My Little VentrueChapter 132 free porn video

~~Antoinette~~

Veronica, still unconscious, lay in the ritual circle, bathed in the blue light of her chandelier. Antoinette and Elaine both pointed their tablets at her, observing with keen eyes as the humming machine in the background ran through the various wavelengths the devices were programmed to respond to. They started with the same frequency that had detected the remnants of the Strix upon Jack’s person, and moved outward from there.

Nothing. Antoinette breathed a sigh of relief, sat at her nearby table, and logged the event.

“I guess the curse does not spread so easily,” Elaine said. “I had thought that, perhaps, since he has loosed it upon himself, it would affect his blood.”

“As did I. But it appears we worried over nothing. Did her blood taste different than another kine’s?”

Elaine shook her head as she sat across the table from her. “No.”

Nodding, Antoinette closed her laptop, and combed her hair over her shoulder. “Très bien. Though, I will perform this test once again, if Jack ever elevates her to ghoul. A drop of his blood might not contaminate, but perhaps if infused with will and vitae, it may.”

“Perhaps.” Elaine took several of her own notes, sighed, closed her laptop, and leaned back. “I have not seen Daniel for some time, Ann. Where is that old stone?”

Daniel was, as often this past year, searching for the mysterious disturbance within Dolareido. Whether that be through direct espionage, or separating from his body to explore the city as a projection with Auspex, she did not know. Such was the case with Daniel. He would do what he felt necessary, and while he always ensured her he would do as she bid, and that he would not risk his second life needlessly, he pushed himself.

Her sheriff may have been quiet as a stone, but she knew the man cared for her city, as much as she did.

“He hunts.”

“Ah. Keeping secrets, old friend?”

Antoinette rolled her eyes. Such was the game. They both kept secrets from each other, her and Elaine, and it was a mutual understanding that they do so, but never to the other’s detriment.

“Naturally.”

“Mhmm.” Elaine laughed, shrugged, and leaned forward over the table. “Does he still suspect me of foul play?”

“Has he ever?”

“Of course. I doubt he thinks my arrival here coincidental.”

“But he knows it is not. He knows you are here because of Jack, and the curse, and the legacy you have created.” Antoinette smiled at Elaine, her devious smile. “And for other reasons you refuse to share, I am sure.”

Elaine returned the smile. “Naturally.”

They chuckled. Such an old, silly game, the Danse Macabre, one they both laughed at, and yet, one they both played with dedication.

“Though if it is the sheriff’s touch you are after, I am afraid he seems quite interested in Athalia.”

That earned a sneer from her old friend.

“That woman is a pile of hate, rage, and baggage.”

“And Daniel is a rock, a foundation, that she could perhaps use to rebuild herself.”

“Then the sheriff sees potential in her I do not. She is Begotten, forever doomed to fight against hungers greater and more damaging than you or I could manage. And she is a broken woman, a mother who has lost her vile daughter.”

“I think, perhaps, there is more to this than is obvious.” She leaned in, voice softening. “Daniel forever feels a failure, for what happened with his childe Natasha, and how she fled the Ordo in her fledgling years. The man needs a project. Athalia is, perhaps, that project, someone he can help.”

A twinkle danced across Elaine’s eyes. “They are using each other.”

“You know very well we all use each other. That does not mean there is not genuine emotion to be had.”

“Too true.” Nodding, she looked past Antoinette, to the distant thrall sleeping upon the floor. “This Veronica Tam is quite the treat, and to Jack’s physical tastes, I am sure. Did you find her specifically for him?”

Laughing, Antoinette shook her head. “No, but when I examined her file, I knew she would fit well.”

“Fit well on Jack’s length, you mean?”

This again. The woman had a one-track mind, indeed.

“I knew she would fit well as his first thrall for a host of reasons.”

Elaine grinned at her, a knowing grin, stood up, and slowly walked over to the thrall. “Do not be coy. You think I have not noticed the way your eyes brighten, every time you have found a new way to spoil your lover?”

“I do no such thing,” she lied.

“Ha. Ann, I have never seen you as overjoyed as when you are spoiling your little Ventrue.” She reached down, and scooped the unconscious woman up onto both arms, horizontal and against her chest. “Like, a rich man, who delights in seeing his woman light up with bliss when he buys her jewelry.”

