Adam stomped to the right, twisting his chest in the same direction. Ulgarath's foot cleaved like a green spear of retribution a split second later. A spear Adam dodged with a chaotic fluidity that looked like a meaningless delusion to the crowd of orcs.
They anticipated the gruesome spectacle of his death, chanting Ulgarath's name while cursing him. He heard nothing, saw none of them. Not even Grum'Thal and the other legendary warriors entered his vision.
Neither did the icy sweat trickling down his temples as he snapped back to the left—right in front of Ulgarath. Close enough to feel the brutal orc's furious breath on his face, he wrenched his chest forward in the same movement. His curled fingers shot forward with grace, but not only. The wind howled from the strength he put in. From ankle to kneecap, from pelvis to shoulder, and from shoulder to wrist, his tendons roared with life force.
