onto her poisoned breast.
Putana expected screams.
Instead—
She felt something drain.
Not milk.
Power.
Life.
Fear flooded her mind as she tried to pull away.
He would not release.
His grip was impossibly strong.
The system chimed, amused.
«Energy Source Identified: External Hostile Entity.
Absorption Mode: Minimal.
Recommendation: Do not overfeed.»
Krishna agreed.
Putana stumbled back, illusion shattering as her true form erupted—towering, grotesque, skin darkened with corruption.
The village erupted in screams.
"DEMON!"
Children scattered. Cows bolted.
Yashoda screamed Krishna's name.
Putana collapsed, her body smoking as divine energy burned through her from within. She tried to scream, but her voice died in her throat.
Krishna released her and landed lightly on the ground.
Putana fell lifeless, her massive form dissolving into ash.
Silence followed.
The villagers stared.
Krishna looked around, then rubbed his eyes.
"Ma?" he said softly.
Yashoda ran to him, scooping him up, trembling.
"You're safe," she sobbed. "You're safe."
The villagers whispered in awe and fear.
"What kind of child is this?"
"A demon fell at his feet."
"He didn't even cry…"
Krishna nestled into Yashoda's shoulder.
Within his awareness—
Threat eliminated.
Dharma correction: successful.
Collateral fear: temporary.
The system logged calmly.
«First Demon Neutralized.
Method: Passive Consumption.
Style Rating: Excessive.»
Krishna mentally shrugged.
She tried to poison him. What did she expect?
That night, Gokul burned incense and offered prayers, not knowing exactly to whom. Yashoda held Krishna tighter than ever, refusing to let him out of her sight.
Far away, Kamsa felt it.
A sharp, sudden absence.
Putana's presence—gone.
His face drained of color.
"A child…" he whispered hoarsely. "What kind of child kills demons?"
Fear finally outweighed arrogance.
Back in Gokul, Krishna gazed at the stars, awareness stretching across realms.
This was only the beginning.
More would come.
And they would all learn the same lesson.
Dharma, once crossed, demanded response.
Even from children.
--chapter 7 ended--