THE ALPHA'S FORBIDDEN SURROGATE
Dom’s broad baritone echoed off the canyon stone, carrying the terrifying, double-toned roar of a prime Alpha warlord, "this pass is closed."
For a second, silence hung over the gorge. Then, the cultist commander—a hulking, scarred Lycan wearing plate armor forged from crimson glass—raised his jagged broadsword.
"Tear him to pieces!" the commander shrieked.
A wave of fifty shadow-mutated warriors charged forward, their blood-red eyes gleaming as their claws scraped against the rock floor.
Dom didn't back up an inch. He moved forward to meet them, a tornado of platinum-gold fire and lethal precision.