What loomed before Burning Storm defied nature itself—a twisted aberration that haunted the line between magnificence and monstrosity.
From talons upward, its body wore obsidian like a second skin—black as charred bone, gleaming with the luster of polished jet. Its scaled legs, corded with raw power, ended in claws curved like harvesting sickles, carving deep wounds into the earth with each step. Shadows clung to the midnight of its limbs like desperate lovers, as though the ground itself dared not reflect such darkness.
Above the talons, however, the beast transformed into a specter of feathers and flesh.
The remainder of its body wore pearlescent white, not soft or inviting, but cold and dangerous—like frost crystallized over ancient armor. Its feathers caught the moonlight in ripples of silver as it moved, fluid yet precise. The ridges of its scaled chest expanded with each breath, glinting like ivory daggers beneath a sheath of coiled muscle.
