Malik was usually the one looking at people stronger than him in anger, not the other way around, so it was good to be in this position for once.
Sure, he'd received that look in the war many millions of times, but he never really paused to look; only victory was on his mind during those times.
Woof! Woof!
The smaller wolves gave way, parting for their leader and the black-clad death that approached.
Malik didn't say a word and kept walking forward, his curved sword—Spine Splitter—low in hand.
The Ṭāghiya bared its fangs. Its aura exploded, frost screaming through the air.
And then...
BOOM!
Their clash rang through the mountains, a bell that tolled for the underworld.
The wolf bit down on the sword with enough strength to crush bone, yet the moment it did, the beast knew—knew—it couldn't win this fight; its opponent's blade could not be blocked.
It let go, retreating, howling as walls of ice erupted between them, attempting to stop him from following its retreat.
