They came out of the ruins with pipes and chains. Twelve men, hungry and desperate. They saw a walking mountain of scrap metal and saw a fortune.
The first blow struck his knee joint. Sparks flew. The Pilgrim didn't break stride.
The hammer rang against the Pilgrim's chest plate like a bell. It left a dent. The Pilgrim kept walking.
They hit him for a mile. They broke their weapons on him. They exhausted themselves.
He never raised a hand. He never slowed down. He simply walked through them as if they were ghosts.
He left them in the dust, unharmed but terrified by a mercy they couldn't understand.