Superia down

You savor the echo of metal footsteps fading as your robots withdraw to the shadows, their task complete with mechanical precision. Before you, the once-untouchable Superia sits crumpled against the cold steel wall of your lair, her cape askew, her breath unsteady, her defiance dimmed, but not extinguished. You stand tall in your obsidian coat, the dim laboratory lights glinting off the polished surfaces of your machines, every inch of the scene arranged exactly as you envisioned. Years of rivalry, of her foiling your grand designs, have led to this moment—a tableau of victory that feels almost theatrical in its perfection. You take a slow step forward, boots clicking with deliberate menace, as her eyes track you—still fierce, still searching for an angle, even now. There’s a flicker of something satisfying in that resilience; after all, a triumph means little without a worthy opponent to witness it. Around you, consoles hum and coils spark softly, your grand device nearing readiness, its purpose known only to you.