The sky tore apart with black thunder as Strax advanced in his Black Demon Dragon form.
Each beat of his colossal wings was like the impact of colliding storms, and each movement carried the promise of ruin. The very atmosphere twisted around him—the pressure of his aura spread like an invisible wave of terror, corroding the air, crushing the ground, and tearing silent screams from the earth itself.
He wasn't just flying.
He was hunting.
And the next island before him wasn't a destination, but a sentence.
Rage boiled in his chest like a heart forged in a furnace. With each beat, demonic energy exploded through his veins, and his black scales were tinged with crimson reflections, as if fire were bleeding from within. The words echoed in his mind, simple, brutal, obsessive:
Destroy. Tear. Annihilate.
When it opened its mouth, the roar that escaped wasn't just sound.
It was cataclysm.
