"So you're quite the swordsman," Krox observed, his sharp gaze fixed on Desmond's bulging muscles that rippled with newfound strength.
With a mischievous smile, Krox chanted an incantation, weaving his magic seamlessly with the surrounding shadows. From the ethereal darkness, a pack of wolves materialized, their piercing eyes locked onto Desmond with predatory intent.
"Capture him, Brock!" Krox commanded, his voice laced with an air of confidence.
Unbeknownst to Desmond, lost in his intense focus on the snarling wolf before him, Brock, the burly man whom Grimm had previously clashed with, stealthily closed in, ensnaring Desmond from behind in an iron grip.
A low growl of frustration escaped Desmond's lips as his movement became stifled. Swift as a striking snake, he whirled around, his blade a blur as it found its mark, sinking deep into Brock's gut.