as leon dodges attacks from b.o.w.s, defending himself against their scratches, you watch from just above, peering through the mist at his mortal form, the crimson ichor dripping down his veins. oh, how his chest heaves with each breath, how his smooth skin is bruised like a bad peach.

there’s too many. you know he can’t take them all at once- the poor human is exhausted, it’s written all over his handsome face as he stumbled backwards into the horde.