It was obvious there were more complicated rules here than Solomon had been assuming. He hadn't lost control of the wolf, per se--but its actions were being enforced by something outside his control.

It was equally obvious Bakura had been prepared--though just how he'd been prepared, Solomon didn't know. There were things here that had names, and he didn't know what those names were. But he didn't quite feel as though it mattered, either. He set aside a part of his mind to keep the wolf under thrall and smiled. "And here I thought it was a gift, you offered it to me so readily."

But was that all Solomon could do? If Bakura could manipulate parts of this realm--why couldn't Solomon? He could still feel a bloom of power--a 'death', as it were. Solomon reached out his hand and drew it up, and the same creature Bakura had first sent to attack him gathered itself from the 'floor' of the khajbit, but its uniform was tattered and decaying, and its face mostly empty eye-sockets and thinning skin.