The chieftains with commanding power, each one of them, were not present. The lesser ones completely lost their reason in front of the scent of living beings.
Thinking of this, the Wise Wolfman already harbored thoughts of retreat.
In his mind echoed a demonic voice, urging him to charge forward, to leap at the prey, to tear into the flesh and blood of living creatures. But he was an old slicker among the Wolfmen, well-versed in the art of slacking, capable of repressing his bloody instincts.
He looked around, scaled a cliff, and escaped down a deserted slope towards an unpeopled rear flank.
Until shadows overtook him, and a cyan wind wrapped around him from all sides.
He lost consciousness.
...
The war had been raging for 40 minutes.
The resistance of the Jackal Man tribe had gradually weakened, but apart from a few Wise Wolfmen, the rest of the monsters were like zombies, viciously unafraid of death, fighting till the last moment.