"O magne magne armorum parens, arma mea divinitate tua imbue…"
The whimpering man's cries faltered, his words strangled off as something in the air shifted. It was as though the world itself had taken a breath and held it.
Avin's veins flared, crawling down his arm in burning lines of light. The dagger in his grip trembled violently, humming with unnatural resonance. Then, with a sharp fwwsshh, it reshaped.
A golden gleam burst from its edges, the steel lengthening, curving, spiking along the back like the jagged teeth of a predator.
Avin raised his arm, the transformed weapon catching light. He stared at it, crimson eyes wide with fascination.
"Interesting," he muttered, his voice low, breathless. "This one looks different."
The bandit on the ground let out a stuttered cry, scrambling backward, palms slipping in dirt and blood. His lips trembled.
"H-he's… God-folk…"
His voice cracked with terror. His gaze jerked toward his towering comrade.
