Drew On- Vs. Lucas

Moonbrand struck the Wolfshead blade with such ferocity that it sheared the steel weapon in two. The Sturmish sword continued on, scything down to land in the Werelion’s shoulder blade. Lucas roared, striking back, the broken metal of Mack Ferran’s old sword finding Drew’s left breast. The Werewolf howled as the Lion drove the weapon home, the sundered metal twisting in Drew’s chest. The brothers rolled across the exposed tower top, swords coming loose as they grappled with one another, each blade clattering across the stone summit.

Lucas had found his way on top of Drew. He was Drew’s junior, but even in human shape he had outgrown Drew. In therian form, the difference in size was even more extreme. The Lion’s shoulders were broader than the Wolf’s, and the chest was a great barrel of knotted muscle, mane thick and shaggy about its throat. Teeth marks from the undead scarred the golden fur, but Lucas paid them no heed, lost in a vengeful furor. The White Fist of Icegarden was all that kept the king’s jaws from Drew’s throat, the Wolf’s elbow locked as he kept Lucas at bay. The Lion’s feet came up, clawing at Drew’s belly, tearing strips of gray skin from his guts as the monster tried to disembowel the Wolf.

B6 P6 C7