German Werewolf folklore was some of the kinder stuff relating to the beasts. In fact, the remedy for Lycanthropy in their traditions was a simple addressing of the afflicted by full name. Danish folklore, likewise, held that a simple scolding of the werewolf was enough to render the beast inert and prolonged scolding was seen as a cure.

Neither of these had worked for Jon. He'd tried them both, along with many and varied other folklore inspired cures. Most of them not nearly so gentle.

However, hearing her speak to him that way stirred something within him. Like a long forgotten memory. The same fuzzy recollection someone might have of a time when they were very young. A vague sense, almost like deja-vu, that something was happening that was special. That needed to be paid attention to.

The ki engulfing his body dropped and he landed on his shoulder in the street, sprawling across the asphalt and looking dazed for a moment. His head, with its glowing eyes and many teeth swung to look at her, shaded harshly by the giant, red moon overhead. He looked confused for a moment, then he looked sorry. Then he looked just as angry as he had before. He got up onto all fours and started stalking towards her, favoring his right hand with its fingers at odd angles to where they ought to be, thanks to that pike ball.

Then... there was three of him.