Sayama Kotetsu, the Sword King of Suzu, stood before me, his simple, unadorned katana held in a two-handed grip. He was an old man, his body a roadmap of a hard life. But in his eyes, a cold, clean fire burned, the fire of a man with nothing left to lose.
And me. Ragnar Vhagar, the Tyrant of Aethelburg. A creature of the night, a king of monsters, a degenerate circus clown performing a high-wire act over a pit of my own making.
"Shall we begin?" I purred, my voice a low, mocking baritone. I held my spear, Gungnir, in a loose, one-handed grip, a picture of arrogant, contemptuous ease.
He did not reply.
He simply moved.
BOOM!
The ground exploded as he became a blur of motion, a phantom of impossible speed that made the air itself scream in protest.
He was not a man anymore. He was a force of nature. Vengeance.
He was upon me.
