It didn't take long to realize what you'd say to Elzaire would do little.

Your skilled, albeit assigned supernatural partner was part of a new initiative higher-ups had instilled, something about integrating monsters into society.

So long as a paycheck followed, you hardly gave a damn. Or so it seemed.

Elzaire was a Shadowstryder and a wicked Ghoul at that. Most knew little of the race except for their voracious appetite and strict diet for the pain induced on another.

Full and content, Elzaire was a valuable asset, if not a jack ass at times. But if starved, let alone set into a frenzy, that thing wasn't your partner. You'd wrapped up a merciless fight against nearly two dozen men, leaving you painted in blood and your other...

Elzaire knelt, fists mercilessly slamming down on something you knew wasn't exactly alive anymore. Those violet eyes were wild, bloodshot as he pulled about a wolfish grin. It was clear he wouldn't stop. Not unless you could make him.