Meanwhile, back in the heart of the unfolding carnage, the seven-headed cobra continued its rampage. The monstrous creature, its scales a sickly green under the dim light of the dying stars, ripped through the ranks of Michael's army. Venom, like liquid moonlight laced with poison, painted gruesome arcs across the battlefield, leaving trails of disintegrated bodies in its wake.
Michael, watching his forces fall, felt a cold fury build within him. He'd allowed this charade to play out long enough. It was time to remind Skyhall who they were dealing with.
"You want to dance?" he growled, his voice barely audible over the din of battle, yet somehow carrying to every corner of the pocket dimension.
"Let's dance."
He then moved with pure, primal speed. One moment he was a shadow against the backdrop of stars, the next he was a thunderbolt, a black streak of pure kinetic energy aimed directly at the heart of the colossal serpent.