Everyone besides Emily and Phil were a little shocked, about what she just insinuated. When Heidi looked at Phil expecting him to be angry and defend himself, she only saw a man writ with guilt and a tortured look.
He blatantly avoided Heidi's eyes, and stared at his trembling hands, which he clasped together to stop them from shaking. He took a shaky breath, and asked, "how did you know?"
Emily took her time before answering, "you had the same look as.. him, before he died," she didn't elaborate who she meant. But everyone in the group seemed to understand it was probably someone close to her.
And they would be correct, Emily was referencing to her father, about the things he had to do to ensure their survival. Things most people wouldn't be able to stomach even if it meant saving their family.
But in the end, those sacrifices her father made, came to nothing, as they all died in the end. And she was the only one left.
The mood suddenly became tense and sombre, as everyone's mind went back to the things they had to do to survive. And even though they didn't yet understand the reason Phil meant to sacrifice them for the moon heart. The guilt written on his face told them, it wasn't something done out of selfishness.
"So Phil, tell us about your obsession with the werewolf?"
Phil's face hardened, before smoothing over after he exhaled, "my sister, she.." another exhale. "She's dying, and I.." Phil struggled to properly convey his reasons for the hard choice he had to make going as far as planning to kill his friends. Because to him, they now sounded like excuses more than justification.
He closed his eyes, and regulated his breathing, then with a steady exhale, he opened his eyes, now calm. And faced all of those at the table, "I won't make excuses, my sister is sick, as she's infected with the bleeding, each day she grows weaker, as she endures the pain that comes with the disease."
Phil paused to swallow a hard lump, even though he was calm now. It was still hard to talk about his sister, when all he remembers is the pain she endures rather than the happy moments he had spent together with her. Before everything went to shit.
Everyone except Emily had a look of understanding, especially when Phil talked about the bleeding. The red moon's infection speculated to be related to one's immune system.
It's been theorised the reason why some people turned whilst others didn't was because of how strong or weak a person's immune system was.
Those with strong immune systems survived while those with weak immune system turned. But when it came to the middle one's with both a strong and weak immune system. It caused a sort of imbalance, causing them to live through different effects from the one's Emily experienced. An experience plagued with nothing but pain then death.
Emily was weighing the truth of Phil's words, she wasn't just focusing on his face nor his word. But also his body language, she wasn't about to get swayed by emotions that would later cause her own demise. So as to test the truth of his words, she asked..
"If your sister was suffering, as you claim, why didn't you just, well.. kill her?"
Phil immediately rose from his chair, boiling with rage he had been incapable of showing for the sake of his friend Fenrir had killed. His hands tightened into a fist, as a spark of murderous intention flared to life, directed at Emily.
Everyone else rose to their feet, and backtracked away from what appeared to be a ticking time clash. Emily was the only one who remained seated. She finished a biscuit, and gave Phil a satisfied smile.
"Stop being melodramatic, I was just joking, but seriously you haven't told me the reason behind your obsession with the moon heart, does it have some sort of healing capabilities or something?"
Phil unclenched and clenched his fist, then unclenched it. As he knew, deep down, he knew that before he could even throw his punch at Emily he would be long dead. He tiredly sat back down on his chair, and just started answering Emily's questions.
•••
Whilst Emily and Phil were having a heart to heart talk, with an audience, Fenrir had reached her target 15 minutes ago, not that she was aware that much time had passed.
But she aware in that span of time, she should've already snatched her prey, because it wasn't remotely anywhere near powerful as she was. But she met a problem, before she could do just that.
The werewolf that had killed the two humans, she and her master had salvaged their boot, had been facing her. Not really in the mood to disappoint her master she had punched a hole through its chest. But that's when another problem came to surface.
After her donut punch, the werewolf had transformed into the exact replica of her. Fenrir had seen herself in the mirrors of the fitting-room, she had found her maid cosplay costume, at the broken-down clothing store.
So she knew what she looked like, so she was unnerved by this perfect copy in front of her. She tilted her head, confused, curious. And slightly angry that someone would dare assume the face her master gifted her.
The lightening in her eyes crackled with intensity of only murderous thoughts. What pissed her off more than anything was the clothes, the copy had copied, exactly the same as hers.
The only thing different about the two of them were their demeanor, while Fenrir bared her elongated teeth at the copy, with a ready stance to pounce at any moment. The copy had a coquettish smile, hands on her hips, looking at Fenrir mockingly.
Fenrir so didn't like that look, her nails extended, and she disappeared where she had been standing. And was right in front of the copy, she aimed for the copy's throat with her clawed hand, but the copy easily caught it.
Fenrir was surprised, she can scent how strong someone is, and she knew without a doubt she was stronger, then how did the copy manage to easily catch her attack? She didn't have time to come up with an answer, as the copy pulled Fenrir closer to her, then struck with its knee aiming for Fenrir's stomach.
Instead of stopping the attack Fenrir used the momentum to headbutt the copy, and succeeded with a bloody crack of the copy's skull. She then pulled the copy towards her and repeatedly headbutted her.
The copy groaned in pain, but didn't let that distract her. She tried to pulled away using the entirety of her strength, but Fenrir's grip was iron clad. But even so, Fenrir was actually struggling. And it was when Fenrir realised that this wolf had also copied her exact strength.
Anger flared and her eyes this time crackled with real lightning, flashing outside her eyes. The copy realised the mistake it had made, because now Fenrir's strength had increased, and her grip was firmer around it's wrist.
"No, please stop, don't do it!"
The copy begged but Fenrir wasn't hearing it, lightening crackled in the air, as it coiled around the copy in thin threads. The mere touch of the thin lightning sent the copy screaming in agonising pain.
But instead of joyous glint flashing in her eyes, Fenrir was confused. Why didn't the copy use her Concept? Didn't it also copy it?
She let go of the copy as it crumbled on the ground, like a sack of potatoes, unconscious. Fenrir expected the copy to revert back to it's original form, but it didn't.
She thought of killing it, but stopped before going through with it. She had a thought that her master might want to see and examine this odd werewolf for herself.
She coiled her lightning around the copy's body, imprinting it into it's skin. The lightening had paralysing effects were the werewolf to wake up, before she came back.
After she was done, she sniffed the air, and located the scent of her first target. Then she disappeared at the spot.