The White Tiger’s Slaughter
The ground shook.
The army surged forward, an avalanche of destruction crashing through the trees.
The White Tiger King sprinted ahead, a blur of white fur and muscle. Faster than any beast behind him, he tore across the land like a falling star.
The White Tiger reached the outer wall of the city. His glowing blue eyes locked onto two human sentries posted near the gate.
With a flick of his clawed hand—
Swoosh! Swoosh!
Two ice lances materialized in the air and shot forward like silent arrows.
Squelch! Squelch!
Both sentries dropped lifelessly, ice spears buried in their throats. Neither had time to scream.
He moved like a phantom through the gates—a ghost cloaked in snow and death.
No sound was raised. Every guard he encountered died before they could draw breath, let alone sound an alarm.
He was fast. Efficient.