"CRACKLE!"
"BANG!"
The air rippled as a massive fist wrapped around with thick blue lightning snakes slammed into a figure's chest. The force sent the figure flying as he collided heavily into three walls, destroy them to rumbles, boxing in the floor like a deflated ball before finally stopping.
A bald headed, middle-aged man retracted his stretched fist, folding them behind his back as he moved step by step towards the figure laying helplessly on the floor.
"I can do this all day, Tyrion." The figures gruff voice sounded out as his russian accent was revealed.
Yes, the person was the elder from the Thunder Tempest Temple, one of the three hegemonies of the continent; Vladimir!
The figure spat out a mouthful of blood, deep wounds covered the figure's entire body like tattoos, it was a miracle he was still conscious even with the deep wounds.
