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Robbie struggled to his feet, shifting from side-to-side. Oliver was about to ask him to stand down from his hostilities, but suddenly he heard a rather audible click. Robbie had a switchblade. He held it out, menacingly.

“Come on!” he cried, spitting blood. His lip was split down the middle.

“I suggest you put the knife down,” Oliver warned, his eyes narrowing.

He felt something inside then, something savage. It was crawling its way into his mind, thick and inky. He didn’t realize it, but he had started to growl.

Robbie lunged, knife first. Oliver grabbed him by the wrist one-handed. He squeezed hard, forcing Robbie down to one knee. He leaned into him baring his teeth and growling even louder. The color ran out of Robbie’s cheeks when he looked into Oliver’s eyes. They were glowing with a dim, purple light. All of a sudden, Oliver smelled Robbie’s fear. He felt a tidal wave of incredible loathing wash over him. He was drowning in an irrepressible desire to hurt Robbie, and hurt him badly…

… which is exactly what Oliver did.

With a flick of his wrist, Oliver broke Robbie’s arm with a loud snap. Robbie screamed, but Oliver didn’t stop there. He punched him in the chest breaking some of his ribs. He hit him in the solar plexus, in the face, all the while holding Robbie’s broken arm. He threw a backfist hearing the bones in his cheek shatter. Robbie fell to his knees, barely conscious. Oliver gripped a handful of his hair and prepared to deliver the deathblow…


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