Vs Trent & Milo

His mind was made up before he’d drawn breath. Before the beast could strike Milo, it found itself hammered into the wall, Trent’s left shoulder having blocked its charge. The sword tumbled out of his hand with the impact as the two grappled one another to the ground. The young Wolf Knight tore the creature’s face with his clawed fingers, channeling his attack toward its head.

His hands found its eyes, the beast squinting them shut, struggling to resist the Graycloak’s blinding onslaught. As he dug his claws in, it raked its own down his forearms, attempting to shake him loose. The skin tore away, bloody trenches plowed through his flesh as quivering muscle was revealed. The two rolled, the beast trying in vain to dislodge him, bones crunching and skittering beneath them.

The second monster was up now, leaping at the young Staglord, but Milo was ready. Fool he might have been in the first instance, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake a second time. The boy roared as he met the monster across the ruined hall, his antlers having emerged. The Wolfman tried to parry Milo’s shortsword, a couple of dirty fingers flying loose in the process. But that was enough, the hideous Wolfman finding a way past the blade to bowl into Milo’s chest. The two tumbled into their own melee, each searching for a telling blow.

Trent’s assailant screamed as the youth’s claws finally dug into its eyes. The beast stumbled back, blind and stricken, sending bones bouncing across the flags. Sightless though it was, the Wyld Wolf still had other senses to call upon, pouncing upon the wounded Graycloak on the floor. Eyes, however, would have been handy. As the beast landed on Trent, claws outstretched, it found the Wolf Knight’s feet braced against its breastbone. Trent had been ready, his raised feet meeting the creature like an acrobat might catch a tumbler. He straightened his legs, launching it back into the air, the monster vanishing into the cellar’s black pit.

Trent looked up to see Milo and the other Wolfman wrestling with one another. The boy went to butt the beast, the hideous lycanthrope punching him in the jaw before his antlers could strike it. The boy’s head went back, hitting the flagged floor as the Wolfman moved its attention to his throat. Before its teeth could strike home, Trent’s hands had seized it by the shoulders, hauling it up and away from the young Buck. The beast threw an elbow back, striking the Wolf Knight in the solar plexus and causing him to fold like a house of cards. Trent couldn’t breathe, the wind knocked from his body, leaving him paralyzed where he knelt in the filth.

The monster glanced back at him, a smile of yellow, razor-sharp teeth zigzagging across its misshapen face. Its fur was clotted with blood and excrement, the remains of feathers hanging from its matted mane the only hint that it had once been a Wylderman. Chuckling, it returned its attention to the young Staglord, preparing to finish off the boy. The awful laughter ceased abruptly. The Wyld Wolf grunted and shuddered, dropping to its knees before the young Stag as Trent’s breathing began to level out. The monster slumped forward, hitting the cold stone floor, a human femur buried deep in its belly. Milo stood there, hands open where he’d relinquished his hold on the splintered bone, his face a mask of disbelief.

B6 P3 C2