Bruce's eyes drifted across the remains of the battlefield again, and this time, something stirred in the distance.
Movement.
Amidst the corpse, several mutant wolves still fought, vicious, muscular beasts with black fur matted with blood and glowing red eyes that cut through the haze. Opposing them were the last surviving adventurers. Their armor cracked, weapons chipped, bodies trembling with exhaustion and pain, yet they fought on with the frantic resolve of cornered animals.
Bruce watched silently.
Their swords swung with desperation, arms shaking as they struck. Magic flickered weakly from trembling hands. Their footing slipped; their breaths came ragged. Yet resilience kept them upright, pushing them forward in the face of overwhelming odds.
But then, as though some unseen switch had been thrown...
the wolves changed.
Their ferocity spiked!
Their movements sharpened!
Their howls deepened with primal bloodlust!
