Corma

“Really?” D said with a nod, his voice not really soft but just low. Then,
without another word, he turned his back and began to walk away.
“You freak!”
Carving a path through the air, the iron club swung in a downward arc
aimed for D’s head.

The men’s gasp of surprise could be heard at the same time as the ring
of iron meeting steel. At the base of D’s neck—or just a little bit above it—
the iron club had halted, imbedded on the blade he’d partially unsheathed.
The men’s eyes bulged. More than the timing necessary to evade the
skull-splitting attack of the club, more than anything, the men were shocked
to see that D’s thin blade withstood the hundreds of pounds of pressure
from the iron club.

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