The sky still burned with wisps of black smoke, but the demonic lightning had ceased.
Strax flew like an arrow through the thin air, the beating of his demonic dragon wings resounding like thunderclaps in succession. The wind roared against his skin, but it wasn't just speed that drove him—it was the raw need to reach the center, to seek answers, to finally confront what remained.
His body still burned with the energy he'd consumed. After devouring the system, his mind seemed clearer, the chaos within more contained. But the price was clear: with each passing second, his draconic form became more solid, more natural. Black scales gleamed in the dim sunlight, greenish veins ran like rivers of energy across his skin, and his aura wavered in waves of power that made the very air vibrate.
He refreshed the landscape and brought back the metallic scent of the devastated islands.
