The name of Mort's Mountain Breaker carried multiple meanings. It was a divine tool to break mountains. When breaking something, it carried the weight of a mountain.
And when someone punched the pickaxe hastily and sloppily raised in defense, it felt like being hit by a mountain when it crashed into Mort's side.
Nessa's punch sent Mort and the pickaxe flying.
Mort tumbled through the air with only a hint of the grace from last time. But he was still quick in getting back on his feet, even if he could feel the crescent shaped mark left behind by the pickaxe like an engraving on his ribs, side, and hip.
Nessa felt a chill run down her spine when Mort raised his head and looked straight at her with eyes that sparkled like diamonds in the bedrock. His short hair rustled in the still air, and the dirt from it blew off him. The hem of his shirt flapped loose as he stood up and swung his pickaxe twice through the air, drawing airy trails behind.
Nessa's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
