The ground shook as Ralkor the Ironhide stepped forward, each footfall like a hammer striking the earth. His skin gleamed faintly under the blood-red moonlight, not soft like flesh but rugged like forged steel. His massive arms were crossed over his chest, muscles bulging beneath the iron-like hide, and his eyes burned with a cold golden gleam.
Syran, cloaked in a swirl of shadows, narrowed his eyes. His body sank into the darkness beneath him, vanishing from sight in a heartbeat. The arena gasped.
"Shadow Step…" murmured one of the onlookers.
The next instant, Syran reappeared right at Ralkor's side, his dagger flashing toward the werewolf's throat.
Clang!
The sound was like steel striking an anvil. Sparks scattered in the air. Syran's blade, infused with shadow energy, had not even nicked the wolf's skin.
Ralkor slowly turned his head, unfazed. "Your tricks won't work on me."
