The silence didn't last.
Beneath the rubble, something shifted.
A groan of metal. A hiss of breath. Then—an explosion of debris.
Elijah erupted from the collapsed vault like a man possessed, his black mask shredded across one side, exposing a bloodied eye and part of his jaw. His once-clean strongman suit was in tatters, the purple trunks barely holding, his cape torn and fluttering behind him in a mockery of triumph.
He looked deranged. Desperate.
And more dangerous than ever.
Maxwell barely had time to brace before Elijah grabbed him by the chest and launched into the sky.
They shot through the city skyline like a missile, crashing through the upper floors of a tenement building. Brick, glass, and screams rained down on the streets below. Marvelo-Man took the brunt of it, shielding a falling civilian with his own body as they skidded across the roof of a parked tram.
People screamed. Civilians fled through smoke-filled streets, ducking behind crumbling walls and flipped cars. Fires burned in all directions—New York was turning into a battlefield.
"You think you beat me?" Elijah roared, flying downward like a black comet. He punched Maxwell through a rooftop water tower. Wood splintered, water erupted, and Max was thrown into a billboard advertising canned peaches.
He groaned, rolling over.
"You've never bled like I have," Elijah spat, blood coating his teeth. "You're still soft. Still dreaming of a world that never wanted you."
Maxwell stood, slow and staggering, his costume a mess of rips and char, his cape half-hanging.
"This isn't strength," Max said quietly. "It's surrender."
Elijah rushed again, wild and reckless.
They collided midair, trading brutal punches, each blow rippling with sonic force. Glass shattered for blocks. Streetlamps bent. Cars flipped from the shockwaves.
Max grabbed Elijah mid-punch and slammed him into a bank vault's roof. Concrete split. Elijah snarled, clawing free, swinging again.
Every hit landed heavier. Every second grew louder.
Max felt his ribs crack.
But he didn't fall.
Not yet.
The crowd below could barely see what was happening—just flashes, destruction, and noise. But they knew something monstrous was up there.
And some of them started to pray.
Others just ran.
The city had never felt this small.
Maxwell caught Elijah's fist, twisted, and launched him into the side of the Empire State Building.
He didn't have a plan.
Only instinct.
And New York was running out of time.