Achilles' jaw buzzed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His crown flickered as his breathing slowed.
These were humans.
And yet when given commands to kill, they did so freely as they did not put the responsibility on their hands at all.
For these beings…
He would judge out of necessity.
The Adrastia Continent could not be built on rot!
He raised a hand.
HUUM!
Draconian Pathogenicity VI pulsed from his chest like a drumbeat.
Spores shifted within every vessel they'd entered. With a mere thought, he could and had already unraveled the truth.
And when he did, he would choose who rose with him into the skies.
And who stayed below.
Buried!
The skies shimmered with runes the color of ancient starlight.
Achilles hovered silently, the soft burn of Gamma Radiation still threading through his being.
Each pulse laced through his blood, burning away hesitation and doubt.
The transformation he had accepted within himself wasn't merely an increase in power or conquest.
