Highcliff Pt. 3

Drew leapt from where he squatted on the ground, springing across the stage like a cannonball of claws and fangs. He hit Leopold square in the chest before he could raise his sword in defense, and the two hit the decking, howling and roaring, claws ripping, teeth clashing.
Drew could feel his claws connecting, ripping at the Lion’s chest and flanks. He broke past the king’s paws with his teeth to bite at the beast’s neck, teeth closing and grinding at the skin. But Leopold was tough, his flesh hard and leathery, the Wolf’s teeth only breaking the surface of the Lion’s throat and causing superficial damage. All the while Drew tore and bit, the king continued his own assault, to greater and bloodier effect. He brought his back legs into the battle, his boots now in tatters as additional paws curled up from below, the razor-sharp claws digging and tearing at the young Wolf’s unprotected belly.His arms kept a grip on Drew’s back, holding him close in a death embrace, all the while pulling at his flesh. And his teeth came down again and again, biting into Drew’s exposed shoulders and neck, fur flying as the softer, younger skin put up less resistance than his own.
Drew could feel his energy fading, his whole torso a mess of blood and torn flesh. He held on to his enemy—he had no choice—trading blows with the Werelion but losing the battle as time wore on. Within moments he could sense his body failing him, the contest edging ever nearer its grim conclusion.

B1 P6 C6