You're Pretty Weak!

"An alliance?"

Bonegrinder's wild laughter came to an abrupt halt.

It was as though someone had clamped a hand around his throat. The feverish atmosphere was doused with a bucket of ice water and instantly dropped to freezing point. In its place came silence, oppression, and gazes filled with scrutiny and mockery.

Alvin remained calm, his gaze steady as he looked straight at the enormous, savage figure seated upon the ruined throne.

He knew that convincing Bonegrinder would not be easy. This was the real test!

"I get it." Bonegrinder suddenly leaned forward. His hideously ugly face bore a few traces of cunning and slyness in its murky single eye. The throne welded together from wreckage let out an extremely unpleasant sound, like something sharp scraping against metal. At the same time, his huge metal jaws clacked together as he gave several chilling chuckles. "You're still trying to trick me. You said all that just to make my boyz wear down those Daemons for you!"

Apparently growing more agitated, the cunning and brutal Warboss raised his voice, lacing it with a terrifying, bone-chilling killing intent. "You sneaky little shrimp, you Gretchin-like runt! You think you can fool clever old me?"

"I have never deceived you, great Bonegrinder."

Under the gaze of that vicious single eye, Alvin calmly admitted his intentions. "Of course, I won't deny that I did intend to rely on your great war clans to flatten those damned red cans filled with Chaos-corrupted pus. But since this is an 'alliance,' we'll naturally pay the corresponding price as well. Fairness is the only principle of a transaction, isn't it?"

"Fairness? I don't need fairness!!!"

Bonegrinder snarled. "Even without you, I can still lead my boyz to flatten those damned red cans!"

"No. Forgive my bluntness—you can't."

Alvin said it