Gregor's blood thundered in his ears as he aborted his own attack and jumped backwards from another one of the werewolf's swipes. The claws missed him and shredded a tree effortlessly, a poignant reminder of what would happen to him if he wasn't fast enough. It was times like these that Gregor was glad he had gotten into the habit of wearing loose, light-weight garments all the time. His black, woolen clothes stretched to accommodate his movements and Gregor's leather greatcoat, only tight around the shoulders, danced around him like a cape. Gregor planted his boot-clad foot into the earth behind him and presented the dangerous edge of the longsword to the werewolf, ready to punish every move with a double-handed counterstrike. 

For some reason, a peacock screamed on the other side of the fire. Gregor almost looked away but his training kept his eyes fixed on the werewolf. The creature was obviously distracted as it flinched with what Gregor assumed to be surprise. That seemed a little uncharacteristic, though. Why would the wolfman be-- 

His train of thought was interrupted as the peacock call rang again and the werewolf slashed both of its arms at Gregor in a cross-swing. The inquisitor's lungs forced out an instinctive yell and he deflected the gore-stained claws with the flat edge of his blade, ducking low to drop his center of gravity. His arms were immediately heavy with the brute strength of the attack he'd just redirected and the werewolf smashed its arms into the ground, throwing up debris that splattered across Gregor's torso and face. 

For a third time, the peacock screamed. By now, Gregor had caught on to the fact that it was Loka who was doing this, immediately followed by the realization that it must be something magical to affect the werewolf so strongly -- and being able to perfectly replicate the call of a peacock was a peculiar talent in-and-of-itself. Unsure if Loka was helping or somehow egging the werewolf on to kill him, he was relieved to see the maddened were-beast turn away from him and towards Loka. It was the best possible opening Gregor could have asked for. 

He didn't waste a second of it. Raising his longsword above his head, Gregor brought it down in a powerful diagonal slash that cut across the werewolf's back. The blade itself produced a shrill, trilling noise as it cut through the abomination's flesh, immediately followed by a flash of foul-smelling steam and a shower of blue sparks. The werewolf, already howling in agony, redoubled its efforts as the magical properties of Gregor's longsword set its flesh aflame. Gregor's eardrums threatened to burst with the sheer volume of the werewolf's abhuman throes. 

Now it truly looked like something straight out of a nightmare. Ghastly rimefire, pale as ice and cold to the touch, spread across its back and shoulders, vaporizing the black fur and eating away at the monster's flesh. Its snout was warped in a horrifying snarl and its eyelids had peeled back so far that the whites of its eyes were visible in the blue-and-orange light of the flames. The injuries it had sustained were awful and extremely painful but unfortunately not incapacitating -- or lethal. 

Desperate to to get away from Gregor's sword and to silence Loka, the howling wolfman lept at the Deva through the bonfire.