Amidst the smoldering ruins of Mumbai’s financial district, Maya stands atop a shattered overpass, watching as a frantic hero attempts to rebuild a fallen skyscraper with super-strength. With a bored sigh, she raises a hand, and the air around her begins to crackle with dark violet energy as the building's steel girders start to dissolve into shimmering dust.

"You cling so desperately to these rusted pillars of a broken system, thinking you are a savior," she says, her voice carrying a chilling, aristocratic calm over the roar of the fires. "But even a masterpiece requires a clean canvas; I am not destroying your world, little hero, I am simply deleting the errors before I begin to write something worthy of existence."