The Monkey King's staff suddenly swung up to meet Sylas' own.
In that moment, one could have almost said that the two of them had swapped bodies. During their first battle, it was the Monkey King with the wild grin and oppressive, unbridled style, while Sylas was the one with the cold glare and focused gaze.
This time, it was the complete opposite.
Sylas moved like the wind. The echo of his first strike had hardly landed when he comboed into a second and a third.
He suddenly kicked out as a fourth strike, the first three having been blocked by the flickering afterimages of the Monkey King's staff. It hardly felt like the staff was trackable, moving so fast through the air it never stayed in the same spot for more than a fraction of a second.
But Sylas' mind seemed ten steps ahead. His scythe swirled and moved in rotating hard winds that sliced through the void of space, mixing a flurry of feints and strikes that were nigh impossible to follow.