“Ugh, do not paint it in such an ugly light. Such a stereotype is unbecoming.”

Elaine shrugged, sat Veronica in a chair at the table, and sat beside her. “I think it is sweet. As you said, we all use each other. The boy clearly enjoys being spoiled, and you clearly enjoy spoiling him. And there is an undeniable connection between you two.” After a nod and affirming smile, she reached out and brushed the tiny thrall’s hair behind an ear, exposing the piercings there. “And from how this one reacted, I am sure she will bring the boy mountains of erotic pleasure. You are not concerned she will attempt to seduce him, when you are not present?”

“I am sure she will try, especially once the Vinculum is complete. But she will fail.” Antoinette smiled at the thrall, and adjusted the shirt with the wide, plunging cleavage, to cover the woman’s breasts correctly. “And besides, it will not be as if she is not allowed to participate. Once the Vinculum is done, and Jack is sure of her loyalty, I look forward to seeing her join us.”

Elaine laughed, a hearty sound, and she shook her head. “You mean you look forward to seeing Jack struggling to handle the sheer eroticism you are planning to bury him in. I do not think he truly appreciates what our stories have implied.”

True. Her love did not grasp that when Antoinette or Elaine talked of sleeping with dozens of ghouls and thralls at once, they were being literal.

“And I look forward to his growth as a Kindred.”

Elaine nodded, but her eyes settled on Antoinette, and a mischievous grin grew. “We spend far too much time speaking of your little Ventrue, and romance.”

“That ... is true.”

“Like young girls, indulging in flights of emotion.”

Sighing, Antoinette nodded, and sat up straight. “And as fun as that is, perhaps we should stop. It is great having you here, Elaine, so that I can, as you said, indulge these flights of emotion. I have had only Natasha to speak with, and she does not appreciate my situation as you do. But, I think you are right. Far too much time, speaking of love and sex.”

She was not sure she believed her own words. Once a cold, tactical queen of Dolareido, and now a lovesick girl who could not think of anything else but her little Ventrue? Perish the thought.

“Agreed.” Elaine’s grin only grew, and she winked. She did not entirely believe her own words either. “Azamel’s end approaches. What are your plans?”

Straight to business then.

“Jack informs me she plans to have Sándor replace her. I see no issue with this. As broken a man as the gargoyle is, I think he will fit the city better than Azamel. She has a habit of—” Her phone buzzed. A message from Jack. She pulled out her phone, and stared at the message. “Merde.”

“Ann? What is the matter?”

“Jack ... believes that Avery is confronting Maria, and he is on his way to stop her.”

“Oh. I can ... imagine how that will go. What do you intend to do?”

“I sha—we shall go.” If worse came to worse, and she had to confront the curse, better to have Elaine with her. “And observe.”

“Observe?”

“Observe. If Maria dies, so be it.”

~~Damien~~

Maria’s wrath was inhuman. The werewolves clutched their skulls, and screamed absolute and utter despair, as the elder vampire forced a nightmare upon their minds. Whatever it was, whatever the poor fools were forced to see and experience, it had them horrified. Many reached up and clawed at their faces with their fingers. Others fell to their knees. Matthew and Arturo resisted for a few moments longer than the others, but they too fell, gasping and yelling as something wicked scarred their souls.

All except for Avery. Her necklace glowed a gentle blue for a few moments, hidden inside her white t-shirt, but before Damien could put two and two together, the woman transformed.

She transformed fast. Within seconds, the enormous beast of muscle, short gray fur, and claws erupted from the once small woman. Damien should have reacted, but it all happened so damn fast. Avery should have been on her knees, screaming and crying like the others, but she wasn’t. The pack leader grabbed Maria by the throat with one colossal hand, and Maria’s arm with the other.

Maria’s eyes widened with shock, and the Nightmare she held over the pack vanished, her vitae plummeting as she realized what was happening. But it was too late. The werewolf squeezed, and pulled.

The only thing that kept Maria’s head attached to her shoulders, was Avery’s mercy. The werewolf had caught Maria totally by surprise, and if she’d wanted, she could have squeezed and popped the unprepared elder’s head right off. But instead, she ripped off Maria’s left arm.

Maria screamed, a sound that shattered the cries of the werewolves, and Damien’s paralysis.

