Both of them stood frozen, eyes locked on the wolf as it held the hero's skull between its jaws. Neither dared to move, sweat pouring down their faces. They didn't have anything to fight with, nor could they run without the skull of the hero. Stuck in a tense stalemate, Damian glanced at Kyle, his eyes communicating a silent plan. Kyle nodded, understanding, as if they were about to bravely leap into action.
The wolf, however, wasn't fazed by their theatrics. It stood still, its golden eyes locked on them, unblinking, like it was toying with them, fully aware it had the upper hand.
Suddenly, Damian shouted, "NOW!"
He hurled the hero's severed hand toward Kyle and charged at the wolf, hoping to catch it off guard. If this were a typical story, plot armor might've kicked in to saved their asses—but not here. Not for them. They were the ones supposed to provide that safety for others, not the other way around.
