Continued from Beaten

One verses four was bad odds when the one was surprised and surrounded. One verses four, Virgil could attest, was about equal when the one was fueled by righteous fury and the four were cowards at heart. Unable to dodge storm-force punches or pulled off John by the scruff of the neck they scattered into the night. Virgil knelt to get a good look at already blooming bruises, stomping down his anger until it was a gentle rumble of distant thunder. John flinched away from Virgil's outreached hand before gratefully accepting it's gentle assessment of his ribs and split scalp.