He brought up his pistol and fired at Avery. Two caught her in the shoulder, and she dropped Maria’s arm; it was already falling apart into tiny cinders and ash. But the werewolf, roaring in agony as silver burned her flesh, turned and put Maria between him and three more oncoming bullets. The bullets hit the Nosferatu’s body and stopped, turning Maria’s scream of surprise into annoyed grunts. Bullets would do little to a vampire, especially one as old as her. But that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt.

“Put her down!”

“No.” Avery glared at him over Maria’s shoulder, woman held at arm’s length in front of her. “Drop weapon. Now.”

“I—” He didn’t get to negotiate.

Maria shrieked like a banshee, and drove her right fist into Avery’s wrist. Crack. Avery’s roar buried Maria’s scream of rage, but the Nosferatu was free, and she wasted no time. She threw herself at Avery’s stomach, tackling a monster almost twice her height. Not enough weight to push her over, but the following punch was hard enough to send Avery to the floor, rolling fast, until she hit the wall with an enormous thud.

And because physics were a thing, Maria went the opposite direction, but she landed on her feet. Five feet up against the wall. She hopped off, but before she could land on the floor, a stampede of giant beasts ran toward her. Her, and Damien.

He pointed his pistol and fired at the nearest wolf, one with black fur, one he thought he recognized. Arturo. He knew Art was fast, a breed of werewolf that did cloak and dagger, same as Mekhet, but Damien wasn’t prepared for just how fast something that huge could be. The giant wolf ducked several bullets, but two managed to catch his leg, and he fell, momentum carrying him past Damien and into the back wall near the piano.

Damien didn’t have time to capitalize. The rest of the pack charged, and judging from the size, and angry roar of the oncoming goliath, he’d just shot this one’s best friend. Matthew was bigger than every other werewolf in the pack, and he shook the Earth with each step, claws tearing into the stone as he charged.

Damien pointed his pistol, and shot the beast. One, two, three, four. Matthew kept coming, the gaping holes in his side, shoulder, and thigh, caused by the silver bullets not enough to slow him down. Wincing, Damien pointed at the man’s face, and pulled the trigger.

Click. Empty.

He ran at Matthew, and at the last moment slid between the giant’s legs. Sword in hand, he sliced at the brute’s legs on the way past, and managed to get his silver sword an inch into one of Matt’s calves, before he rolled to his feet. Blood gushed and coated the sword, and sizzled. Judging from the roar Matthew unleashed, the silver was working.

Another werewolf ran for him. Monica he guessed, from her position and the darkness of her fur, but the werewolves all looked similar when transformed. He knew she was young, possibly the youngest of their pack, but she was fast. She was damn fast, like Arturo. She caught up to him far faster than Matthew had, and Damien barely had time to turn and face her when the colossal creature slammed into him.

The empty pistol flew out of his hand. He had another magazine, but no way they were going to let him reload. That was the problem with this fight. If he’d been up against other vampires, he could have exploited their solo nature; vampires sucked at cooperation. The werewolves, on the other hand, moved like they could read each other’s minds. They moved together, flowed around each other, and circled him and Maria seamlessly. The moment his pistol landed, a nearby werewolf slammed a foot down on it, and kicked it away behind him.

That was fine, he still had his sword, and he drove it down into the werewolf who tackled him. She’d gotten her hands around his waist, her claws into his skin, but hadn’t had the chance to tear into him yet. They collided with the floor, and he pulled on the blade, slicing into her back by her right shoulder, and drawing the blade up until it hit bone.

She screamed, a canine scream that blocked out his hearing with how close she was, and she threw him to the side with her one good arm. He somersaulted through the air, landed on his feet, and dashed for the nearest werewolf. They were all close and circling him. Better he take the fight to them, and prevent them from getting into their practiced positions.

He lost track of who was who. Fur, muscle, fangs and claws, they were everywhere, and they were all close enough to cut him open from head to crotch with one good swipe. He ducked under a werewolf’s sideways slash, and sliced up with his sword, catching the towering behemoth along the abs. Might as well have been cutting steel. They roared and stepped back, and clutched their bleeding stomach with one hand. Damien’s only advantage in this fight was silver. If he could deal a serious wound to every werewolf, maybe he’d have a chance.

