Time shattered the moment they moved.
A single heartbeat.
That was all it took for the world around them to fall away—no rubble, no flames, no collapsing Olympus. Just open air, cracked sky, and two blurs of godspeed clashing mid-flight.
Eros struck first.
He darted in a streak of rose-gold light, wings slicing the air behind him like twin blades of emotion. His spear was not forged of metal, but of compressed passion—solid, glowing, and vibrating with barely-contained pressure. He aimed for the shoulder, then switched mid-strike for the heart, then again for the gut, each motion too fast to follow.
Hermes met him in the blink between seconds.
His sandals didn't touch the ground. Wind twisted beneath him like a serpent as he deflected the first blow with the flat of his dagger, pivoted around the second, and struck Eros across the ribs with the hilt on the third. Sparks flew, golden and white, as divine skin met enchanted steel.
They separated.
