It’s easy for violence to propagate downwards. But, every now and then, it hits a dead end.
Wrellio moved like a flash between the brute’s fist and a stranger’s head. The stranger grimaced but the fist thudded into Wrellio’s shoulder harmlessly.
The brute stepped back, lips turning into a snarl. Wrellio stood taut and still, their gaze fixed on the brute sizing them up.
“This is your time to think about how you’d like the rest of your night to go,” Wrellio said calmly. The brute spat and grabbed Wrellio by the cuff, arm winding back for another punch.
The doors of the tavern flew open as the brute hurtled through the air and skidded across the street. Stopping a force means pushing back with equal energy. Or more energy.
