[Scene: Rilveer vs Neil — Collapse of the Shield]
Rilveer's blade slammed again and again into Neil's energy shield, each blow echoing like thunder through the battlefield. The barrier flared with every strike—flickering, buckling, cracking. It wouldn't hold much longer.
Rilveer's face twisted into a smirk—not of joy, but condescension. He wasn't fighting. He was teaching.
"You still don't understand, do you, Neil?" he said, circling. "You weren't born to fight us. You were made to serve."
Neil coughed blood, barely keeping his footing. The shield flickered with each ragged breath, a translucent shell on the edge of collapse.
"Humans—your precious kind—were never chosen. You were forged by the Devas. Clay molded for obedience. Laborers. Slaves. You built temples for gods you'd never meet, died in wars you never chose."
Another strike—violent. The shield shrieked.
"But when we—the Rakshasa—grew powerful, the Devas grew afraid," Rilveer spat. "Afraid we'd rise above them. So they did what all tyrants do. They rewrote history. Cast us as demons. Unleashed war."
Neil stumbled, dropping to one knee.
Rilveer stepped closer, towering.
"The truth, Neil, is that the war never ended. It was only buried—beneath myths and mantras. But power... real power... never dies. It waits."
He raised his sword, black and ancient, the edge humming with forbidden energy.
"And now, the wheel turns again. The Devas are gone. The age of lies is over. And you…"
He pointed the tip of the blade at Neil's chest.
"You kneel again. As you were always meant to."
Neil clenched his fists, body shaking. He looked at Sira—battered, unconscious. Then at Kael, pinned and barely breathing. Around him, scorched earth. Burned humans. Fallen resistance.
What if he's right? a voice inside Neil whispered. What if everything we believed was a lie?
His shield let out a final sputter—then died, shattering like glass.
Rilveer raised his sword high, eyes blazing.
"Die!" he roared.
Neil closed his eyes, too weak to move.
Then—
Doodh. Doodh. Doodh. Doodh.
Gunshots. Sharp, raw.
Neil's eyes flew open.
Jay stood at the edge of the battlefield, clutching a rifle scavenged from a dead soldier. His stance was untrained, his aim shaking—but the rounds had found their mark. Rilveer's shoulder armor sparked.
"No… no no no—not him!" Neil shouted.
Rilveer turned slowly, fury blooming on his face. He walked toward Jay, unhurried.
Jay tried to fire again—click. Empty.
The boy froze. He wasn't a fighter. Just a kid playing hero.
Rilveer grabbed Jay by the throat and lifted him effortlessly into the air.
As Rilveer's grip tightened around his throat, lifting him off the ground, Jay's breaths grew short, broken—but his eyes never wavered. He looked past the monster, locking eyes with Neil.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his bloodied face.
"I'm just... a guy with no powers," he rasped, voice barely a whisper. "But someone had to pull the trigger."
Rilveer snarled, ready to crush him.
Jay's gaze never left Neil.
"For humanity," he breathed. "For the future... It's in your hands now."
A pause.
"I did my part, brother. No regrets."
The plasma blast hit—white-hot, merciless.
And Jay was gone.
Ash in the wind.
But to Neil... he died a hero.
Always would be.
Boom 💥
A scream—cut short.
Then ash.
Just ash.
The wind carried it like dust over broken earth.
Jay was gone.
Silence fell, the kind that doesn't end, only deepens. Like the world itself was holding its breath.
Neil dropped to his knees.
Not in surrender.
Not in weakness.
In devastation.
His hands hit the ground, trembling. Fingertips scraped against rubble and bone. His chest heaved—but no sound came. The scream inside him was too large, too full of everything he'd lost.
His sister.
His parents.
Now Jay.
One after the other—like fate had a list and kept crossing off the names he couldn't live without.
It wasn't fair.
It was never fair.
And still, the world moved on. The wind blew. The ash drifted.
But Neil didn't move.
Until his eyes opened.
Red.
Not glowing.
Burning.
Tears spilled down his face—hot, steady. Each one a name. Each one a memory.
But the heat rising from within turned them to vapor before they could fall.
His body trembled.
The ground answered—cracking beneath him in small, sharp fractures.
The energy inside him roared awake—not from power, but from pain.
This wasn't strength.
This was grief weaponized.
The sky dimmed around him.
Neil stood—not like a hero—but like a storm that had been waiting far too long.
They took everything.
And now…
They would learn what he had left.
Rilveer wiped blood from his lip, smiling through cracked teeth.
"You can still stand?" he asked, voice calm, amused. "Look around, Neil. This… this is only the beginning."
But Neil didn't respond.
He moved.
A blur.
A fist crashed into Rilveer's jaw like a comet—not seen, only felt.
The Rakshasa warlord flew like a ragdoll, slammed into stone with enough force to crater it.
Silence broke.
Red Soldiers turned, their scanners whirring.
> "Target identified… anomaly.
Identity: Neil.
Status: Unstable—evolving—error—"
They didn't finish.
Neil was already among them.
Each punch that landed wasn't a strike—it was a detonation.
Metal shattered. Flesh splintered. Screams cut off mid-burst.
