His fist connected with an Ogre's face.
The impact was an absolute detonation of force.
A massive shockwave of white energy erupted from his knuckles.
The Ogre's head simply… ceased to exist.
It was vaporized into a fine red mist.
The force of the blow ran through the very bones of the canyon.
BOOM!
He backhanded an Orc, sending the creature flying a hundred feet through the air.
It crashed against the canyon wall with a sickening, wet crunch.
He was a whirlwind of destruction.
A living, breathing meat-grinder.
And he was having the time of his life.
"He's magnificent," I murmured, a note of genuine, professional respect in my voice.
"A true artist."
"A virtuoso of violence."
"He's also winning, my Lord," Isabelle pointed out dryly.
My bait army was being systematically, brutally, and very efficiently dismantled.
"Patience, Commander," I purred.
"All part of the plan."
I watched as Grak, in his berserker fury, fought his way to the center of the pit.
