As the terrain shifted, the Moon Wolf used its final trump card, the Moon's Grace, growing his attributes by 50% for three minutes, more than enough time to end the battle.
The already towering wolf stood taller, its body leaner and sharper, radiating with spectral light that gleamed off its fur like polished steel.
Its muscles coiled tighter, growing not only his brute strength but also giving him terrifying speed. The air bent faintly around it from the visible aura it radiated, and mist clung to its body like a living shroud.
This was its true form, blessed by the bloodline that gave the beast its name.
But Vlad did not flinch.
The ground beneath them was a fragmented graveyard of shattered ice. The Silver Howl had torn apart the battlefield, flooding the frozen lake with surging, frigid water.
