Draxos chuckled, blood and bile bubbling in his ruined throat. His dark red eyes, which had widened in shock moments ago, slowly narrowed into crescents of dark amusement. His massive frame swayed but did not fall.
All three of them stared.
How?
His regeneration kicked in visibly—SQUISH, CRACK—flesh knitting together inside the cavernous wound, bones reforming, organs rebuilding. The purple-black fire that had been preventing regeneration was slowly being pushed out—HISS—by sheer demonic will. His Body Manipulation forced the foreign energy from his tissues, replacing destroyed cells with new, denser, darker flesh. His hands reformed—CRACK, SQUISH—fingers regenerating, joints popping back into place.
It was like watching a wound reverse itself in time. The cavity in his stomach sealed—SQUISH—new muscle layering over new organ tissue, exoskeleton armor spreading across the closed wound like plates of bone.
