[ Dean sees it the same time Geralt feels it. He ducks to the left, right as the blinding light pierces the darkness. A hollow screech bounces off the walls. The floor starts to rattle. At first, he thinks it's only the broken glass. It is not only the glass. It is much more than the glass. The splintered debris covering the ground is mostly shining black stone, sharp as knives. They shiver together as the shadows melt into them, forming things. Things with teeth and claws and mouths that open too wide. Maybe the same things Dean had seen with Ciri, or maybe they're new. Maybe some twisted fusion of both.
Geralt doesn't stop to ask. He stalks after the creature that Dean sent through the door. It's already on all fours. Claws scrape against the tiled floors—and then something else comes from the side. He turns in an instant, slices it clean in half. The severed body hits the ground in pieces, heavy, wet. When he glances back to where the striga was, there's only glass and jagged grooves from its claws left behind. Fuck.
He spins around. The doors that line the corridor shudder. One by one, the windows on them crack, then rupture. Shards spray, whistling through the air. He dives for Dean, automatic—shielding him with his body, and then shielding himself with a burst of magic. Slivers of glass bounce off, scattering around them.
From the smashed doors, more things begin to crawl out. Their movements are stilted, stuttering. Every shriek layers atop another, an endless din.
Flooded, Dean had said earlier. A description has never held so fucking true. ]
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Geralt doesn't stop to ask. He stalks after the creature that Dean sent through the door. It's already on all fours. Claws scrape against the tiled floors—and then something else comes from the side. He turns in an instant, slices it clean in half. The severed body hits the ground in pieces, heavy, wet. When he glances back to where the striga was, there's only glass and jagged grooves from its claws left behind. Fuck.
He spins around. The doors that line the corridor shudder. One by one, the windows on them crack, then rupture. Shards spray, whistling through the air. He dives for Dean, automatic—shielding him with his body, and then shielding himself with a burst of magic. Slivers of glass bounce off, scattering around them.
From the smashed doors, more things begin to crawl out. Their movements are stilted, stuttering. Every shriek layers atop another, an endless din.
Flooded, Dean had said earlier. A description has never held so fucking true. ]