[X] King of All Kings Numen (1.4x 7 motes, ignore all penalties to Parry DV for an action. Roll 7d10X7 to stop people from entering melee against you through sheer sorcerous will. Downside: You create a glowing barrier of power and authority as you stop your enemies with sheer force of will in an incredibly obvious display. Upside: see Downside. Long live the motherfucking king.)
[X] Excellency (Write-in, you're defending yourself against up to 5 attacks, 2 from the last Sarath and 3 from Janaka. You can add up to 7 dice from charms to any, but must use a minimum of 4)
[X] "A Dalit" (1.2x)
The two mechs slam forward like an industrial press, intent on pinning Ravana between them. All they need is to slow him, to bust up a joint or shear off a servo, and then they'll have a chance at pulling off the wind-up for a killing blow. They don't hesitate - with one of their trio out of action, the trap's not inescapable, but if they're fast and sure, they can still catch the enemy in a pincer.
In this situation, it would be sensible to back off, get some distance so their charge interferes with itself. Use the close terrain to his advantage. Focus on avoiding the Exalt, and try to keep the mortal's attacks from falling on anything but armour plating.
It would be sensible. That's what Surpanakha tells him.
Ravana plants his feet, crouches - and then thrusts his arms, his whole torso, skyward. A coruscating aura of dishcloth-dirty light smashes out from him, rumbling like close thunder, knocking the superhumanly-coordinated attack completely off its timing. Janaka flinches, perhaps thinking it's a close defense rad-weapon. The Sarath outright stumbles, trips, rights itself, but the moment's lost. Ravana stands there. Like he just doesn't care.
Then he lowers all but two arms into a boxing pose, slightly warped by how many of them there are, and lets the other two hang free, gesturing to each of the stalled mechs.
"Come on, then." Every mouth speaks at once, a dozen different pitches, reverberating through the radioactive mantle of his soul. "If you think you've got it in you."
"What-" the Dragon-blooded is unsure, now. His voice doesn't tremble, he's still an elite among elites, still sure of himself, just not sure of what he's facing. This is no psychoreactive cybrid or engineered numenman. This almost looks like- "what are you?"
"Me?" A single mouth barks it, splitting the mecha-monster's chest like a smoker's laugh. "I'm like those poor bastards you were about to trample over! I'm collateral damage. I'm acceptable losses. I'm literally straight-up Un-fucking-touchable. I'm a Dalit, you arrogant freak of birth."
And then all Hell breaks loose.
[X] Infernal Monster Bonus to Maximum, ORAORAORAORA! (Three hit flurry of 18d10X7 on target of your choice. IMS Physique bonus maxes out at +3, third and final arm is grown.)
->[X] Hit the ARJUN (1.4x, pick a section to target.) - two attacks, one on each leg
->[X] This is a duel between exalts, clear the field! (1.2x.) - one attack