Tatehan and Bjorn charged forward together, their movements syncing almost instinctively as they crashed into the wave of thirty soldiers like a two-man battering ram.
There was no hesitation, no coordination needed beyond the unspoken understanding that came from fighting alongside someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
They worked together excellently, their combat styles complementing each other in ways that felt almost choreographed despite the chaos.
Bjorn swung his warhammer in a wide, sweeping move that sent three soldiers flying, their bodies tumbling through the air like ragdolls. One of them tried to recover in the middle of the flight, his legs scrambling for purchase, but Bjorn was already moving.
He dropped his axe, reached out with both hands, and grabbed the soldier by the torso, his massive fingers clamping down on the man's armor with crushing force.
And then he lifted.
