Drax’s massive jaw worked silently for two full seconds.
Veins as thick as hemp ropes bulged across the admiral’s neck, turning the skin beneath his gray stubble a dark, furious purple.
“Gravel in my bladder?” Drax’s voice dropped to a guttural rumble that rattled the loose roof tiles along the pavilion.
Down on the shattered pier, the sea brine around his heavy iron boots began to boil.
“You insolent, pampered little cur,” Drax snarled, his voice rising until the cliffs echoed with deafening fury. “I have flattened three barbarian continents with this anchor. I have pinned deep-sea kraken to the ocean floor for thirty years.”
He reached behind his back with both gauntleted hands.
With a sound like tearing sheet iron, Drax gripped the colossal chain wrapped around his torso.
He hauled thirty tons of spiked Saint-Iron into the air with a single, savage heave.
