Well that escalated quickly. I mean that really got out of hand fast. One moment, he and some other adventurers were cutting down low level skeleton mobs. The next, they had been taken down to the very depths of Hell by a large hand. He felt that he should be more shocked by this sudden development, but the party was in clear danger, and as the resident Guardian it was his duty to play the damage sponge and take any incoming hits.
"Anchor Howl!" the Wolf Fang shouted, raising his shield and slamming the bottom into the ground, embedding it into the brimstone beneath his feet. Whatever incoming attack would come, he was ready to tank it for the rest of the group so the squishier members of their impromptu group could lay on the damage. As long as he could stand, and perhaps even after his legs have failed him with his only option to drag his crumpled body across the ashes of Hell, not a single one of them was going to go down. That was his promise to them and himself.