It lunged with speed that would have surprised most opponents. Its blades swung in precise arcs, aiming for vital points, executing attacks that suggested extensive combat training and experience.
Jorghan caught both blades with his bare hands.
Blood essence coated his palms, turning his skin harder than the weapons striking it. He squeezed, and the blades shattered, fragments falling to the ground with sounds like breaking glass.
The Scavenatore leader's amber eyes widened with something that might have been the first fear it had felt in years.
"My turn," Jorghan said quietly.
Then he began the systematic slaughter of every Scavenatore in the dome, starting with the leader who'd sat on a throne made from the bones of faery kind.
The violence that followed would be remembered in faery legends for centuries.
*
