[Location: Central Park, New York]
BADUM!
BADUM!
BADUM!
A war drum-like sound echoed, not from the skies, not from the earth, but from Dominic himself. His heartbeat struck like a hammer against the silence that had momentarily swallowed Central Park. Each thrum reverberated outward in invisible shockwaves, rattling leaves, bending lamp posts, and setting the very mana in the air into chaos.
The crimson glow that threaded his veins expanded, pulsing under his skin like molten rivers. His body trembled—not from weakness, but from the sheer violence of something ancient clawing free from centuries of suppression. His aura swelled, first in ripples, then in crushing waves.
Barbaras froze mid-laugh, claws raised but no longer descending. His crimson eyes widened, not in fear—no, the berserker lord did not fear—but in something even more primal. Recognition. The recognition of a predator sensing another one emerging, something older, darker, hungrier than even him.
