Arbokh screamed.
Not a roar.
Not a hiss.
A raw, animalistic shriek that tore the air apart.
Both of his eyes—
ruined.
Bleeding rivers of blood down his massive skull.
His coils thrashed wildly, pulverizing everything still standing.
Each slam of his colossal body sent shockwaves ripping across the arena, shaking the ground like a dying earthquake.
He was blind—
and more dangerous than ever.
A piercing burst of static hit Atrax's earpiece.
"Commander Atrax…"
The voice trembled with barely contained power.
"…boss. I'm ready."
Atrax's pupils contracted.
"Finally." He said.
He spun around, aura flaring wide.
"EVERYONE BACK AWAY!" he roared.
"CLEAR THE FIELD! NOW!"
Enforcers scattered.
Sentinels vaulted over rubble.
Even the other faction leaders shifted back, sensing the pressure building in the air.
The battlefield emptied in seconds—
until only one figure stepped forward through the dust.
A man.
Strong. Athletic.
Arms wrapped in faint, shimmering heat waves.
Fists clenched, glowing like they were containing a miniature sun.
Every hybrid present felt their instincts scream:
Predator.
Apex.
Danger.
Atrax raised a trembling hand toward him.
"Make it count, pistol shrimp."
The young man exhaled—slow, controlled.
His fist drove, faster than sound, into Arbokh's armored side—
and pierced the obsidian-black scales of the Jörmungandr hybrid
like paper.
Then.
THOOM—!!
The sound came after—
a deafening crack, like reality being punched inside out.
A shockwave burst outward in a perfect ring, blasting dust and debris into a dome around them.
Arbokh convulsed—
blood spraying from the ruptured wound.
The young man stood firm.
Light crackled around his fist—
violent, unstable, shimmering like the surface of the sun.
Arbokh buckled, coils spasming as the pistol-shrimp's blow ripped a crater into his armor.
Atrax's voice exploded across the battlefield:
"DON'T WASTE THIS—ATTACK NOW!!"
Everyone moved at once.
They aimed for the same spot—
the massive ragged wound where the obsidian scales had been blasted open,
the one single place where Arbokh's monstrous defense had finally cracked.
Varga was first.
A blur of grey fur and blood, he lunged with a feral snarl—
and his claws slashed into the exposed flesh,
RIP—KRASH—!!
each strike carving deep, tearing chunks of serpent muscle loose.
Waraabe leaned in and delivered a devastating bite,
his fangs sinking into the wounded tissue as he ripped violently free, spraying blood across the debris.
Rin struck next.
His raptorial legs snapped forward in a flash of silver and red—
SHH-KRAK—SHH-KRAK—!!
devastating slashes carving into the same wound with insectoid precision,
each strike sinking deeper, cleaner, deadlier.
Kongu roared, aura flaring around him.
He leapt high—
higher than physics liked—
and came down with both fists:
THOOM—!!
THOOM—!!
Meteor punches.
Each blow collapsing more of the serpent's armor, driving shockwaves through Arbokh's massive body.
Behind them, others followed
Every hit targeted the same point—
the one weakness carved open by the pistol-shrimp's impossible punch.
Arbokh coughed out blood, body heaving, eyes ruined, coils lashing wildly as the combined assault detonated across him.
The World Serpent was under real threat—
for the first time.
But even blind—
even wounded—
even drowning in agony—
Arbokh tried to fight back.
He forced his titanic body upward, muscles screaming, hood flaring in pure rage.
He swung his coils in a wide arc, trying to crush anything—anyone—on instinct alone.
He lunged toward the blurred shapes he could still sense through vibration and heat.
He refused to fall.
But—
Pulse, the Pistol-Shrimp hybrid was already on the other side.
Already charging another blow.
A second earth-shattering punch blasted into his ribs—
not as massive as the first,
not as fully charged,
but still devastating enough to shatter a slab of obsidian scales and cave in the flesh beneath it.
Cracks spider-webbed across his armor.
Blood burst from the new wound in a violent spray.
The serpent convulsed, choking on his own roar.
And the young man stood firm again—
light flickering violently around his trembling fist,
steam rising from his forearm like he'd punched a star.
His voice came cold:
"Your scales are hard, but not enough."
Arbokh's massive body shuddered.
All the attacks had broken him.
His coils loosened.
His hood dropped.
His giant frame sagged toward the ruined ground.
Arbokh collapsed with a thunderous crash, cracks spiderwebbing across the entire colosseum floor as his titan-sized body hit the rubble.
A heavy silence followed.
Savran stepped forward, jaguar eyes gleaming with predatory finality.
"…It's now."
His claws extended.
His aura rose.
"End him."
The others prepared to strike—
Kongu tightening his fists,
Rin lifting his blades,
Varga's claws glowing with killing intent,
Waraabe opened his jaws—
so wide it looked as if his entire jaw had unhinged,
stretching beyond anything human.
They all moved—
as one—
But the ground detonated in front of Arbokh.
BOOOOM—!!
A blast of force and light ripped outward, kicking up a wall of dust and shattered stone.
The shockwave shoved every fighter back a step, even the leaders.
A shadow dropped from the sky—
fast, heavy, violent.
It landed between Arbokh and the execution strike, crushing stone beneath its feet.
The dust swirled.
A silhouette stood there.
Tall.
Unmoving.
Blocking them all.
The battlefield froze.
Then the figure spoke—
calm, steady, almost proud.
"You did good, Arbok," he said quietly.
"They sent the whole world at you…
and you almost succeeded."
© 2025 Moku. All rights reserved. INSTINCTBOUND is an original work by Moku. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution is prohibited.