A plasma cannon fired point-blank.
Neil's energy shield snapped into place for a single heartbeat—absorbing the blast like a breath taken in rage.
Then—gone.
He reappeared before the shooter—eyes glowing like molten glass.
The punch he landed didn't just hit.
It ended.
The Red Soldier's skull shattered. Gone. Like dust in a furnace.
Rilveer coughed—green blood trickling from his mouth, stunned, dazed.
He dragged himself from the crater, blinking through pain.
> "What… was that?"
His thoughts stumbled.
An inner voice whispered—not in fear, but in disbelief.
What just happened?
Smoke coiled in the wind. Ash floated like slow-burning snow.
Neil stood amidst the wreckage—not a man, not anymore.
The only thing left of the Red Soldier who killed Jay… was a severed, blood-slick arm.
Neil held it like a weapon.
He turned.
Rilveer, limping, bruised, but still smiling, met his gaze. The smirk faltered when he saw Neil's eyes—not red, but burning like stars collapsing.
The two walked toward each other. No words. No taunts. Just war in human form.
Neil moved first.
A swing.
Not with his fist—but with the severed arm—its weight spinning like a club.
Crack—!
Rilveer barely raised his arm in time, the impact splitting open skin, drawing more of that sickly green blood.
Neil didn't pause.
He spun, used the momentum—a kick—low, brutal.
Rilveer caught it with his knee, grunting, staggering back.
Then he laughed.
"You've changed," he growled, wiping blood from his chin. "Good."
And they clashed.
Fist met flesh. Elbow slammed into rib. Boots scraped stone as both blurred in motion—warriors forged from ancient hatred and fresh agony.
Fists flew.
Bone cracked.
Punch by punch, blow by blow—Neil and Rilveer collided like titans in a world already lost.
Rilveer's voice echoed between the strikes, breathless but mocking.
"It's worthless, Neil. You can't win."
A brutal punch slammed into Neil's face. His head snapped sideways. Blood sprayed.
But Neil didn't stop. He didn't even flinch.
He moved forward.
Swung hard—missed the head—landed a savage kick into Rilveer's gut, sending him flying back—into a burnt-out car.
But Neil was already there.
Before Rilveer could crash—another punch. This one landed square in the same spot.
A double impact.
The car crumpled like foil behind him.
Rilveer hurtled backward—slammed into a fallen concrete slab, cracking the surface on contact.
Dust rose.
Neil stood, chest heaving, red dripping from his mouth, hands shaking—but eyes never leaving Rilveer.
Inside his mind, a whisper.
> Is this over?
The question hung in the chaos like a breath between storms.
> He's strong... too strong.
Out of the haze, Rilveer stumbled forth—battered, bent, barely upright. One trembling hand clutched his cracked chestplate, green blood streaking down his jaw and pooling at his chin. Each step left a trail.
And still… he grinned.
Mocking. Defiant. Unbroken in spirit, if not in body.
"So…" he rasped, voice fraying like torn steel. "You think you're strong?"
He lifted one hand—shaking, skeletal, defiant—and pointed upward.
"Then look at the sky, human."
Neil's eyes rose.
Through the smoke-choked heavens, a monolithic shadow descended. A warship. Massive. Alien. Its underbelly swarming with drop pods—each one a sealed promise of death. A fleet of monsters far worse than Rilveer.
"They carry more like me," Rilveer whispered, madness blooming in his blood-soaked grin. "Stronger. Faster. Hungrier."
His voice dropped to a final snarl.
"You think this matters? You think you've won? Humanity's era is—"
CRACK.
The words shattered.
Neil's fist silenced them—not onto Rilveer's chest…
Into.
Through.
Armor split like paper. Flesh gave way. Bone shattered with a sickening crunch.
Neil's arm drove straight through Rilveer's torso—buried to the elbow, his hand crackling with energy and rage.
Rilveer's smile froze. His eyes bulged, caught between disbelief and pain.
He tried to speak.
Tried to breathe.
But there was no breath left to take.
Neil's voice was low. Guttural. A growl from the core of everything he had left.
It wasn't just fury.
It was grief weaponized.
> "You think we're weak because we break?"
His eyes burned into Rilveer's.
"But that's the point. That's why we rise."
His voice shook—but it didn't falter.
> "We were never made to rule the stars. We were made to survive them.
Not forged in perfection—born in chaos, raised in failure.
We bleed. We lose. We fall.
And still—we stand."
Rilveer gasped, gurgling blood, his hands clawing at Neil's arm impaled through his chest.
Neil leaned closer, his breath hot, his rage colder than the void above.
> "This planet isn't ours because we were chosen.
It's ours because we choose to fight for it.
Every. Single. Time.
Against monsters. Gods. Our own demons."
The sky above growled with thunder—the great alien ship eclipsing the stars.
Neil didn't look.
He didn't need to.
> "So tell them…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Tell them humanity isn't over."
A pause.
> "It's just getting started."
And with a roar—raw and primal—Neil tore his arm free.
Rilveer's body jolted.
His knees gave out.
And the self-proclaimed conqueror collapsed into the ash and wreckage of a world that refused to kneel.