The clash between Indra and the possessed Vritra was the final, desperate concerto of the Hindu universe.
Indra, standing on a conceptual precipice, was a magnificent, tragic figure of defiance. With his single, functional arm, he wielded the golden spear, striking with the speed and precision of a hundred thunderstorms.
"Hahaha! This is like our previous battle! You accursed dragon!"
Although he said that, this battle is no longer the same as their previous battle.
The Vritra he was facing now was no longer merely the concept of drought; it was a vessel for Outer One chaos, its immense serpentine body moving with non-Euclidean malice.
"Know your place, ant!" The outer one declared as it attack.
Each movement violated the laws of the fading universe, and every strike from its massive head, studded with gnashing mouths, carried the weight of pure chaos.
