The wind howled like a primal roar across the fractured battleground as Valor and Wukong clash reached its boiling point. Blurs of motion danced between air and earth, neither combatant pausing, both testing the very limits of physical possibility. Then, in an instant of movement too fast for even most gods to follow, Wukong's golden staff—extending like a bolt of fate—cracked through Valor's defenses.
The blow connected.
A shockwave thundered across the air as Valor was launched backwards, her boots digging deep trenches into the cracked earth. The kinetic force fractured the landscape around her, ice-like lines of force shooting outward as if reality itself was splintering.
Wukong spun his staff with a flourish, landing nimbly on the edge of a floating fragment of stone, his grin wide and mischievous.
"Oh? Did I finally scratch that pretty little mask of yours, Frostbite?" he teased, his voice laced with laughter that echoed across the battlefield.
