The easy laughter hanging in the air didn't so much vanish as it was... pressed flat.
It was a subtle thing, at first. The warmth bled from the room, not into cold, but into a kind of static emptiness. The hairs on Sun Wukong's arms stood up. He froze, a piece of fruit halfway to his mouth.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he muttered, his eyes darting toward the entrance. "Nope. I'm out. I'm gone."
Nezha frowned, confused. "What's your problem—?"
Then he felt it. A pressure, deep and old, like the universe itself had decided to pay a visit. The very light in the hall seemed to bend, and every shadow stretched long and thin, pointing toward the door like iron filings to a magnet.
Wukong was already backing toward the balcony. "Seriously, Nezha, we need to leave. Now."
"What did you do?" Nezha hissed, catching on.
"Last time? I might have... temporarily relocated her crown."
"You stole the Crown of Khaos?!"
