The three Midnight Werewolves didn't charge immediately. That was the worst part.
They were stalking, which meant they were intelligent—likeky more intelligent than most Demons given their humanoid form.
Their massive, green-smoking bodies moved with an unnatural, fluid grace, circling through the black trees like smoke given form. The glowing emerald pits of their eyes never left Percival and Eristasia—hungry, intelligent, and utterly malevolent.
Eristasia's heart hammered against her ribs. Her bound hands trembled behind her back, fingers twitching uselessly. Every instinct screamed at her to summon a gale, to blast these creatures into mist. But Percival's words echoed in her skull like a curse.
If what the Necromancer said was to be believed, she couldn't do anything to these monsters. Not physically at least. But his vacuum idea seemed very plausible.
