Without a doubt, the crisp sound produced under the collision of metal, and the shiny bell falling through the air, was clearly some kind of precious object.
The bell ringer let out a muffled grunt of an entirely different urgency, no longer paying attention to Verlet's silver sword, nor blocking the bullets that Ralph fired. In the bell ringer's eyes, there seemed to be only that glint of flying gold; he raised his hands high, pus from his severed fingers trailing down his arms, the dripping liquid entering his despicable eyes, but the bell ringer didn't care and instead continued to let out urgent howls as he chased after the bell.
Ralph reloaded and aimed, his eyes fixed on the giant's running torso and the bloody, severed fingers swinging in the air.
The wolf bared a sinister grin, only marginally better than a mortician's makeup job.
The bell ringer had lost his regeneration ability; that bell was his constraint.
