Liam's fist came crashing down with brutal force. The sound of bone and ceramic shattering echoed across the courtyard as his punch smashed directly into Khan's mask. Cracks spidered out instantly, and with a final crack, the mask split in two and fell away.
Gasps rang out.
What lay beneath the mask was a grotesque sight. Khan's face was disfigured, melted in places, as if acid had once been poured across his skin. Twisted scar tissue clung to his jaw and cheek, one of his eyes was milky and lifeless, and his lips were half missing on one side.
But Liam didn't flinch.
He didn't care.
Grabbing Khan by his collar, Liam yanked him back up to his feet and slammed a fist into his face again.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
Each hit sent blood flying, teeth breaking, the sound of flesh meeting bone echoing louder than any words. The crowd was silent, many too stunned to even breathe. Liam's face held no expression—just calm, calculated wrath.
