The earth trembled.
Buildings swayed as windows burst apart from the pressure wave, sirens howled through the dense, humid air of Manila. Military drones buzzed frantically overhead, struggling to keep up with two figures that moved faster than the eye could follow.
X charged first.
A monstrous thing — eight feet of hulking, muscle-like flesh streaked with alien fungus. Four glowing eyes burned through the dust. Each footfall cracked concrete. Every motion a defiance of physics. Soldiers scattered like ants before a tidal wave.
But RiZu stood his ground.
His custom-forged armor — a brilliant mix of ancient medieval designs, Batman-like modern plating, and Moon Knight-inspired mystique — gleamed in the flickering, broken city lights. The chest bore his insignia, a symbol of hope in a time where none dared to dream.
X's fist descended like a meteor.
BANG!
Their first clash sent shockwaves through the ruins. Pavement fractured beneath them. Distant cars alarmed. Helicopters spun in turbulence.
Steel screamed. Glass shattered.
The two titans tore through the city like ancient gods reborn.
X was brute force incarnate — a living weapon fueled by rage and alien genetics. Every punch capable of bending tanks. Every roar shaking the battlefield.
RiZu, however, was something else.
He was speed. He was precision. He was unbreakable will.
His suit cracked under the monstrous blows but never gave in. Inside, sweat poured down his face. His breathing ragged. But his eyes — sharp, determined, unyielding — stayed locked on his opponent.
And with every hit, flashes of his past came rushing back.