A Foray Of Four

Fights were never fun. 

Be it the bullheaded clumsiness of a brief scuffle, or the prolonged, tedious advancement of a ruined battlefield, Michael never much relished either scenario.

Perhaps he has simply experienced too much of it. Repetition, to the point of utter revulsion. There was rarely anything, if any, that he outright despised… fighting was one of those exceptions. 

Even now, encircled by the malice and spite of the four men in front of him, seeing the rage smoldering in their eyes, all rationale and logic burnt to cinders as fuel surging into their trembling fists, Michael resolutely stuck himself to reason. 

"I broke your knife," he said, directing all focus to the crudely severed weapon still uselessly clenched in the first man's hand. "Easily, I might add. Do you think anyone can just do that? Now, I suggest you take a moment to think about what you're going to do next… and very carefully at that."