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What stood before the sinners… Was Heathcliff, yet he wasn’t Heathcliff. He had distorted, become a crude mockery of himself. A savage wolf that let out howls of sheer, utter pain every time he moved, as if he was in mourning. Of course he was mourning, why wouldn’t he? Sinclair thought to himself as he ducked under a wide swipe of Heathcliff’s claws, scrambling to regain his footing, impaling the bottom of his halberd into the ground to steady himself.
“AWOOOOO!!!”
Another howling joined that of Heathcliff’s, this one more jovial. He turned his head, and sure enough, Don Quixote, who had overclocked into Telepole at the behest of Dante grappled with the distortion of their fellow sinner, the scent of ozone filling the air, their claws cleaving out gouges of the laboratory floor. Sinclair stood, helpless, with every sinner currently incapacitated. Dante was working their hardest, rewinding the clock, but he knew that Don Quixote wouldn’t last much longer, and he had to do something to buy time.
He inhaled deeply, letting the gluttony consume his mind as his LCCB uniform was replaced with a modest tunic, complete with a cloak emblazoned with red stripes billowing from his shoulders. His halberd grew in size, dense bark wrapping around the weapon as he hefted the massive chunk of wood.
Sinclair ran a few calculations in his mind. He couldn’t approach the two wolves fighting; he’d get shredded to bits the moment he rushed in. He couldn’t just wait, either. Don Quixote was starting to run out of steam, and he could hear the telltale sounds of a mirror starting to crack as the battle raged on. So, he took a page from Rodya’s book, and cocked his weapon behind his shoulder, before throwing it with all his might, praying to the wings that it at least hindered Heathcliff in any way possible.
What he didn’t expect to see was for the two wolves to immediately stop fighting as his wooden halberd arced harmlessly past them. They looked at each other, looked at the halberd now lodged into a wall, then back at each other before nodding solemnly, Don Quixote in her overclocked form bounding over to the halberd.
Sinclair could only stare in disbelief as the Alleyway watchDon pulled the halberd out of the wall with her teeth, then promptly bounded back over to Sinclair, dropping the halberd from her maw while wagging her tail eagerly. Right at that moment, the sounds of glass shattering filled the air, leaving Don Quixote in her LCCB uniform, seated on the floor with a steadily increasing blush on her face.
Thankfully, the awkward atmosphere was dispelled by Heathcliff’s bodysack turning the two sinners into pulp, and later, after they were resurrected, they vowed to never speak of this again.