The last blast of Voidfire faded, leaving the cavern sweltering and silent.
Mala's body—or what was left of it—lay in a warped crater, bubbling with residual cursefire and necrotic sludge.
Her once towering form had collapsed into a melting heap of stitched flesh and bone.
The stench alone was offensive enough to start a war.
Raven exhaled slowly as the glow faded from his eyes. The dragon-scale cracks receded, the molten shimmer dimming under his skin.
His claws withdrew. With a hiss of cooling steam, the transformation ended.
He stood there, bare-chested—his upper clothes long since burned to cinders, replaced by fresh soot and the shimmer of sweat glistening under the lava-light.
His body was cut from marble, scarred and lean, a roadmap of battles etched across golden-bronze skin. Voidfire residue still clung to his arms like glowing tattoos.
"Ah," he muttered, shaking ash out of his hair. "This transformation is gonna cost me a shirt every time."
There was silence.
