The impact when flesh met the flat of the war-axe was like the collision of giants.
BOOOM!!
A shockwave exploded outward from the point of contact, shattering every piece of glass within two hundred yards and sending cobblestones flying like shrapnel. The force of it knocked grown orcs from their feet and caused the very foundations of nearby buildings to tremble. But most impossibly of all, the massive war-axe—forged in stellar fire and inscribed with runes of unbreaking—bent backward at an impossible angle, its meteoric iron yielding to Jaenor's bare fist like soft clay.
Grashek stared in stunned disbelief at his ruined weapon, his primitive mind struggling to process what had just occurred. In his years of warfare, he had never seen his axe so much as chip.
Now it hung from his grip like a broken twig, its edge folded back on itself and its runic inscriptions dark and lifeless.
"Impossible," he snarled, spittle flying from his tusked mouth.
