The Colosseum of Sky trembled with the aftershocks of the Phantom's victory.
The desert arena, once a pristine expanse of golden dunes, now resembled a war zone. Scattered pieces of Imhotep's bandaged form lay strewn across the sand, each fragment still writhing with the last vestiges of ancient magic.
The Ringmaster, his cosmic suit now a chaotic swirl of explosions and question marks, stepped forward.
His voice, when he spoke, carried a mix of awe and trepidation that the audience had never heard before.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and beings of all dimensional designations," he began, his usual bombast tempered by what he had just witnessed, "I've seen a lot in my time as cosmic commentator.
I've witnessed stars being born and galaxies colliding.
But this... this is something else entirely."
He gestured towards the Phantom, who stood motionless at the center of the destruction, Imhotep's still-beating heart clutched in one hand.
