Guarding what's right to save (Mugman x HowlingWolf)

Chapter ?? - You're alright, mein freund

(Credit to original art goes to KistuneKawaiiGirl on DeviantArt)

(the fan-made copy is hand drawn and coloured by me, BTW)

HowlingWolf's POV

While Cuphead and Mugman casually run off to venture for the third super, since the three of us have just defeated Werner Werman, I can't resist to feel guilty about what the trio of us just did. So I silently turn around to shorty live a glide down the gleaming white stairs that lead to the Mausoleum and sprint down from the sandy beach to Werner's front porch like there's no tomorrow!

Now that I'm in mid-stance of walking up the plain creamy-painted steps to Werner's house, with the front door strangely wide open, I now have the chance to observe that the miniature front garden to Werner's house looks decently pretty simple. I can see little fields of strong green grass left and right which are decorated with a few groups of daisies and dandelions here and there. Towards my left, I can also see what I can assume to be the town clock because of the clock 🕰 part being attached to a abnormal long pole of copper, as well as the peeping face of a lonely tree who has their own square of soil - the tree calmly standing next to the tall time-teller. To my right, I can also see a nicely trimmed rectangular green hedge, with other wild green bushes growing behind it.

Cautiously treading my paws upon the creaky wooden floor boards, I make my way into Werner Werman's house. Once I slowly walk far enough for the front door to be closed, I purposely leave it open, just in case I need to make an emergency exit. I'm doing this because I don't want to underestimate my opponent here nor am I gonna let my presence be noticed. However, I am here to say my sorry and check up on him so I forget about being cautious and gallop my way down this hallway of dented shining trophies, ripped sparkling medals and half burnt and half-laminated certificates. By doing this, I was only sharply halted by a sudden sound of deep thumps of someone's footsteps limping their solid boots harshly against these floorboards - these heavy footsteps being occasionally dragged amongst this wooden floor, with a spark of desperation. Shortly after, a loud, sharp and quick thud to the floor is clearly muffled right behind the oak wall that's right beside me. Within a blink of a second, I only then hear who I can only assume to be Werner himself trying to get back up onto his feet - he only hums in a painful groan that's laced in between his German accent and admits defeat upon these wooden floorboards - I could only imagine that his skinny arms were terribly shaky, due to the one-vs-three war he just lost. Utterly worried, I zoom my head around the corner and through the little hidy-hole where the trio of us battled for Werner's contract and there his body is: all limp and almost lifeless. Hastefully observing the current situation further, I see that Werner is suffering many monstrous wounds of; his beaten brown back sheared to the mighty wrath of not one but three deep, long and bloody diagonal scratches - as if a deadly beast had almost clawed this poor soldier to death, a small plump bump that not only pounds from his head - it dents through the blue metal of Werner's helmet - the spike of his helmet not so pointy anymore for it's been bent all the way to the side somehow, his whiskers that he used to own so proudly are now plucked away to a tenderly red sourness, areas of his brown fur all ruffled and scrambled, a small section of Werner ears chipped off and a small criss-cross of a white bandage relaxing quietly on the near rear of his snout - his cigar rolled centimetres away from his mouth that's missing a whole tooth. I attempt to make a wild dash to him, alas: the creaky wooden floorboards wouldn't let me get any closer, because of how the creaks rang out into the air this time and this seemed to have suddenly awoken Werner in his short lived sleep, since his entire body jolted right there on the spot as soon as the noise was created. I was about to tread my paws further and squeeze my full body through the hole until:

"You alveady have mein szoul contract, Cuphead. Vhat more szhall you vant...?!"

The way he spoke so slowly with a raspberry, soar and weak ticked off voice makes him sound like he's been robbed of not only his soul: everything he's worked so hard on! This overwhelming guilt makes me carefully walk up to him, lay down on my belly to level his level, flop back my ears and whine in a low dominant voice that suggests stress and worry - my eyes are locking into his one closed eye and one brutally bruised scrunched up black eye to which his head is collapsed upon the side of his wounded eye. From this, I can see that the shape of his rough and beaten brown fur that surrounds his eyes shape shift to show the picture of confusion in his current state, as if this wasn't Cuphead who came back. He then musters a sudden found strength in his right arm to lean against and lifts his head inches above the wooden floor, as well as opening his left healthy eye - leaving his black eye remaining closed.