Bones popped, splintered, and cracked with the sound of dry kindling as Ethan moved through the mob. He wasn't just defeating them; he was meticulously disabling them, ensuring none would walk away from this fight whole. He was a force of natural disaster unleashed upon a mortal crowd.
Ethan stopped abruptly, the last five attackers recoiling in pure terror. He took a deep, steadying breath, his muscular chest rising and falling slowly, without a bead of sweat. He pointed a steady finger at the man whose knee he had shattered—the one who spoke Vincent's name—who was now whimpering on the ground.
"You said Vincent sent you, right?" Ethan demanded, his voice dangerously low. "Come with me. You're going to tell me everything."
"Clean up the trash," Ethan commanded, his voice devoid of warmth. "If any of this filth is still here when I finish, I'll deal with you next."
