One of the few sounds left in the forest was the stubborn crackles of dying flames.
The trees in this world didn't burn easily. Their wood, reinforced by decades or even centuries of mana, resisted the heat of most flames. The fire burned the nearby grass until none was left, blackened the earth's surface, and only provided substance for new growth in the future.
Only flames produced by stronger creatures could ever turn this place into a true forest fire. Even the drake could only burn a small part of the forest unless it provided consistent flames.
But alongside the fading fire came another sound.
The ragged, uneven breathing of the creature who was forcibly put through a seemingly agonizing transformation.
The drake stood frozen; it had witnessed the scene from beginning to end.
It had thought it had a basic grasp of the Devils' potential. The drake even believed the reason his other creatures were so strong was exactly because he was constantly fusing souls into them.
