This was a place of willpower. Shadows were numerous and unlimited--Necromancers could pool their power, but there was very rarely any need to clash on a level such as this. Solomon had done it; it was how he'd wrested control of the White Cleaver from Serpine.

He already knew the wolf wasn't all that strong a body--and Bakura, for all his ghosts and dying, wasn't a Necromancer himself. The taunt was hardly worth speaking, but Bakura had done so. There was reason behind it, that much was obvious, and yet--and yet Solomon couldn't care. It was unwise to retaliate in a way your opponent encouraged. He knew it, even as he laughed again and pushed back, and took control of the wolf to send it back at Bakura.