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- The Boarlord darted toward the struggling brothers, thrusting the rod into the melee like a spear, catching the Werewolf’s thigh with a glancing blow and bringing it back bloody. It was only a scratch, but cold, sickening pain radiated from where the rod had struck him. Drew tried to ignore the sadistic antics of the magister and the effects of the twisted spear, instead concentrating all his strength on the hold around Lucas’s throat. The clouds parted and the moon bathed the Bone Tower in its silver light.
- The White Fist burned bright like a beacon, squeezing all the tighter, all the harder, about the Lion’s throat. Drew saw Lucas’s eyes widen as the bladed fingers dug into the flesh, puncturing the skin. All of Drew’s anger and sorrow poured into the arm, his hatred for all that had been done to him, all he had endured. The Lion’s paws came up to its throat as it began to shift back to human form, pink hands gripping the Sturmish steel gauntlet. Drew shook him, snarling, tears streaming down the Werewolf’s muzzle as Blackhand laughed behind him.
- B6 P6 C7
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