(Wrote this off what came into my head yesterday. Glad to get feedback even though context might be a problem.)
Bathed in the red energy of his Lord’s Rage, Clyde’s punch hits Alan Stryker in the jaw with enough force to puncture a mountain. The sound of impact echoes throughout the valley. Yet, the towering man does not budge an inch with Clyde’s fist pushed against his chin. A victorious grin is on Alan’s face, which enrages the vampire, who kicks him in the side to no effect. The roiling, blood-like energy around Clyde dissipates as he takes a calming breath.
“Is that all you have?” Alan asks, stepping away from Clyde and wiping dirt off his chin. “I expected more from the great dawnfang progenitor. You’re feared all over Windemere for your power and ferocity. It must kill you to know I barely felt your blows.”
Clyde flexes his shoulders and circles the muscular man, patiently looking for an opening. The problem is that he sees nothing, but openings. Alan shows no sign of wanting to block any attack that is thrown at him. As the vampire moves behind Alan, the powerful man vanishes and reappears next to him. The fist is within inches of hitting Clyde in the back when he fades from sight like a mirage.
“You’re faster than I expected,” Clyde admits, materializing out of Alan’s reach. “Where did you come from?”
“A toy you left behind and nothing more,” Alan replies, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He grins at the way Clyde’s muscles tense. “Do you realize that you can’t win?”
“I’ll choke you to death with my own intestine if I have to,” Clyde growls. He leaps back when Alan raises his hand, but the large man only scratches his brown-haired head. “I don’t lose.”
“I see,” Alan curiously whispers. Spinning on his heel, he turns his back on Clyde and tucks his hands into his pockets. “Then, I won’t damage your record just yet. I retreat from the battle, so you win by default. Until our next encounter, Clyde. I hope you’re as powerful as your reputation by then.”
Alan grins as Clyde’s friends move out of his way, the nervous vampires eying him until he is out of sight. Lost bounces on her heels, hugging her stuffed bunny tight to her chest. She calms down when Titus puts a comforting hand on her head, gently guiding her back to the castle. He is about to say something to Mab, but stops when he sees that her claws are out. He follows her gaze to Clyde, who is still standing where Alan left him.
“What’s wrong?” Titus asks his sister, keeping out of reach of her claws.
“I’ve never seen that on his face,” she softly answers.
Titus squints and strains his eyes in the midday sunlight. “Your eyes are better than mine, so you’ll have to explain.”
“Clyde’s scared,” Mab says, turning to leave.