Erebus's fangs descended like the jaws of inevitability.
The wolf's maw opened wide, crimson aura thickening until the very air warped around Loren. The beast's breath burned hot against his bloodied face, and for the first time, he truly accepted the end.
But then—
A pulse.
It began faintly, like a whisper in the marrow of his bones. Then another, stronger, until his entire body convulsed with the rhythm. The ground cracked beneath him as something deep within, long dormant, began to stir.
The squad gasped, but none more than Loren himself.
What is this?
Mana burst out of him in violent waves, not steady, not refined—raw, unstable, as though every reservoir he had ever hoarded was suddenly tearing free of its cage. Light and shadow wrapped around his frame, threads of golden brilliance tangled with midnight arcs, and the stench of burning aura flooded the chamber.
