The creature is a demon, a nasty little bugger which has the ability to disperse itself into the air like a fine mist. (More like a terrible mist, stinking and almost oily, but that's neither here nor there.) Alec has had a hell of a time tracking it so far, though he's doing a lot better than the vampires and the wolves just by virtue of having access to tracking magic. Not that it does much for him when the damn thing disperses itself every time it smells an arrowhead made of angelic metal flying at it's grizzly maw.
Alec needs a distraction. Something to keep it's attention while he finishes it off.
This particular type of demon isn't extraordinarily intelligent, or at least the Clave hasn't encountered and recorded one that was in all their years of demon hunting. It's got excellent survival instincts, and an insatiable desire to consume anything that seems young and strong, whether animal or plant or man, which is part of what makes the hunt high enough priority that Alec is here from the opposite side of the continent, looking like a deeply uncomfortable city boy, dressed all in black as an unfortunate contrast to the saturated beauty of the forest and its rain-damp undergrowth. He suspects he might have been led out here on purpose, which is unsettling given that he hadn't started this with the assumption that the demon had the capacity to plan traps.
He has his bow out, with an arrow knocked and moving in regimented, sweeping arcs as he looks down the shaft of it and slowly crosses to the center of the clearing, waiting for the creature to reappear. It'll be hard to miss when it finally does arrange itself into physical form, appearing goat-like but emaciated and with charred skin, mouth constantly dripping for want of more food. Alec doesn't know who summoned it out of hell and into the world, but clearly all control over it has been lost if Nephilim need to come scrambling in to clean up the mess...
Unless, of course, the mess is the point.
That idea is also unsettling, and it's what's lingering in the back of his mind when his sweep turns him in just the right direction to spot Jacob at his perch on the stone. His eyes widen fractionally, clearly focused despite the distance between them (he'd activated his enhanced vision rune before starting the hunt), and only a lifetime of training stops him from loosing the arrow in surprise. "Shit," he blurts, the only other concession his body seems to make to his shock. A beat passes, and he talks his arms into lowering the bow enough that it's at least not pointed directly at the— werewolf? No. At that size... "Shifter?"
no subject
Alec needs a distraction. Something to keep it's attention while he finishes it off.
This particular type of demon isn't extraordinarily intelligent, or at least the Clave hasn't encountered and recorded one that was in all their years of demon hunting. It's got excellent survival instincts, and an insatiable desire to consume anything that seems young and strong, whether animal or plant or man, which is part of what makes the hunt high enough priority that Alec is here from the opposite side of the continent, looking like a deeply uncomfortable city boy, dressed all in black as an unfortunate contrast to the saturated beauty of the forest and its rain-damp undergrowth. He suspects he might have been led out here on purpose, which is unsettling given that he hadn't started this with the assumption that the demon had the capacity to plan traps.
He has his bow out, with an arrow knocked and moving in regimented, sweeping arcs as he looks down the shaft of it and slowly crosses to the center of the clearing, waiting for the creature to reappear. It'll be hard to miss when it finally does arrange itself into physical form, appearing goat-like but emaciated and with charred skin, mouth constantly dripping for want of more food. Alec doesn't know who summoned it out of hell and into the world, but clearly all control over it has been lost if Nephilim need to come scrambling in to clean up the mess...
Unless, of course, the mess is the point.
That idea is also unsettling, and it's what's lingering in the back of his mind when his sweep turns him in just the right direction to spot Jacob at his perch on the stone. His eyes widen fractionally, clearly focused despite the distance between them (he'd activated his enhanced vision rune before starting the hunt), and only a lifetime of training stops him from loosing the arrow in surprise. "Shit," he blurts, the only other concession his body seems to make to his shock. A beat passes, and he talks his arms into lowering the bow enough that it's at least not pointed directly at the— werewolf? No. At that size... "Shifter?"