Talaro was not only revived in an instant—he had been reborn.
His new form was a blasphemous fusion of celestial perfection and abyssal corruption, the lithe, elegant physique of a higher being now twisted into a vessel overflowing with the Law of Death. His aura rolled out like a suffocating tide, every breath of it heavy with decay.
Even in his formidable primal form, it took Emery every ounce of strength to break free from the writhing, grotesque mass of corpses that surrounded him. The amalgamation moved like a living ocean—sections sharpened into long, spear-like spikes that struck with relentless precision, while others became viscous waves of blackened flesh that clung to him, pulling and binding.
Each time he tore himself free, more surged forward, crashing over him like the tide.
