Midworld
Lights glittered inside the box, streaks of gold tearing through the dull black and white world. The glow danced and rippled. Greg stood in the center of it all, his form shifting, reshaping. The black shell of his hair began to peel away — falling slowly, gracefully — like a dark veil descending from the heavens.
Warp.
When the light dimmed, what stood there was no longer the Greg they knew.
He had transformed — a transcended being revealed at last. Golden hair flowed down his back, reaching his waist like threads of sunlight. His muscles gleamed under the fading radiance, his spear steady in hand, every inch of him exuding power and divinity.
"This," he said, spreading his arms, his voice echoing with pride and authority, "is my real identity."
The muscular man stumbled back, eyes wide. "It… it can't be!" he gasped.
