Ezekiel was not an untrained warrior. He was capable of handling himself against most foes, but even he could recognize the fault in challenging a man as large as the wolf-dog. His speed failed him in the face of the infuriated man and cost him dearly. Another blow struck his face and struck hard, striking him under the jaw and forcing his teeth to clamp down like a vice. They pierced his tongue and filled his mouth with blood. Sharp pain sobered his fury, but it was too late. The behemoth was upon him.
Spitting blood, the Aquila felt hands grip his throat. His mouth opened wide, blood pouring out as he choked and swallowed the coppery life-force. Both hands clawed wildly at the hybrid’s massive arms, but it was useless. Panic sunk in. His eyes rolled in his head, searching for something, anything. Then, suddenly, he saw his chance.
His right hand grasped the hilt of the antler-bone weapon, and with a wrench, freed it. Ezekiel forced his hands to cover his chest, pointing the sharp end of the weapon upwards. Then, trusting God and trusting his own instincts, Ezekiel hit the ground hard. Even as he choked and swallowed his own blood he smiled-snarled, teeth bared and crimson, eyes burning in the darkness.
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