Johann's brows inched closer together ever-so-slightly as his eyes followed the trail of red into the ruin of a burned-out husk of what had once been a home, a shelter for one, if not more of the people that used to inhabit this village. His carmine eyes would leave the ground, wandering over the rest of the houses, strings of dark grey smoke still rising from the remains of some abodes. Those that hadn't been taken by the fire had been practically torn apart from the inside out. Not to mention the stains of crimson smears that seemed to cover most of what remained, and, of course, the more than obvious claw marks that had engraved the story of what had occurred here over the last night, the thick, metallic stench of blood lingering in the cool morning air. The sun had barely begun to rise, but the silver-haired man had been too late nonetheless. He had heard of the reports concerning werewolves in the Cursed Lands, though that they would behave like this, that they would form a pack, lash out, and, as it was so painfully evident, massacre an entire village ... it had been a fact most unexpected. Johann, one of the two Ambassador's of Dies Irae, had been involved in paperwork, as it so often tended to be the case, when the report had come in, and despite a rather rushed journey in the form of a teleportation spell, it hadn't changed the fact, nor would it change the fact that, once again, he had been too late. Too late to help these people, too late to save them from this terrible fate.
The Ambassador took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil of anger that seemed to pulse through his chest with every subtle beat of his heart. His anger, as it was more often than not the case, was centered inwards. It was, unfortunately, part of the job, but ... that didn't make the job any easier. He'd borne witness to sights like this one too many times. It was the reason he wanted to change the world.
"Are you really getting all sentimental, my little vessel?", the echoing voice of Mars, the Nephilim of half-demonic and half-divine origin he shared his body with would ring out in the back of his mind, his comment accompanied by a low cackle. "You should be used to this by now. It is the sight of a battlefield, after all, something you know I am oh-so-fond of, tssehehe ...". Johann remained silent at first, but would eventually shake his head. "I don't think this is a sight I will ever get used to". "So, what do you intend to do about it, then?", the Nephilim would reply immediately, losing not a second in his attempt to playfully taunt his host.
Johann opened his mouth, exhaling sharply, responding to the Lord of War with a whisper rather than the usual telepathic communication. "I might be too late, but whatever beasts did this cannot be far away". His eyes would briefly remain on a still-smoldering ruin. "I will find them and I will wipe this infestation out. It's the least I can do for the villagers". "And you will do so how exactly?", Mars asked, though already anticipating the answer to his inquiry. The Ambassador turned, the fabric of the heavy, black cloak around his shoulders that constituted part of his onyx-colored uniform shifting with the momentum of his motion. "Why, we'll just have to trust your instincts, of course. Unless that is too tough a challenge for the Second Seal?". Mars would simply growl in response. That would conclude their little banterous exchange. For now, Johann's enhanced sense of smell would follow the distinct scent of beast that had been prevalent in the village, guiding him away from the ruins and deeper into the Cursed Lands.
Word Count: 649
Personal Word Count Total: 649
Thread Word Count Total: 649 / 3,000
Link to the Werewolf Hunt Job