DESCENT

XII - Bless Us, Sinners

WILLIAM VEIL:

The werewolf was gazing down at Winters with such obvious affection and longing—and despite his years of seeing other people look at his sister so blatantly like that... quite frankly, this one was kind of making him sick—but judging from the dazed, glassy look Winters was still wearing, William could tell that his sister's mind was mercifully too far away from here to process what the actual hell is going on right now.

Good.

With how much shit his sister's dealing right now, she didn't deserve this kind of bull, William thought, protectiveness, as fierce as fire, surging through him.

He didn't really know what to feel (despite the way his instinct demands for him to just... book it, snatch Winters away and run to another continent) as the werewolf brushed aside a stray lock of hair from his sister's face with the back of his hands, absurdly careful not to let those deadly claws graze even an inch of her skin before passing her gently to his arms, his touch lingering.

... It was almost baffling.

Then, the werewolf abruptly twisted away from Winters and William, his gentle expression morphing instantly into pure, unadulterated rage, not a hint of warmth within those eyes as he charged straight towards the Cyclopes' direction seemingly a blur, claws and teeth bared into an animalistic snarl.

After recovering from his initial shock and the sudden weight pressed on his chest, William gently laid his sister down, making sure that she was still breathing for a moment before quickly pouncing on the distracted vampire watching the fight happen with horrified awe, stabbing his silver arrow deep on its back before the vampire could jump in and decide to help the Cyclopes.

"Why, you miserable little–!"

"That's for my sister, you freak!" he yelled.

The vampire growled at William in disgust and punched him square on the jaw in retaliation before William could even move away to dodge. With a pained gasp at the direct hit, William was vaguely aware that the hit was most likely a restrained punch...

But man, it still fucking hurt.

Like a tossed ragdoll, William fell on the floor with a loud thud, blood dripping down from his mouth that he was sure it's gonna bruise... and for a few terrifying seconds; William was dazed as he stared with wide eyes at the vampire looming over him menacingly, white noise filling his head as he watched the vampire slowly turning to his sister's direction, the look on the vampire's eyes making his stomach churn in disgust.

Never mind his aching jaw, William swiped one of his arrows to its legs and the vampire stumbled backwards, hissing: "I'll make you regret that you good for nothing, son of a–!"

Despite his still-swimming vision, William forced himself to move, move, move—springing up like a jack-in-the-box and tackled the vampire head on, silver arrow still in hand which he wielded like a blade, slashing and stabbing desperately on every skin that he could reach, even if it's just shallow cuts.

The vampire suddenly grabbed William by his hair and head-butted him. Stumbling for a second, William resisted the urge to cradle his aching forehead and quickly struck the vampire on the gut before it could step away from his range.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, with a frightening show of speed and strength, the Cyclopes and the werewolf wrestled and slammed against each other violently, causing everything around them to rattle and break... that is, until the werewolf suddenly opened his maw and clamped down hard on the Cyclopes' meaty shoulder before brutally tearing the skin out in a macabre display of blood, spit and flesh flying around them.