Sylas dismissed the Armor.
'Not good enough.'
If he had had the Ape Lineage's technique in hand, it would take him what would feel like seconds to figure this out between his perfected Rune Spark Mastery and his time dilation abilities.
But right now, he was trying to extrapolate perfection from an imperfect representation. The fact that he had made any headway at all was a miracle.
The fact that he succeeded in just three attempts was something beyond that. He was no longer a person hoping that a miracle would be bestowed onto him, but rather a God waving his hand to make it happen himself.
The rampaging aura came out of Sylas. He meshed so well with the Ape Warlord Armor that it seemed as though it was born for him. But when he felt like it wanted him to lean forward, it shattered.
He broke the Armor apart again, his eyes a radiant cold. His rage took tangible form, tendrils of blackened rouge emitting from his hair and Aether.
