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... metallic, crawling into my nose like it wanted to set up camp.

But honestly? It smelled like victory. A dozen wannabe thugs sprawled across the concrete, groaning, clutching ribs, spitting blood, or desperately trying to gather up teeth they’d never shove back in. My bat still hummed with the aftertaste of bone cracking.

One guy, face swollen like a rotten melon, dragged himself toward me on his knees. His voice cracked like a schoolboy caught cheating on finals.

"W-Wait ...

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