Blood and Quiet Tears
After Julian D'Aurelius took several blows, he didn't waste time exchanging insults.
Talking was pointless in a fight like this.
Instead, he simply swung the hammer in a brutal backhand motion, aiming straight for the attacker's head.
The thugs didn't have Julian's absurd defensive ability.
For them, a hammer strike to the skull was more than enough to leave someone half-dead on the floor.
And the restroom corridor was narrow.
Too narrow.
Their advantage in numbers couldn't be used properly.
The attackers could only rush in one after another.
Like zombies in a tower defense game.
Or like the legendary Calabash Brothers rushing forward one by one to save their grandfather—only to get beaten down individually.
THUD!
Another hammer swing.
Another thug collapsed.
Meanwhile, the two men assigned to restrain Charlotte Bonds weren't having any better luck.
They hesitated.
They didn't dare hurt her.
Their boss had made that part very clear.
