His red gaze sharpened, piercing like twin blades forged in fire, and in that moment all his focus and fury doubled onto his foe. His fist clenched tight, veins bulging across his hand as though his very anger had carved paths across his skin.
Slowly, deliberately, a transformation began. From his fist, scarlet, glass-like scales unfurled like molten petals curling open, spiraling upward until they armored his forearm all the way to the elbow.
He exhaled through clenched teeth and opened his hand slightly, there, a hilt emerged, glowing faintly, as if the world itself forged it for him. In the span of a breath, the hilt birthed a massive blade:
edges sharp, body radiant red, traced with ethereal white patterns that glowed like sacred runes etched across molten steel. The glow shimmered in a beautiful, dangerous harmony, white purity staining crimson wrath, an unsettling yet magnificent marriage of destruction and divinity.
