A guttural, unearthly howl ripped through the battlefield, louder than the clashing of fangs and blades. A ripple of silence spread through the chaos as all eyes turned toward the ritual circle. The air itself seemed to recoil as something monstrous emerged from the shadows beyond Gideon Blackthorne’s towering form.
The creatures were unlike anything Layla had ever seen, hulking, twisted abominations that had once been wolves but were now something other. Their bodies pulsed with raw, unstable magic, their eyes burning with eerie violet light. Their limbs were gnarled and elongated, their fur patchy and slick with an unnatural sheen. The scent of rot clung to them, a sickening mix of decayed flesh and dark sorcery.
Layla’s stomach twisted. What has he done?
Gideon stood unwavering, his
