The smug air that the daemon exuded almost made Cyril wretch, the beast narrating like it were a villain ported into life directly from James Bond. Cyril had began to grow an inkling of a suspicion that there was something this daemon was attempting to do. If it were trying to distract them, then it was doing a wonderful job. But if so, why? The secondary group of hunters would be on them by now and Cyril was sure Erin was among them. They were more than capable, so he could only wonder. What was this hound's endgame? Time to think was running short though, as it was moving in on the first year, a lust for blood so thick that Cyril could practically taste copper. His eyes snapped over toward his daemons giving them a sharp nod as he did so, the two of them acknowledging his call to action. Cyril's feet moved softly along the ground, his knees bent ever so slightly, ready to jump, his eyes fixated solely on the beast before him, everything else becoming an irrelevant blur.

The moment the beast's maw ripped open, snapping at the first year, Cyril moved, leaping toward the back of the beast as it's tail shot toward him. The rushing wind made contact with his right ankle, practically tearing off his shoe as he sailed over it, falling onto the back of the beast. If he had been unfortunate enough to have been hit directly, his ankle would've been shattered, along with a decent amount of bone in his foot. Luck had always been half of the hunt though. Cyirl clung to the beast's fur, pulling himself more onto the back of the beast when a sudden burst of scalding water and steam splashed the face of the wolf, as well as his left arm. It burned like a sonuvabitch, but Cyril could manage for the time being. The rosaries tied around his hands should've grabbed some of the hound's attention, the holy symbols particularly good at searing the flesh of daemons.

Set had began to move toward the first year, the burning orbs within its pale skull glowing with rage. As the daemon reached the first year, it spun on its heels, facing the hound, letting lose a horrific screech that sounded like metal scraping against metal, the scream meant to drag forth the memories of hell, when the daemon it screamed at was first twisted from its human form into its current shape. It was for more powerful daemons a device meant to weaken their concentration, though for weak daemons, daemons of the D and E class, the scream could easily put them into a near catatonic state. Cyril took the moment that Set let lose one of his few powers to bring his hand down onto the scalding water that soaked the fur of the beast. Cyril could hear the sound of an arrow cutting through the air at the beast as he dug his fingers into the beast's fur, gripping tightly to it with his legs, repeating as quickly as his lips would allow him, "That this water may be unto the healing of souls and bodies, and unto the banishing of every hostile power, let us pray to the Lord." His prayers would bring purify and bless the water that coated the hound. If this didn't drop the Hound, Cyril dreaded fighting the enraged beast.