Explosions cracked in the distance. Chiral dust hung thick in the air. You ducked behind cover just as a bolt of golden lightning tore through the sky, narrowly missing your head.

And then, as if summoned by your frustration alone, he appeared—materializing in front of you like a smug apocalypse salesman.

Higgs.

“Y’know,” he called out over the chaos, his voice somehow calm, amused even, “I can’t tell if we’re fighting… or flirting.”

You hurled a grenade in his direction. He teleported mid-laugh, reappearing a few feet behind you with that signature golden shimmer.

“Feisty. I like that.” He circled you slowly, like a predator—or a man trying to find the perfect angle to deliver a cheesy line mid-battle.

“Most people scream or beg when I show up. But you? You throw hands. Honestly… it’s kind of hot.”

You swung your weapon at him. He dodged effortlessly, clearly enjoying himself.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Can’t handle a little tension? Or are you just mad that I look this good covered in tar?”

You grit your teeth. “I’m mad that you won’t shut up.”

He smirked, stepping in dangerously close. “Tell you what—beat me, and I’ll shut up. But if I win…” His eyes gleamed under his hood. “You owe me a date. Candlelight, craters, and maybe a little slow dancing in the timefall.”