Noctisardor Bypass [m] luke 10:19

Vell, for one, longevity. Anselm clapped back instantly, his spine arched in outrage. Did this man think he would live another few years? He'd be dead before his children's second birthday!

Any further riposte he planned was halted by Amadeo's forceful show of dominance.

Within Anselm, every nerve fired to life. What had been an almost enjoyable battle of wit now became a matter of pride and victory. Every fiber of his being was consumed by wrath that he had been struck, of all things, by the cuck obsessed with his past paramore. His ribcage stung, but it was the paw forcing his shoulders down that earned all of Anselm's ire.

Before, there was the possibility that this would be a postural battle and nothing more. But now, Amadeo had brought physical violence into the equation, and Anselm answered in the only savage way he knew how. 

He would not be humbled by a man who strode into his camp and sought to upend everything he'd ever built.

With a snarl, Anselm's teeth aimed for that outreached arm. In normal dominance displays, there was some consideration given for the conspecific: don't wound, don't maim, only enough physical force to get the point across. Anselm displayed none of these reservations. The moment he was struck, all consideration for his cohort left the vicinity.

Now his only purpose was to make sure Amadeo never used that fucking leg again.