Athens shook like it was being torn in half.
Wukong's staff spun in wide arcs, smashing through broken columns and shattering rooftops. Nezha's spear burned with every thrust, flames rolling out in waves that turned the marble red. Neither looked down. Neither cared for the mortals scrambling through the streets beneath them.
The city was nothing more than a battlefield.
"Still chasing?" Wukong jeered, twisting midair as his tail lashed, knocking Nezha back a step. "Don't you ever get tired?"
Nezha spun on his wheels, flames swirling around his ankles. His boyish face was fierce, his voice sharp. "Not until you're buried."
Their weapons clashed again. The sound rang like a war drum, louder than the cries of the people fleeing below.
–––
Then something shifted.
A gust of wind tore through the city, faster than thought, faster than breath. In an instant the streets were empty—mortals gone, whisked away before they could even cry out.
