The tall wolfish woman stood at the edge of the sky above the carnage of the battle below, a fondness filling her merciless eyes. She blinked once and directed her cold gaze to the demons circling toward the humans in the distance.
In an instant, her shadow stretched, and things rose from it, and the sight of it made the chamber go quiet in a different way than Andrei's transformation had.
Where Andrei had produced awe through the sheer physical fact of what he became, what Syrian produced was, for lack of a better word, scary, spine-chilling.
Wolves, or shadows shaped like wolves, emerged from beneath her.
Massive, towering, and pitch black in their entirety, their forms drank the available light, giving nothing back.
But they were not conjurations in any sense that the word was usually applied. Their multiple eyes carried life in them, cruel and patient, the eyes of things that had powerful will and killing intent bleeding out from them in dark increments.
