The rush of memories had flooded Averoth's mind. Along with his reflection of his life as a soul, he digested the regained lost memories. His incomplete self had become whole, and stuffed into this clone of a body.
Once he gained his bearings, Averoth was overcome with emotion.
"DAMN YOU SALAMANDOR!!!"
A wheel manifested behind Averoth and stopped on a club in an instant. Grabbing ahold of it Averoth swung and blasted apart the Fourth Stage clone with a single swing.
Salamandor leaned towards Travis and mumbled, "He's a bit irate."
"A bit?", Travis took several steps back.
Having found an outlet for his burst of rage Averoth took a breath and placed his club against the ground to lean against it. Reflecting on his choices he then decided he was entirely justified to be this furious.
"It was perfect! Perfect!!", he started to rant, "An ultimate battle against the pinnacle of the old Era! I fought them for three days, and it took the appearance of the F-"
