Peter looked at the cave before him. The wolves were snarling from inside, trying to intimidate him.
Trying to force him to leave.
He would have left, a couple of days ago.
He would have just left. Fearful of the wolves. Fearful of the fact that, yes, they could tear him a new one.
Eat him, digest him...
But how are they going to do that now?
His mana was poisonous, his flesh dead. He was a corpse, even if the world around him could not realize it. For Asmodeos had made sure that Peter got his fair share of souls.
Peter placed a hand over Asmodeos' shoulder and tried to smile. The necromancer smiled back, reaching out, taking the hand in both of his hands, and giving it a light squeeze.
Anyone but Asmodeos would have left Peter to his fate; anyone but Asmodeos would have tried to get rid of him.
But Asmodeos was not someone who would do such a thing.
He was a lover, a dreamer.