Another came up behind him, and Damien dove forward away from them, crashing into the wounded werewolf’s shoulder and knocking them over. In the tumbling mess of limbs, he rolled over and out of the way of the attacking werewolf’s pounce. Fast as these brutes were, especially ones like Arturo, they still weighed hundreds and hundreds of pounds. They’d never be as fast as him. He sliced out at the arm of the werewolf that’d barely missed him, getting her deep in the forearm until he felt blade hit bone. He wasn’t strong enough to cut through werewolf bone, not at this angle, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get through muscle and tendon.

He got up, and glared at Clara. Avery and some others were fighting Maria, and Damien was doing his best to get to her to help her out. Every other werewolf was trying to catch him, and judging from their swings, were willing to kill him if they had to. Clara on the other hand, watched.

No time to say anything or call her out. Another werewolf came at him, and Damien went up and over, a large jump that left him exposed, but they hadn’t expected it. He sliced his sword across the werewolf’s head, getting ear and skin, but again didn’t have the leverage to get through bone. Nothing bleeds like the scalp, and red fountained over the werewolf, the floor, and his sword. It sizzled over the silver, until Damien could smell it.

The dome shook once again, thud thud thud, and Damien turned to find Matthew charging him. Damien lifted the sword, ready to leap at the man and sink his blade into his chest, but at the last second, Matthew threw his weight down, getting on all fours. For a moment Damien was sure the beast meant to run into him like a charging bull, but Matthew had to know he wasn’t fast enough to catch Damien.

Sure enough, another werewolf pounced over Matthew, directly over him from behind, hands out and reaching for Damien. Arturo. Despite the bullet wounds still bleeding everywhere, the werewolf came at him, rage in his eyes, animal hunger, and a need for violence.

Werewolves stood at Damien’s sides, blocking his escape routes and forcing his hand. He jumped, up and over Matthew, and over Arturo, but the smaller werewolf — still bigger than most of his companions — reached up mid pounce, grabbed Damien’s foot, and brought the vampire down with him as he slammed into one of Maria’s desks. Wood shattered, splinters went everywhere, so did a laptop, and a pile of books.

By the time Damien realized what’d happened, Matthew’s colossal weight slammed into them, and the three rolled up into a pile. Almost enough weight to break Damien’s bones, but not quite, and he scampered away from the pile of claws tearing and scratching in a frenzy, ripping open his suit and skin.

Werewolf claws burn, they burn a lot. It wasn’t like a knife, or a claw from any regular animal. Something about werewolves and their claws let them cut into things claws shouldn’t have been able to cut, and burn like they were on fire. They cut through his suit like butter, and his skin, but he rolled away before they got too deep.

He jumped to his feet, and turned to face another werewolf. Clara. She walked toward him, several werewolves behind her, struggling to stay standing as they recovered. The silver wounds hurt them, badly.

“Clara,” he said, “don’t make me—”

Clara opened her mouth, and roared.

Sound slammed into him, deafened him, and he raised his sword to prepare for her pounce. Rather, he tried to raise his sword. He looked down at his arm as it hung limp, and squeezed the sword as hard as he could, but his fingers barely responded. He tried to lift his arm again, but his body had grown weak, too weak to lift its weight.

Clara’s walk turned into a charge, and he stared at her as she sank her feet’s claws into the stone. She’d done something to him. That roar, it’d hit him, did something, sapped away his strength and paralyzed him. And she was running straight at him.

Move. He squeezed the sword harder, but his body didn’t want to respond. His strength was there, but it was hidden, buried under the roar that echoed through his body, its vibrations seeping into his bones. Move. He poured vitae into his limbs, but they refused to respond. Something was blocking his brain from communicating with his arms.

Move. Move! He focused his mind and told it to ignore the strange vibration coursing through him. Whatever Clara had done, it wasn’t something physical. It was a Discipline, the werewolf equivalent, and whatever it was, it was confusing the fuck out of his insides. But, it also didn’t last.

The vibration in his body settled, and the moment he could feel strength flow through him again, even if it was only a small amount, he poured every ounce he had into his legs, and jumped.

Clara saw it coming. She reached out and grabbed his ankle as he flew overhead. Inertia turned his world into chaos as her grip pulled down on him while his body kept trying to flip over her. He managed to keep his grip on his sword, and he swung it—

The world turned white, and he screamed. His body collided with hers, draping over her shoulder, and his scream died away as he watched his sword fall, half flying away with his momentum having pendulum swung him into Clara’s back. Tink, tink, metal against the stone, rolling away, before Clara rolled him off and set him on the ground.

