The battlefield was chaos incarnate.
Cars lay overturned, sirens wailed, and the air reeked of scorched concrete and ozone. Civilians had been evacuated, but the ground still trembled with each step of the beast known as Ammit—seven feet of muscled monstrosity with scales glistening like onyx, jackal ears twitching, and crocodilian jaws snapping hungrily. His shadow stretched long and menacing beneath the ruined skyline.
Facing him was Lady Arachne, crouched atop a crumbling lamp post, silver-black armor cracked at the shoulder, her left gauntlet sparking with damaged circuitry.
"You should've run when you had the chance," Ammit snarled, voice layered with something ancient, something wrong. His eyes glowed crimson as his Protocol pulsed to life.
[Ammit Protocol — Judgment Engaged.]
Dark hieroglyphs rippled across his skin. The air behind him distorted, taking the shape of scales—a manifestation of Ma'at's judgment, of weighing hearts and crushing the unworthy.
Miss Arachne didn't flinch. "I don't run from monsters."
She twisted her wrists in precise motions, activating her own.
[Arachne Protocol — Weaver's Domain Activated.]
Threads of light erupted from her suit, coiling into intricate webs that shot out and anchored around debris. She flipped midair, launching web discs that sliced through collapsing rubble to protect trapped civilians behind her.
But Ammit lunged, breaking the illusion of his size with terrifying speed. His claws raked forward—Lady Arachne dodged, barely—her left thigh caught in the arc. Blood spattered as she rolled across the ground.
Pain laced her every movement, but she stood, teeth gritted.
"Silken Judgment: Threadlock!" she chanted. Threads launched from her fingers, glowing and sharp. They pierced into Ammit's limbs, locking him mid-step.
Ammit roared. "You think silk can bind the jaws of death?!"
With a heave, he shattered the webs, and the force blasted her back through a concrete column. She coughed up blood, limbs trembling as her Protocol's energy flickered.
He stalked toward her slowly.
"I devour heroes, little spider. You'll be no different."
Her body screamed in agony, but still she stood. "Then chew carefully, bastard."
Ammit raised a claw for the final blow—when the sky above shattered with a boom like thunder.
Wind ripped through the street. The flames around the wreckage twisted into a spiral, then fell eerily silent.
And then—he stepped into the street.
Clad in black and gold, with ash-grey markings glowing along his arms, Raj walked barefoot, shirtless beneath his segmented armor, long dreadlocked hair tied loosely, a calmness in his stride that chilled even the chaos. His body exuded a violent stillness—the calm before the godstorm.
[Shiva Protocol: Tandava Initiated.]
His feet struck the earth in rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. The ground cracked. With each step, golden inscriptions flared along his limbs. Behind him, the phantom image of Nataraja, the dancing destroyer, flickered—arms outstretched in eternal movement.
Ammit stumbled backward. "Raj..."
Raj didn't speak. He danced.
One fluid motion—step, spin, strike.
The first blow crushed the ground and created a shockwave that tore apart a semi-truck in the distance. Raj blurred from sight and reappeared behind Ammit, striking his back with an elbow wreathed in flame. A pulse of destruction erupted, launching Ammit through a building.
Miss Arachne, still half-conscious, looked up through bloodied lashes.
"You're late..." she whispered.
Raj glanced back at her. "You stalled a Protocol tier above yours and lived. You're not allowed to die just yet."
Ammit rose from the rubble, roaring. "I bear the Judgement of Death, Shiva!"
Raj stepped forward, expression calm. "Then I'll dance your death into the dirt."
He raised his arms.
"Ashes to ashes—destruction in rhythm—TANDAVA: Mahākāla Step!"
A ring of ancient symbols exploded beneath his feet. With a roar, he launched into a war dance of divine chaos, each motion breaking the very air around him. He moved with impossible grace, each movement a hymn of destruction. Blows rained like thunder. Ammit's regeneration began to fail—limbs breaking faster than they could mend.
His final blow was a rising knee to Ammit's chest, laced with the full force of the Protocol's wrath.
"Shatter. Fade. Return to the void—!"
Ammit screamed as the golden seal of destruction carved through him—his Protocol core cracking—his form dissolving into smoke and shadow, dragged into containment.
Silence returned.
Dust settled. The fires snuffed out.
Raj stood over the ashes, breathing steady.
A moment passed.
Then he walked to Miss Arachne and offered a hand.
"Let's go home, soldier."
She looked at him for a long second—then took it.
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