Sylas coughed up a mouthful of blood. It felt like every inch of his body had shattered in unison as he was pile-driven into the ground.
The butt of the staff drove into his chest from above, expanding and expanding until he broke through the platform on the mountain peak, and then through the mountain itself.
He was driven further and further until flames erupted across his body and down his limbs, a fire that burned hotter than just what was caused by air friction alone, but something beyond that.
It was almost like he was being punished for a misdeed, almost like his body was being wrung dry and pulled across the depths of hell for daring to merely bump up against the Pride of the Monkey King.
The echoes of laughter shattered air and space, all Sylas could seem to grasp.
He could feel every fiber of the Monkey King's being. Larger than life, boisterously arrogant, indifferent to regulation—even those he might very well have levied at himself.
