They broke apart. The werewolf fell back, trying to pull the pole out of his guts, while Franks pressed one hand to his face. Blood was drizzling down his throat, trying to choke him. He could stick his fingers through the dangling flap of flesh and touch his exposed teeth. Too bad. Franks had been fond of this face.

Franks reached into his pocket, took out his flask of Elixir, unscrewed the cap, and downed the whole thing. Some of the glowing liquid spilled out from the hole in his face and mingled with the blood pouring down his neck. Incredible pain tore through Franks’ body, beginning in his stomach and radiating out through every nerve ending.

One dose was world-shattering agony. The flask held nearly five times that. It took pain to whole new levels that would break mortal minds just trying to understand. A wave of heat rolled up inside of him. Every vein on his body stood out, hard as a rock. The fractured edges of broken bones liquefied into molten calcium before solidifying back into one piece. Boiling hot tears of blood fell from his eyes.

Ouch.

The pain subsided enough for Franks to at least see clearly again. The fully transformed werewolf had dragged the improvised spear out and tossed it aside. Harbinger shoved his guts back in while quivering muscles gathered around the hole and sucked closed.

Every muscle in Franks’ body seemed to burn with stored energy. The Elixir hurt, but for times like this, it was so worth it.

“Come get some.”

They rushed at each other. Franks swung, but the werewolf ducked and slid beneath the massive arm. Hot blood flew as Harbinger tore open his calf. Jaws snapped, trying to hamstring him, but Franks had already moved. He clubbed the werewolf over the head, then kicked him in the mouth. Jaws snapped closed so hard that teeth shattered.

Harbinger lit into him, biting, tearing, and snapping. It was death by a thousand cuts. Realizing that Franks’ superstrength would be his end if given room to work, Harbinger was trying to keep them nice and close. Franks caught him by the throat and squeezed. He didn’t know how well a lycanthrope could regenerate when deprived of air, but they were going to find out. He choked the werewolf with one hand and went to punching him in the face with the other. Harbinger’s skull fractured. Blood poured from his pointy ears.

The two of them spun and rolled down the hall, crashing and banging through furniture. Picture frames fell and shattered. They hit a door, which burst open, dumping them into the kitchen. Franks had almost succeeded in choking out the werewolf, when he got sloppy, and didn’t withdraw his fist fast enough. Harbinger’s teeth snapped shut on Franks’ hand.