The massive axe descended through the air like a falling star, its trajectory aimed directly at the courtyard where I stood. Vorgath Ironmaw—the Axe King—had put everything behind this opening strike, the kind of devastating attack that had ended countless battles before they could truly begin. The weapon's edge gleamed with miasma and Axe Unity while the very air seemed to split before its passage, creating a wake of distorted space that spoke to forces beyond conventional understanding.
I had been prepared to meet the strike head-on, my hand already moving toward Nyxthar's hilt while my enhanced reflexes calculated the optimal angle for deflection. This was exactly the kind of straightforward challenge I had expected from someone whose reputation was built on overwhelming force rather than subtle technique.
What I hadn't expected was for Meilyn to suddenly appear between the descending axe and its intended target.
