Storm launched himself forward with every ounce of power he possessed, lightning and ice fusing around his form as he closed the distance between them. The wyvern's claws extended, each talon crackling with electrical energy as they carved through the air toward Kruel's transformed chest.
The impact never came.
Kruel's hand shot out, catching Storm's foreclaw in mid-strike. The wyvern's momentum, enough to demolish a mountain, was stopped as if he'd flown into an immovable wall. The three-horn—now four-horn—didn't even take a step backward.
"Too slow," Kruel said with casual disappointment.
His free fist drove upward, connecting with Storm's jaw in an uppercut that sent shockwaves rippling through the frozen landscape. The sound was like artillery fire, and Storm's massive head snapped back so violently that vertebrae cracked audibly.
