Liam was genuinely taken aback when the assassin's blade cut his hand. He stared at the wound as the skin around it turned purple and the colour spread across his palm.
He felt a small worry rise in his chest, but not out of fear. If things got bad, he could always cut the hand off and grow a new one.
But he didn't need to, as the molecular nanites inside him reacted instantly and the strange burn under his skin faded as they went to work.
He wasn't sure what they did—whether they ate the poison, pushed it out, or changed it into something harmless—but whatever it was, the spreading purple stopped almost at once.
The assassin didn't know that, of course.
Liam lowered his hand and turned toward the assassin.
The assassin's face was twisted in confusion and fear. He stared at Liam's clean skin like he was looking at a nightmare.
"Now," Liam smiled, as he asked softly, "who sent you?"
