The Blood Moon Omen

Schmidt covered his stomach and kneeled on the floor to throw up.

He was certain that the bastard before him had done it on purpose. Such a punch to the abdomen could only be achieved through special training.

The pile of vomit before him was his breakfast, which he had puked all over Tally’s carpet. She was really pissed off.

"Stop it, Marco! I did not ask you to show off!" Tally stopped the man, who was preparing his fist for another round of beating Schmidt.

Marco was taller by a foot, and his physique was much bigger than the average grown man’s.

Even the loose suit on him looked tight around his muscles.

Those wide palms and strong fingers of his ripped off a corner of Tally’s desk, showing off his strength. He clenched his fist as powder fell from the corner of the desk through the gaps of his fingers, as if the desk was made of chalk.