Luke stood in the backyard of the house.
Silvery moonlight bathed the ground as he gripped a single war hammer in one hand.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted the weapon and swung it in a controlled horizontal arc.
Using the momentum, he stepped back, twirled the hammer above his head, and brought it down in a diagonal strike, stopping it mere inches above the ground.
He pulled the weapon over his shoulder and thrust it forward, displaying remarkable strength for someone wielding such a heavy armament with only one hand.
But he didn't stop there.
Drawing the hammer back, he drove it forward again. This time, he extended the strike even farther before bringing his other hand onto the handle and springing off his feet to kick the imaginary opponent in front of him.
As his body surged forward with the kick, he pulled the hammer overhead with both hands.
The weapon rose to its highest point.
Then, with every ounce of strength he could muster, he brought it crashing down.
"Ah..."
