Brutus wasn't as quick as Vanthrice, nor did he possess the sharp, storm-like ferocity of Gregor. He lacked the strange, overwhelming aura that surrounded Sage whenever he cast spells.
But the moment he stepped into the heart of the battlefield with his massive hammer resting on one shoulder, every enemy in sight understood one thing: if that hammer struck, there would be no second chances. His large frame was encased in armor already scratched and stained from earlier skirmishes. He breathed heavily but steadily, his eyes calm in a way that belied the raw power he wielded.
Around him, the ruined city trembled from distant clashes. Dust rolled through broken streets like fog, blood staining the cracks between shattered stones while screams echoed from various directions as Riven's elites pressed their advantage in numbers.
