The air tastes like static and dust. The sky above the city — what’s left of it — has that bruised, unnatural purple that only comes when the fabric of reality is being chewed apart. You can feel the shudder in the web, in your bones, like a migraine that starts at the base of your skull and rattles every nerve. And you know why.

Morlun stands at the far end of the broken street, not rushing, not even walking like a man in a hurry. He doesn’t need to. He moves like a glacier, unstoppable and smug, stepping over the jagged remains of street lamps and twisted cars with predator’s patience. He’s immaculate despite the chaos — dark coat swaying, pale skin almost glowing in the fractured light, eyes fixed on you like he’s already dissected you in his mind.

The ground groans just like you. Somewhere behind you, the corner of a skyscraper shears away, tumbling into the widening tear in reality. A hot wind slams against your back, full of grit and ash. You plant your feet anyway.

“You,” you spit, voice hoarse from fighting, from running, from screaming warnings at people who won’t live long enough to hear them twice. “You couldn’t just kill me, could you? No, you had to take everything.”

Morlun tilts his head, an almost courteous motion, like you’ve said something worth considering. “It is not personal,” he says, his voice deep and calm, each word wrapped in the weight of inevitability. “You are sustenance. This world is an unfortunate casualty of my appetite.”

The fury burns so hot it steals your breath. Your fists curl tight enough that your knuckles ache under your gloves. Every spider-sense thread is screaming — wrong, wrong, wrong — but you can’t back down. Not now.

You spring forward, web-shooters firing instinctively. Lines snap taut around chunks of debris; you yank them, flinging slabs of concrete toward him. He swats them aside like they’re paper. The distance closes in seconds. You aim for his jaw, a perfect right hook with every ounce of speed you have left.

He catches your wrist mid-swing. His grip is iron, unyielding. The impact should have jolted him but instead, it’s your bones that sing with pain. His other hand brushes against your shoulder almost gently before shoving you backward. You skid across the cracked asphalt, catching yourself on one knee, gasping.

“You will exhaust yourself. And when you can no longer stand, I will take what I came for.”

Another deep shudder runs through the street. Behind him, the skyline bends like it’s made of rubber, then tears completely, revealing the white void gnawing at the edges of your dimension. The noise is deafening — a chorus of snaps, and distant, horrifying screams.

You know you can’t beat him. Not here. Not like this. But the rage keeps you moving. A whip of web to his eyes, a leap over the falling street, your boots finding the shattered face of a building as you sprint vertically to gain height. You’ll drop everything you have on him.

Morlun doesn’t even look up as you climb. He doesn’t need to. “Run. Fight. Struggle,” he calls after you, the words almost drowned by the roar of your collapsing city. “It only sweetens the meal.”

A blast of heat hits your face — a section of the city below is simply gone, replaced by searing nothingness. You perch at the top of the half-standing tower, chest heaving, watching him. His dark figure stands perfectly still amid the chaos, like the one fixed point in a world unraveling.