Morne's armor was as sturdy as a mighty oak, and almost as thick, and even it couldn't withstand the mutant's strength. So how, then, could Essenla's armor do such a thing?
The answer was simple. It couldn't.
A blood-chilling CRACK rang through the clearing with all the crispness and suddenness of a fired bullet, echoing off the trees again and again in the ensuing silence.
Essenla fell to the ground in a heap, the armor on her chest turned into sawdust and her bones nearly just as decimated. A low, pained groan drifted from her direction, and her fingers scrabbled at the ground as she attempted to push herself up.
Morne stood while the mutant's back was turned, a hand on his stomach as he did his best to keep his organs from sloshing around inside of him. They weren't ruptured, thankfully, otherwise he would've already died, but they had been tenderized like a slab of cheap meat by the mutant's brutal punches.
