His transformation was accelerating. His height had increased to seven feet, then to eight feet, and then four more inches; his skin now fully the pale red of his activated bloodline, his eyes blazing with red light that cast shadows despite the camp's flood lights.
The massive sword—that manifestation of death made tangible—appeared in his hand, six feet of impossible metal that pulsed with power that made reality uncertain around it.
"Where are they?" His voice echoed across the camp, magically amplified, carrying over the sounds of battle and dying.
"Where are you keeping my family?"
He moved toward the largest structure—the command tent, where tactical displays and communication equipment created a center of operations. Soldiers tried to stop him. They died. Quickly, efficiently, without mercy or hesitation.
