A fire ignited in Max's heart, a hatred so sharp it carved through his grief. He didn't want to blame anyone but the demons—they were the butchers who destroyed his world. But the fact that the strongest human alive had turned his back, had simply watched while millions were slaughtered, gnawed at him like a rot. To ignore it was unbearable.
His rage bled into his aura. Scarlet flames erupted around his figure, and with a sharp crack, two enormous wings of blood-red light unfurled from his back. They glistened like blades of burning crystal, spreading wide enough to blot out the light above him.
With a powerful beat of those wings, Max's body surged upward, cutting through the clouds like a comet of rage.
He soared high into the sky, his figure trailing a scarlet brilliance, heading straight for the Lost Continent.
