Chapter 299: The Beastmaster's Wrath
The arrival of General Vargr wasn't an entrance; it was a natural disaster compressed into the shape of a man.
He landed on the floor of the medical bay with a weight that defied physics. The steel deck plates buckled under his boots, sending a ripple of distortion through the carriage. The air, already freezing from Maria's awakening, instantly grew heavy with the metallic tang of bloodlust.
He stood seven feet tall, a mountain of muscle wrapped in the pelt of a White Alpha Wolf. His skin was scarred and weathered, looking like cracked leather, and his eyes—yellow, slit-pupiled, and brimming with malice—swept over us like a searchlight.
In his hand, the red weirwood spear pulsed with a heartbeat of its own.
"Finally," Vargr rumbled. His voice was a grinding tectonic shift that vibrated in my teeth. "I was getting tired of knocking."
