However, reality was a cold, hard hammer.
The wolf-headed demon general's blood-red, vertical pupils caught sight of the charging Ron, and a hint of brutality and mockery flashed in its eyes.
As if swatting a fly, it swung its thick, muscular arm, bringing the terrifying, millstone-sized Wolf Fang Club down on Ron Zaka's spear with a shriek that tore through the sound barrier.
BOOM—!
The massive clang of metal on metal drowned out the din of the battlefield.
The terrifying strength Ron Zaka prided himself on felt as if it had just crashed into a mountain falling from the heavens.
A violent, overwhelming shockwave surged up the spear, through his arm and shoulder, and into his entire body. The webbing of his hand instantly tore open, splattering blood, and the spear was nearly knocked from his grasp.
He was thrown back as if struck head-on by a battering ram, stumbling seven or eight steps before barely managing to regain his balance.
