Within the purple fog, Noah was running at Kruel.
His eyes were slits. Purple, burning, cutting through the mist ahead of him the way headlights cut through rain. His hands were scaled, the black of the E.N.D armor gone, replaced by something that had grown out of him rather than been put on him, dragon scale running from his knuckles up his forearms, each plate sitting flush against the one beside it, dark and dense. His fingers ended in claws. Behind him a tail moved with him, not consciously, just there the way arms were just there, part of the body, part of the motion, sweeping through the purple mist with every stride.
And the best part of this whole thing?
He felt incredible.
