Maxwell didn't hold back. The moment he was convinced that the cloaked figure was Greg, he lunged forward with full intent to kill. His body partially shifted, claws elongating, coarse fur spreading along his arms, and his canines sharpening as his golden eyes began to glow with feral light. His face twisted in fury, every muscle tense with hatred that burned hotter than fire.
"You will die by my hands…" Maxwell growled, his voice a chilling blend of man and beast. The sound carried the depth of his wolf's rage, low, guttural, and terrifying, like something that had crawled up from the pits of hell itself.
The cloaked man froze mid-step, startled by the raw killing intent aimed at him. He didn't react immediately when Maxwell attacked; instead, his eyes narrowed beneath the hood as if trying to understand.
