Ace's POV
Ray and I donned the iron gloves, their purpose clear: to shield our palms from the magical chain or handcuffs we were about to use. We knew all too well that any skin contact would allow the chains to absorb our energy. The tips of the gloves remained open, allowing us to extend our claws during our transformation.
Once the gloves were secured, Ray and I grabbed the magical handcuffs and our swords before climbing down from the wagon, following in Philip's wake.
The two werewolves were behemoths, muscles rippling beneath their thick fur. They lunged at Philip, their claws slashing through the air, but he moved like a phantom. He wasn't just dodging; he was dancing, a deadly ballet of grace and power. Each parry was a blur of motion, his daggers a silver flash against their dark fur.
Ray ran beside me, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the battle ahead.
