Frank Yates didn’t waste a second on preamble. He pivoted on his heel, torque generated from the base of his spine spiraling upward through his hips. His leg whipped out—a blur of kinetic energy that connected solidly with the side of Blaze’s face.
The impact was sickeningly wet.
Blaze’s massive frame didn’t just fall; it was launched. He skid across the asphalt, his body carving a long, jagged trail through the dust and gravel. The left side of his face was instantly deformed, swelling rapidly into a grotesque, purple mound, while blood gushed from his split lip, splattering the ground.
Silence hung heavy for a heartbeat, broken only by the settling dust.
Then, a guttural roar tore from Blaze’s throat.
"Arghhh!!"
It wasn't a cry of pain; it was a scream of primal rage. To Frank Yate
