"The birds are simply too far away," Rudigas declared, his voice trembling with the type of dignity only a floating skull pretending not to shake could muster. "Since I don't have my body, I can't attack at my full power."
He lifted his chin or what would have been a chin, if he weren't an ancient skull and tried to look smug. The purple-black necromancer's cape billowed behind him like he was posing for an illustration in a villain encyclopedia.
No one was impressed.
Vargan, towering in his werewolf form and already irritated from seeing the several birds, let out the deepest, most exhausted sigh of the morning.
He reached forward, casually picking Rudigas up by the top of his cranium as if holding a misbehaving plush toy.
"Don't worry," Vargan rumbled. "I'll help you close the distance."
Rudigas's empty sockets widened.
"No—no, wait—WAIT, YOU BRUTE—!"
But destiny had already clenched its jaws around him.
