Plan B
Thomas groaned as two of his precious vials fizzled harmlessly on the ground. He held the last two vials in his palm, sighed, and put everything in his spatial rings. To compensate he drew his last resort, his pistol. 'Why did it have to come to plan b,' he thought. 'It's not much of a plan either… I only have one shot at this. After a few more moments, I should be able to stand safely.'
Shay, who had been writhing on the ground, abruptly flipped to his feet. He faltered but managed to catch himself. He had won against the toxins by sheer strength alone, leaving him with a measly quarter of his life essence left.
Shay bared his fangs at the tricky little noble, who reluctantly stood back up. As he stepped towards Thomas however, he felt a warm, viscous liquid under his paw; blood. He followed the trail with his eyes past the bridge, snaking around shards of stained-glass, and ending at the source: Mr. Fisher himself.