Not well. The animal goes down mid-lunge, its head snapping groundward before it plows into the pavement at Sark's feet.

The remaining creatures burst into blue flame, howling in outrage and rounding on Sark. Den is not having any of that. He lifts one hand and the animal Sark killed gets to its feet, eyes full of what appear to be silver cobwebs.

Should Sark glance back, the same filigree is glowing in Den's eyes, the pupils of them huge now in the dark. The veins of his arms almost shimmer; threads like drifting spider silk trail a few inches from his fingers.

"Bad dogs," he growls.

The dead one lunges past Sark, its mouth flapping open and then snapping shut on the throat of its companion.