Then his Strength stat woke up, four hundred and fifty-eight points of it pouring out of paperwork into one straining limb, and his forearm swelled against his sleeve, veins standing from wrist to neck like hauled cables.
His heels tore twin furrows through solid asphalt, a hand deep and getting deeper. Then the contest ended: the boar's plating buckled against its own momentum, and the crack of arrested bone rolled down the street and bounced back off the houses.
He let it out through his teeth as a grunt.
Then he turned his hips, the muscles across his back rolling in a wave the cameras caught in loving detail. He threw the bull one-armed onto its back and put his other fist through its skull before it finished bouncing.
[You've slain Shell-Boar Alpha (Level 79). +16,000 XP.]
