Sensing the floor tremble under him, Werewolf jumped aside a moment before another white spear sprang up from the ground.
Another one followed him, coming out an instant before he landed, and just when he evaded that one, a third flew right past his face, almost piecing his head.
Bending backwards to evade, Werewolf chained it with a flip, then poised himself for a charge. The floor shattered under his feet, and he crossed the room in a fraction of a second, his clenched fist exploding forward.
The Pope didn't budge, the same grin still on his eerie face. Several white spears sprang up, piecing the ceiling just in time to block the oncoming attack.
The white spears seemed to absorb the blow, wobbling as they transferred it to the building. Cracks run through them, and an instant later, they crumbled to dust. Werewolf sensed it wasn't a result of his attack and quickly leaped, but it was already too late.
"Youngsters," the Pope said. "Always so full of yourselves."
