C3 He Knelt on the Ground and Apologized

Zoe's composure stemmed from the fact that Mr. Fixit held shares in the beauty parlor—a gift from Zoe herself. This essentially provided the establishment with Mr. Fixit's protective umbrella.

Upon Mr. Fixit's entrance, Blaine noticed the thugs' halted steps, and Finn's previously smug expression turned to one of surprise.

"What's all this about, with knives and guns?" Mr. Fixit inquired with an air of tranquility.

The thugs exchanged glances, none daring to speak up.

Zoe breathed a sigh of relief, while Blaine's attention remained fixed on Finn, suspecting he had reinforcements.

As if to validate Blaine's hunch, a Hummer pulled up outside the parlor. A burly, menacing man emerged and strode into the hall.

"Mr. Ruff," the thugs called out with reverence.

The man approached Finn, scanning the room before his eyes settled on Blaine, who sensed danger in his stare.

"What brings you here, Eric?" Mr. Fixit asked, a slight crease forming on his brow, but he quickly adopted a placating tone.

"Old man, cut the crap. This doesn't concern you. Beat it," Eric snapped, visibly annoyed.

Mr. Fixit glanced at Zoe with a look of difficulty, then back at Eric.

"Eric, do me a favor. Whatever the misunderstanding, can we avoid violence today?" Mr. Fixit's voice softened considerably, knowing full well that Eric, a trusted enforcer of Silas, the big bastard of the Black Tortoise Region, was not someone he could afford to cross.

Finn, with a smug glance at Blaine, whispered something to Eric.

Eric's gaze returned to Blaine, his face twisting into a cold smirk.

"Old man, today I'll extend you the courtesy. Have him kneel and apologize to my brother, and I'll hold back," Eric demanded, pointing at Blaine with an icy tone.

Blaine's brow furrowed as he met Eric and Finn's chilling stares.

Zoe, catching Mr. Fixit's eye, quickly shook her head, signaling her refusal.

Blaine felt a surge of warmth at Zoe's response.

"Eric, this is..." Mr. Fixit stammered, his discomfort palpable.

In a swift motion, Eric's hand struck Mr. Fixit's face with a resounding slap.

Mr. Fixit crumpled to the ground, fresh blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Zoe's eyes blazed with fury as she moved to assist him, but Eric's cold gaze met hers as he launched a kick towards her.

Zoe's face twisted in panic, anticipating the impact of Eric's boot against her fragile form. Yet, in that critical moment, her assailant's foot was intercepted, leaving Eric with a tingling sensation in his leg.

Eric shot an angry look at Blaine, the one who had thwarted his attack. Clenching his right fist, he swung it like a sledgehammer towards Blaine's face.

Blaine stood his ground against Eric's vicious blow, not even flinching. He clenched his fist and countered swiftly, striking Eric's incoming punch. As Blaine's fist connected, the dormant power gene within him awakened. His mighty blow, charged with the ferocity of a tiger's roar, crashed into Eric's fist with devastating force.

This power gene, a transformation within Blaine's body following his practice of the Ghost Valley Immortal Cultivating Secret Technique, had elevated his strength far beyond that of an average person.

"Blaine, run!" Zoe exclaimed, her voice sharp with alarm.

Mr. Fixit's rheumy eyes shifted towards Blaine, muttering a proverb about the futility of resistance.

"Ruff's got a top-ten ranking in Wexham's underground boxing scene. This kid's digging his own grave!"

"Ruff's punch is going to shatter his hand bones. To think he'd dare to trade blows with Ruff, he's really asking for it."

The two thugs spoke with scorn, convinced Blaine was on a suicide mission.

The other hooligans' gazes lingered on Zoe, wondering if Ruff would hand over the beauty for their amusement after dealing with Blaine.

"Crack."

Blaine's and Eric's fists met in a thunderous collision. Eric's face, once twisted with rage, contorted with pain as he let out a pained howl, stumbling back several paces.

Blood dripped from Eric's fingers to the ground, and splintered bone peeked through his right wrist. Blaine remained composed, his icy stare fixed on the wounded Eric.

The twelve hooligans' eyes bulged in disbelief, struggling to process the scene before them.