[h3]Outside the Hunter's Clinic, in the outskirts of Yharnam[/h3]
The sheer brutality of witnessing the ferocious beast-man emerge from the clinic like that was immediately compounded by the shock of seeing its cleaver – a relatively plain and unassuming implement, more of a tool than a weapon – rammed right into the stranger's face. Torquil's eyes widened in horror, time almost seeming to come to a stop as his vision homed to the droplets of blood sprayed through the air from the wound, and then widened further as he realized that Victor had actually been knocked off his feet and flung through the air a couple of meters by the impact.
[I]He's dead,[/I] Torquil thought. He had a horrid, sinking feeling in his stomach and felt the compulsion to turn and run. To find somewhere dark and secret to hide. Farren and Ophelia wanted to save the sleepers, so they would stay and fight; they would delay the monsters long enough for him to get away. He was good at running and hiding. He was good at surviving.
But then he blinked, watching the droplets of blood – which were still in the air, so little time had passed – splash on the ground, and he felt something clench inside him. Something hard, tough, [I]strong[/I]. He did not care about the stranger, nor did he care about the sleepers, but in the few minutes they had known each other, Farren and Ophelia had been nice to him. If he ran, they would be even more alone. They would probably [I]die[/I], and he would never get to hear the voice of the girl past the trees again, or see the big man smile at him anymore.

Taking a step forward, toward the beast-man, Torquil swiftly raised his axe above his head and brought it back down again in a chopping motion. Though he did not understand the concepts of rotational forces or fulcrums or anything like that, he naturally adjusted his grip during the swing toward the bottom of the handle to maximize acceleration and power of the strike, like someone trying very hard to cleave a particularly resilient piece of firewood. He felt his muscles swell and burn, his skin practically spraying sweat with the unnatural levels of exertion he was putting forward, and anyone looking at him would be able to plainly see his flimsy linen shirt first tighten, strain and then rip entirely as the muscles in his arms, shoulders, back and chest swelled with inhuman strength.
Because Torquil was clumsy, slow, a bit of a coward and not too bright, but by Oedon, at least he was [I]strong[/I].
The desperate man barely even noticed Farren dart in with inhuman speed and cut the back of the beast-man's leg, but its effect was definitely felt as the axe slammed down with a loud noise, embedding the entire head of the axe into the creature's left clavicle. The force of the blow combined with the cutting of his leg caused it to drop to one knee, its left arm dropping and hanging nervelessly by its side, and letting out a pained snarl as it did.

Only then did Farren's words – “Watch door!” – register in Torquil's mind. With his axe still firmly lodged in the beast-man's flesh, he turned his attention from the danger right in front of him to the door behind it, and was once again met by the sight of several of the huntsmen lined up against the far wall in there, with two of them aiming down the barrels of their rifles.
Two loud bangs sounded in rapid succession as puffs of fire and smoke exploded out of the muzzles of the guns. Torquil felt an impact on the right side of his torso, on the lower part of his ribs. The other bullet was aimed at Farren, at about shoulder-level.