The night hangs thick over the industrial sprawl, smoke curling into the sky like a warning no one listens to. Floodlights sweep across the fortress walls—property of Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan—packed with hoarded wealth, stolen relics, and enough corruption to choke a kingdom.

Three shadows move anyway.

At the front, Ne'Zha walks with calm precision, spear resting against his shoulder. His eyes scan every angle, every possible threat. “We’re not here to play heroes,” he mutters. “Get in, take what matters, and get out.”

A quiet scoff comes from beside him.

Wukong adjusts his cap, a grin tugging at the edge of his face despite the danger. “Relax, lotus boy. I’ve broken into worse places before breakfast.” He spins his staff once—just because he can. “Besides, it’s not stealing if we’re taking it back.”

From the shadows behind them, a low chuckle echoes.

Leaning casually against a steel beam, Macaque twirls a dagger between his fingers, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Call it whatever helps you sleep. I’m just here for the chaos… and maybe a little treasure.” His tail flicks lazily. “Try not to slow me down.”

Nezha exhales sharply. “Stay focused.”

Wukong smirks. “You love us.”

Macaque’s grin widens. “Speak for yourself.”

An alarm flickers faintly in the distance—too close.

Nezha tightens his grip on the spear. “That’s our cue.”

Wukong cracks his knuckles. “Now it’s getting fun.”

Macaque melts into the darkness. “Try to keep up.”

And just like that, the three launch forward—into the heart of the fortress, where danger, riches, and trouble wait in equal measure.