Blood on the Asphalt biker
"Wolves! Revers! To the center! Welcome them to the mud!"
We scrambled down the stairs, leaving the wall and sprinting toward the massive open plaza in front of the Citadel.
The asphalt of the courtyard was already buckling. Fissures spider-webbed across the concrete, glowing with the superheated friction of the approaching drills.
Jax, the massive President of the Revers, stood dead center in the plaza. He didn't look scared. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning. He ignited his newly phased gear-axe, the heavy iron blade humming with an unstable, iridescent blue Origin-Code aura. Behind him, fifty outlaw bikers revved their engines, wielding phased chains, glowing machetes, and slug-th