It looked as though streams of ancient lettering, drawn into the skies in fiery reds and flickering flames, were rushing into Sylas' eyes.
His head tilted back, a guttural roar from the depths of his throat coming out in pulsing waves.
The Aether Pathways of his Runeweaver Eyes became more deeply entrenched, more complex, more rooted into the depths of his very soul.
This time, it was even easier than before, the limitation of his origins as a member of an F-Grade Race being far less prevalent now. It felt like his body was far more of a blank slate for the eyes to entrench their truest vision upon.
However, the original owners of these eyes seemed to have their own Will as well.
Sylas could feel it, and it felt oh so very familiar…
That set of twelve eyes, a pair of six, growling at him with menace that seemed to want to tear him apart entirely.
That was when Sylas understood where these eyes came from, what beast they originated from.
The Scorpion Warlord.
