Ungodly speed

Trusting its entire weight to the
powerful springs of its lower body, it leapt over fifteen feet in a single
bound.

Two flashes more brilliant than the moonlight split the darkness.
D didn’t move. The werewolf, dropping down on D from above with
every intention of sinking its iron-shredding claws into his skull, changed
course in midair. It sailed over D’s head as if poised to make another jump,
and landed in the bushes a few yards behind the Hunter.

Staged completely in midair, a jump like that was a miraculous
maneuver only possible by coordinating the power of the lungs, the spine,
and extremely tenacious musculature for a split second, and it was
something werewolves alone could do. Even groups of seasoned Werewolf
Hunters occasionally fell victim to attacks like this because the attack was
far more terrible than any rumors the Hunters might have heard, and they
weren’t prepared to counter the real thing. These demonic creatures could
strike at their prey from angles and directions that were patently impossible
as far as three-dimensional dynamics were concerned and the attack was
entirely silent.

However, moans of pain spilled from the beast’s throat as it huddled
low in the brush. Bright blood welled from between the fingers pressed
against its right flank, soaking the grass. Its eyes, bloodshot with malice and
agony, caught the blade glittering with reflected moonlight in D’s right hand
as the Hunter stood facing it silently. Just as the werewolf was ready to
drive its claws home, D had drawn the sword over his shoulder with
ungodly speed and driven it into his opponent’s flank.

“Impressive,” one of them said. Strangely, that someone was D, who’d
been under the impression that he had cleanly bisected the werewolf’s
torso. “Until now, I’d never seen what a true werewolf was capable of.”

His low voice sowed the seeds of a new variety of fear in the heart of
the demonic beast where it lay in the bushes. The beast’s legs could
generate bursts of speed of three hundred and seventy miles per hour—
almost half the speed of sound. There had been less than a fiftieth of a
second between the time it jumped and its attack on D, which meant the
youth had been able to swing his sword and split its belly open even more
quickly.

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