Alpha took a step.
Then another.
He walked as if nothing around him was worth stopping for—or even acknowledging. As if the dozens growling and spewing their rage were nothing more than an irritating noise in a long, uneventful evening.
The burly man holding the axe had planted his feet firmly into the ground. His eyes were bloodshot, and his chest rose and fell like a man preparing to slay a beast.
But he didn't move.
Alpha stopped in front of him—three steps away—and looked at him with an expression devoid of any regard:
"An axe? … Really? That's the best you've got?"
It wasn't a question.
The man roared. He screamed as if his voice alone could shatter Alpha before his muscles even moved. Then, gripping the axe with both hands, he swung it down with all the weight his body could muster.
But Alpha didn't flinch.
He merely raised his right hand—and caught the axe with the palm of his hand.
The axe didn't break.
