The three remaining Wargs didn't wait for an order that would never come. Their primal rage, stoked by the scent of their fallen kin's blood, took over. They charged forward, driven by a fury that erased fear and strategy alike. Their claws tore through the damp soil, throwing up clumps of earth and black dust, their howls merging into a wild cacophony that froze the blood.
Dylan no longer had breath, nor strength left for complex thought. His mind had been stripped down to a raw state — running purely on reflex and the grim economy of despair. Each heartbeat no longer pumped blood, but the last remnants of raw essence — that same essence now devouring his own life force just to keep a body upright that should have collapsed long ago.
The first Warg, the most reckless, leapt — too close, too fast for any feint.