She growled, and pressed down on him with one foot. Claws sank half an inch into his back, and he yelled as the burning sensation shot through him again.

“Hold still,” she said.

He turned his head and glared up at her. She met his gaze, and the animal rage in them melted away. Slowly, she turned her head, bits of his pant leg dangling off her enormous teeth, and looked to where his leg had fallen. Damien didn’t bother looking. The sound of his leg burning away into ash and cinders in a matter of seconds was sickening enough.

He looked over to Avery, and winced. In the thirty seconds of fighting, he’d done a lot of damage to the werewolves, but there were too many of them. Avery had surprised Maria, somehow being immune to her Nightmare, and that’d changed everything. Even as Maria broke the arms and legs of werewolves that came at her, she was just one person, with one arm, and it wasn’t long before Avery got her hand around the tiny woman’s neck, and lifted her once again. Werewolves healed broken bones in seconds.

And once again, Avery ripped off her arm, her one remaining arm.

“Enough!” yelled Avery, barking voice cutting through the madness around them, and bringing everything to silence. She tossed the limb aside, and it rolled over the floor toward Damien, before it burst into cinders, and faded away. “Enough. Show secrets. Now.” Avery shook Maria, hard, and the tiny woman’s legs dangled and swayed, like wind chimes.

“Fuck you,” Maria said, glaring eyes staring hard at the werewolf.

Damien sighed, and let his head drop to the floor, temple pressing to it as he watched Avery and Maria. Jack and Jessy weren’t going to get here in time. He’d sent the message five minutes ago, so unless they—

He whipped his head around to the tunnel, and he breathed a sigh of relief as someone stepped into view, a small man with two crows on his shoulders. Well, holy shit. Thank God for miracles.

~~Jack~~

His friends circled above, and cawed a few points of interest. The werewolves were hurt, but recovering. The ones hurt by silver were recovering damn slowly though, and Jack knew they’d take days, maybe weeks to heal from wounds they’d normally heal in literal minutes, if not seconds. And the ones that weren’t hurt by silver, did. One werewolf near Maria pushed themselves back to one clawed foot, and Jack winced as he saw, and heard, their leg snap back into place at the femur. Werewolves were ridiculously durable, and regenerated like an elder Gangrel.

Which just meant he’d have to break their limbs multiple times.

“You have five seconds,” he said, and he lifted his left hand, fingers out, “to let her go and get out.”

“Jack,” Clara said, “we are here to—”

“One.” He pulled down a finger, and steeled his gaze at Clara. A silent warning. He wasn’t going to pull punches here.

“Jack!” Matthew this time, easy to tell apart from the others by his size. The giant roared. His leg was hurt, still bleeding. “We cannot—”

“Two ... Three...” He nodded toward Damien, and his friend pulled himself across the floor toward the closest wall.

Arturo, and probably Caleb and Carter, judging from how sneakily they moved, spread out from the group, moving to the sides. Despite the silver-inflicted wounds still bleeding, the wolves moved as if the holes and gashes in their flesh didn’t exist.

“Four...”

Avery let out a bellowing roar, and threw Maria back against the wall, near her coffin. He’d been worried the pack leader would kill her, but maybe they needed her to find what they were looking for. Or maybe it just wasn’t in Avery to be that much of a bitch. Either way, it took Maria out of the line of fire.

Brave of Avery to come at him first. No vampire would do that. Elders didn’t do things on their own unless absolutely necessary; they had bigger fish to fry. Instead, they sent armies, underlings, thralls or ghouls, or their childer. He didn’t blame them, honestly. Antoinette wouldn’t have been able to create Dolareido if she kept risking her neck. Jacob wouldn’t be the deadly witch he was now, if he’d gotten his hands dirty every time something needed to be done.

Werewolves worked differently. They thrived on doing things hands on, on dangerous hunts, on growing stronger by testing their mettle, and surviving things that would kill almost anything else. And their leaders taught by example, if Avery was any indication. He knew she’d run at him first, and the others would collapse on him when she’d created the opening. He also knew he could break her, grab her mind and turn into her an obedient dog, and end this whole fight before anyone got hurt.

