Planet Dazeth.
The heavy banging of metal against metal resonated through the air. There was a particularly rhythmic cadence to it, one that matched the breath of a behemoth of a man swinging four hammers at once.
While the entire galaxy seemed to be crumbling, Thalrik was busy in his forge. He didn't even particularly like to craft, but there was something about forcing metals that refused to twist in the hands of others into submission that made him practically purr on the inside.
Every time he swung a hammer, he imagined an opponent—and yet, rather than being a seething mass of destruction, there was something oddly… beautiful about his movements.
Despite his four arms moving in unison, each one hitting the same exact location again and again, leaving blurs in the air, there wasn't the slightest hitch or interference between them at all.
