The dense foliage at the edge of the training grounds parted with a heavy, rustling snap. Varg stepped out into the crisp spring sunlight, looking every bit the untamed, primordial warlord that the legends feared.
Behind him, five of his highest-ranking sector Alphas followed in a tight formation, each of them built like literal mountains of solid rock and scarred muscle. They had clearly just finished a brutal, non-stop endurance match; their massive chests heaved violently, and a potent mix of thick sweat and drying blood coated their bare torsos, glistening under the afternoon sun.
Despite the sheer, intimidating weight of the warriors entering the clearing, Alpha Samuel remained completely unfazed. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass right next to where Viceroy and Baron were stationed, looking absurdly relaxed as he cradled a glass of amber whiskey in one hand while lazily puffing on a thick, aromatic cigar.
