Chapter 64: Reciprocity

Such was the sheer violence of spatial magic. Not even King Kong could uproot the Empire State Building and hurl it at someone, but Casillas, the great sorcerer, had done exactly that.

Do not underestimate the destructive power of such an act—had Mei Mumu hesitated for even a fraction of a second, she would have been torn open and dismembered, left in pieces on the spot.

The mirror dimension might be isolated from the outside world, but whatever transpired within, once projected outside, could unleash devastation. If Casillas could throw an Empire State Building here, he could just as easily do so out there. Had Mei Mumu not trapped Casillas and the other cultivator elites in this space, New York might already have been laid waste, as if reliving another Battle of New York.

When Mei Mumu dodged by a hair’s breadth, Casillas snorted coldly. Spatial magic in actual combat was a voracious drain on one’s magical energy—especially when its power scaled up to manipulating an entire skyscraper, the consumption grew geometrically.

Casillas’ followers, seasoned in countless battles by his side, knew their leader needed a moment to catch his breath. As if treading solid ground, they raced up the exterior of the Empire State Building—now tilted ninety degrees in relation to the ground—and launched a fierce assault on Mei Mumu and her companion.

Mordo had just knocked a fallen one aside with his staff when a black arrow pierced his magical shield, passing less than three centimeters above his head. Had he not thrown himself backward, that shadow arrow would have blown his brains out.

With a thud, the arrow embedded itself in the Empire State Building’s outer wall behind him, hissing as it corroded the thick masonry. In just over two seconds, more than a meter of the skyscraper’s wall had dissolved, exposing a tangle of steel bars—bars that themselves began to rot and emit acrid, bluish fumes.

“Damn it, what the hell is that?” Mordo cried, hastily erecting another shield. “Aren’t you done yet?”

Unlike Mei Mumu, Mordo’s techniques were more traditional, academic. The dark-skinned sorcerer, though formidable in close combat, could barely manage counterattacks while darting through the air with his enchanted boots.

He cast spells in rapid succession, but it was nothing like Mei Mumu’s dexterous display—lashing out with a magical whip to strike one fallen foe on the left, while her right hand conjured a Phantom Blade, interspersing her throws with translucent Vatu Blades. This intricate blend of reality and illusion made the fallen ones miserable; within moments, five or six of them were wounded to varying degrees.

Yet that was not the crux of it. Too many fallen ones had positioned themselves as a vanguard between Mei Mumu’s party and Casillas, fully blocking any attempt to retaliate against him.

Suddenly, the entire Empire State Building shuddered, as though something monstrous was erupting from below.

In that instant, Mei Mumu was seized by a powerful sense of mortal danger emanating from beneath her feet—the hairs on her neck stood on end, and goosebumps prickled all over her skin. Without a moment’s hesitation, she activated her final contingency: a pre-configured space she had rehearsed countless times in her mind.

A portal flickering with golden sparks flared open in barely half a second, so swift it was almost terrifying.

Mordo’s eyes widened in realization. So that was it—Mei Mumu had been pretending all along, feigning inability to open a portal while fighting on all sides. It had been an act!

Together, Mei Mumu and Mordo hurled themselves through the portal. With a thunderous crash, the Empire State Building quaked, and its side wall burst apart. The nose of a white airplane exploded through the gaping rupture, showering debris and rubble in a torrent like a torrential rain.

In the next instant, the plane’s nose broke off and crashed down, and the jet fuel on board ignited in a massive explosion that rocked the entire space.

Just before the blast, Casillas pressed his hands together. Countless fragments of debris were drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet, forming a massive shell around him. His fallen followers quickly took shelter within this stony cocoon.

Had it not been for their escape into the new space at the last second, Mei Mumu and Mordo would surely have perished—either crushed by the airplane or incinerated in the inferno.

The devastation raged for over two minutes—explosions, destruction, utter ruin—until abruptly it was over. With a gesture, Casillas banished the burning skyscraper and the plane from the mirror dimension; it was as easy as brushing dust from his hands.

In midair, the portal remained open—a silent taunt, mocking Casillas with its mere existence.

A trap?

Of course Casillas knew it was a trap. But to be toyed with by a mere apprentice? How could his proud heart swallow such humiliation?

“After them!” he commanded.

His henchmen dove headlong into the portal like moths to a flame.

The twang of a bowstring rang out.

The first fallen ones had barely entered the new space and begun to adjust to its dimness before the mechanical whir of a trap sounded. Had they been ordinary men, that would have been the end.

Spikes shot from the walls and floor, swift as a gale. But the fallen ones, enhanced with self-acceleration spells, cut them down with inhuman speed, leaving only wreckage behind.

“Hmph, you call that a trap—?” one sneered, but his words died in his throat as a blinding laser beam enveloped him.

It was too fast. He had no time to react before his upper body was obliterated.

As the dark basement echoed with explosions, several fallen ones were dismembered by crisscrossing beams. There was no blood—the intense heat of the lasers vaporized whatever they touched, charring the wounds in a heartbeat.

No blood could possibly spray from such injuries.

These were Chitauri beam rifles—the true terror of the basement’s layered traps. The earlier mechanical pitfalls had merely been bait to lull them into a false sense of security.