Then he grabbed the assassin by the throat and threw him with such force that the body became a projectile, smashing through two other attackers and demolishing the wall of a building beyond.
More assassins converged, attacking with everything they had—blades, energy attacks, poison darts, techniques that would have killed most warriors.
The Fudrachen moved with speed that defied its size, each gesture unleashing devastating force. A backhand strike sent three assassins flying in different directions. A stomp created a shockwave that shattered the street and knocked several attackers off their feet. When one assassin managed to land a blade strike, it simply bounced off the thick fur without leaving a mark.
"You interrupted my evening," the Fudrachen said, and the voice was Jolthar's but deeper and more primal, carrying harmonics that resonated with bestial fury.
"You threatened people under my protection. You made the mistake of thinking you could kill me."
