Chant of the Undead
In the heart of this desolate wasteland, where the moonlight barely pierced the thick blanket of clouds, a figure emerged from the shadows, a deity in the form of Clawed. His wings, broad and majestic, stretched out like midnight itself, casting an eerie silhouette against the night sky. As he hovered above the ground, he exuded an aura of otherworldly power, his eyes ablaze with determination and fierce resolve as he gazed at the undead abomination below.
With a mere flick of his hand, Clawed seemed to command the very fabric of the night. His fingers traced through the air, leaving trails of silver light in their wake. In response, the darkness seemed to part, creating a path illuminated by an ethereal glow. It was a path to salvation for the werewolves, a narrow corridor through which they could escape the clutches of the undead horde.