Baze has the presence of mind to toss the block of wood, barely hearing it as it skitters across the floor, before he slams his fist into Wilford's face.

Crunch. Baze doesn't pull his punch, either. He steps into it, all the power of his muscled shoulders unfurling into a vicious strike. Wilford's glasses snap like twigs under Baze's knuckles, cutting them.