He met her eyes, reached out, and her necklace glowed blue. Wait, necklace? Werewolves were naked, nothing but fur. Why’d she have a nec—

Her claws met his body, and he yelled out as agony scorched through him. Her grip sank into his shoulders, claws cutting through his suit and into his muscle and bone, and she roared at him as she picked him up.

Ok, so, whatever the necklace was doing, it stopped his mind from being able to reach hers. Good to know, but too little too late. That was one powerful necklace.

“Will do what I did to Maria,” she barked between snarls. “Teach you a lesson.”

Jack knew what it felt like to lose his limbs. It wasn’t a memory he looked forward to re-experiencing.

Avery leaned in closer, until her growling snout was only inches from him, and her predator eyes were wide with animal rage. Her grip tightened, and pulled, and holy shit, there was enough strength in that grip to throw a car.

But his arms stayed where they were. The werewolf howled and pulled harder, but vitae coursed through his limbs, through his body, and out from the wounds her claws had created. Blood pulsed out from the holes, against her claws, defying the werewolf’s will.

It was Jack’s turn to snarl, and he slammed his head forward against her snout. Crunch. Her tight grip gave him more than enough leverage to put power into it, and he grinned as her blood gushed from her wolf snout and onto his forehead. He licked it off his lips. Damn, that tasted good.

Howling in surprise and fury, she let go and fell back, almost falling over as she clutched her face with one hand. The pack was surprised, but only for a moment, and they rushed him from the sides.

But before they reached him, Jack snapped his gaze over at one of the rushing werewolves, and glared. Just like the time he tried to get into Sándor’s mind, he was met with a gate, and there was something growling at him from the other side of it. Though in the werewolf’s mind, the gate felt more like rough foliage, a line of trees, the entrance of a dark, cold forest tipped with snow and dotted with rocks, and carcasses.

Jack was more skilled now, compared to then, better at controlling the curse. Back then he’d been worried about destroying Sándor’s mind if he kicked down the gate. Now, it wouldn’t happen. And even if it did, he wasn’t going to just let them injure him, not after what they did to Damien and Maria.

And judging from the looks in their eyes, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to stop themselves from taking things too far. Supposedly werewolves had a habit of going berserk when transformed into their Gauru form, and after seeing their leader get their face smashed in, several of the wolves roared fury that sent a thrill through Jack’s body. Sounded an awful lot like animals going berserk. The thrill dancing up his spine was his curse reacting to their anger, anger that had their eyes wide and their mouths open as they looked at him like he was their next hunt. If he wasn’t careful, they’d kill him.

He smashed the thick line of trees blocking him inside the werewolf’s mind, and found the human half, Caleb, standing next to an enormous wolf. The wolf snarled at him, and lunged. But it was pointless. Jack snapped a hard glare at the beast, and a moment later, the wolf fell to the metaphorical floor of the metaphorical forest, whimpering, defeated. Caleb fell a second later.

Caleb wasn’t immune to his Dominate. And his wolf half wasn’t immune to his Animalism.

Back in the real world, Caleb turned, and with a roar of agony and fury, threw himself at the other werewolf charging Jack. The two went down in a heap, and claws found fur as they cut into each other.

Jack faced the remaining werewolf, and did something the fucker probably never expected from a Ventrue. He came in closer. The giant beast faltered, trying to slow so he didn’t overshoot and tumble over Jack. An opening, and Jack stepped into it with a snarl and a grin. He poured his vitae into his arm, into the blood that flowed out of his wounds under his suit, and fueled a simple uppercut straight into the titan’s belly.

Connection. His fist crashed into a wall of steel muscle, but an Uratha wasn’t a giant gargoyle. Muscle bent, and the wolf’s body absorbed the impact as Jack’s feet were driven into the floor. Crunching ribs and damaged organs, Jack felt them. The wolf went up ten feet into the air, momentum carrying him over Jack’s body, and he crashed into the remaining desk, shattering it on impact. It was a darker wolf, with a few gunshot wounds that weren’t healing, and he curled up in a ball to clutch their stomach as he vomited blood.

Turning to watch what happened was a mistake. Another werewolf came at Jack’s back, and claws sliced down from his left shoulder, down across his back, to his right hip, and his suit jacket and shirt shredded like paper. The claws struck against his skin, but didn’t penetrate any deeper than skin deep. Blood gushed out wherever claws met his body, and blocked the inhuman weapons from getting into him.