Amende's movements were too fast. A fist drove into Sylas' gut, the Scorpion Warlord Armor already showing signs of complete collapse after a single strike.
There was nothing fancy about the action—it was complete and utter rampaging fury, a wild attack that moved so fast it looked as though Amende was using his arm like a lever and a whip all in one, all the torque and power of his shoulder erupting in a single, lengthened attack.
He only landed a single punch, and yet the devastation felt like a dozen stacked atop one another, the air exploding from Sylas' back making it feel as though the fist had gone right through his torso—as though he was hardly there at all, as though the target was something behind him rather than himself as a person.
Sylas hacked up blood as though he was pushing out his heart from his throat, his inner organs shredding apart and nearly spilling out in a fine mesh of wild violence.
