The city was a war zone, its once-proud structures reduced to crumbling ruins, its streets soaked in the blood of warriors from all sides. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, the metallic tang of spilled blood, and the lingering traces of raw power unleashed without restraint.
And amidst it all—amidst the chaos, the screams, and the tremors of battle—two unstoppable forces carved their way through the battlefield.
Jerry and Reginald.
Their impact had shattered the very foundation of the city, their raw energy reshaping the landscape as if reality itself bent to their will. The ground beneath them was no longer mere rubble; it was a battlefield sculpted by their presence, a graveyard forming in real-time.
Before the dust had even settled, they were already in motion.
