He does not sulk. Sulking is for children, and although Wilhelm may not have aged in several centuries, he has long since outgrown childhood. With it, he has left behind the powerlessness that used to fetter him. So, he does not appreciate being underestimated. All of this finds its way into the frown he slices Michael's way.

"Sure," he answers like it's a challenge rather than a suggestion.

A breath, and he melts into the shadows cast by the crowded trees as his own shadows gather around him. Though his magic renders him invisible, Michael can likely still sense his presence — but the demigod lurching through the underbrush remains unaware of Wilhelm as he hews closer and closer. He listens for the rustle of leaves and snap of twigs, pauses and feels for the faint energy that's emitted by the spawn. Other than wrong, he doesn't know how to describe it.