In my grasp pulsed the Beast Claw (picture in hyperlink). This weapon was unholy. I stared at my hands, taking in the bony talons that stretched nearly so long as my forearm, bound with leather strips and held in my iron fingers by a cylinder of bone that spanned the narrowing gap toward the weapon's base. To the lightblessed eyes of one chosen by the Flame, it radiated Darkness, seeped a foul poison into my veins through even my thick gloves, befouled me by its presence alone and desired far worse were I to answer its silent pleas. This weapon craved bloodshed as a starving man craves food, as a drowning man craves air, and with perhaps more desperation. I shook it from my hand, throwing it aside.

We had advanced to Cainhurst's forsaken castle, and now stood before the gate of fog. My distaste for Or'do's "prize" did not offend him, in fact he likely expected just such a reaction. Raising a hand in salute, he strode through the mists, a snarl building in his throat, madness and sanity warring in his eyes. Before us, the Martyr leaped to his feet, slashing his scythe in a broad arc that sought Or'do's throat, yet but only air as the nimble warrior pivoted aside.

Or'do struck quickly, his Beast Claw slashing with a howl like tempest's wailing wind, smashing with the force of crumbling mountains against our hulking foe's side, staggering the beast and bringing it to its knees. At once I was before it, my iron fingers crunching through its chest, seizing the foul heart beyond, ripping it free as I planted my foot against its brow, and kicked it back, knocking it prone upon the stones. Or'do slashed wildly, shredding its legs as it attempted to rise, its kneecaps sprayed across the snowy tiles like scarlet rain. It wailed now, freely and in the potent mixture of pain and fear. My comrade's claws silenced it, spearing the monster's throat, yet this was not the blow that slew it. Or'do drew it close, its blood leaking like black tears along the ragged edge of his weapon, and with a breath he called the Dark from its marrow, serpents of shadow writhing from its pores, erupting from its flesh, curling around his face before vanishing into his jaws.