The new heart thudded — once, twice — then roared to life inside the beast.
A violent jolt rippled through its colossal lupine frame as the final threads of Mirus's essence stitched everything together.
Steam peeled off its hide in waves, the scent of sweating meat flooding the air.
Beneath the swollen full moon, its freshly-forged body gleamed with a new wicked muscular sheen.
Its muscles bulged twice as big as before.
Its fur was as black as eclipse-shadow, except where streaks of silver cut like claws across its ribs and spine.
The lycanthropes' massive chest heaved a heavy breath.
Red-gold pupils flared into focus, and for the first time — an intelligent flicker of recognition sparked behind those monstrous eyes.
The forest fell silent, watching, as the moon was.
No roars, no insects, not even the wind dared speak.
Mirus stepped back slowly, hovering just above the forest floor, his expression sharpened by predatory curiosity.
The towering werebeast straightened, vertebrae cracking like snapped iron as it drew itself upright— rising and rising, until it loomed over him by several heads.
Titanous. Beautiful. Horrifying.
A Transylvanian nightmare sculpted into reality.
Its claws flexed, tracing furrows into the soil like the earth itself offended it.
Breath escaped its fanged maw in slow, steaming snarls— decaying breaths of miasma hot enough to wilt foliage and peel back skin.
Its wolfish mane was thick and its hackles bristled like spears.
The new eldritch heart within its chest pounded wildly; its aura, cloaked mere minutes ago, now erupted outward in a terrifying wave of void-born presence.
Mirus stared up at it, utterly unafraid.
"You are a magnificent specimen."
The beast's expression twitched— confusion gnawing through hostility.
Something… someone was familiar.
Buried deep where instincts once drowned identity, a memory clawed to the surface and the beast emitted a low growl through its teeth.
Mirus got eye level with the Lycanthrope and looked into its eyes— contemplating briefly whether or not to bestow intelligence upon the beast…
'So be it,' he thought briefly as he inserted his index finger between its eyes.
The Lycanthrope's face jerked into a violent snarl, lips peeling back to bare dagger-fangs while its muzzle wrinkled in primal defiance— teeth clicking together like it wanted to bite the intruding finger clean off.
"Behave beast."
Its eyes flared wide—then it staggered forward and dropped to one knee—and then—
Its bones began to shift.
Its claws withdrew and then its fur retreated beneath the skin.
The titan shuddered as its anatomy was being rearranged— a symphony of snaps, tears, and twisting muscle.
Its snout retracted into a jawline.
Its immense frame collapsed inward, reshaping with violent grace until a man— naked, with a scarred chest, trembling— knelt before the Eldritch Lord who remade him.
Reborn.
Whole.
His eyes lifted towards Mirus who floated above him.
"…Master…?"
The word was strained— the first sound his new tongue remembered how to make.
A slow, wicked grin curled across Mirus's lips.
"Yes. I am your God. Your sun and moon. Your lungs and heart. Your brains and your intentines…"
The man bowed his head in submission, chest heaving with newfound consciousness and fear— fear not of death, but of disappointing the god who tore him free of his predatory ignorance.
Mirus hovered closer, fingers tilting the werewolf's chin upward.
"Rise, my Beast of End," he said, his voice dripping with dreadful promise.
"Apostis."
His foundation was shaky but he rose with unyielding strength nonetheless.
Mirus snapped his fingers once.
Reality obeyed.
Shadows poured over Apostis's bare skin like liquid night, weaving into form-fitting attire as if darkness itself served as a tailor.
Fabric rippled into existence from the void— a sleek, high-collared coat of midnight obsidian, shoulders marked with harsh angular pauldrons of bone-white.
Crimson seams pulsed like living veins, each stitch burning faintly with Mirus's power. Over his heart, Mirus's sigil.
His newly grown hair spilled down, long and dark as storm clouds, cascading past broad shoulders.
Fair skin, smooth as unmarred porcelain, contrasted with a predator's jawline and sharpened cheekbones.
His eyes— once impulsive and bestial— now glinted pure obsidian, cold and intelligent, glimmering with a quiet hunger to serve his master.
Apostis flexed his hands— his fingernails were pristine and claw-like.
The muscles beneath his coat coiled with supernatural strength.
Mirus floated backward, admiring his craftsmanship— perfection manifested into eldritch flesh.
Apostis bowed with knightly precision, voice steady now: "Command me, my lord… and I shall enforce your divine will."
Mirus's grin widened, pride turning to ambition.
"You will wreak havoc for me and instill primal fear into the people of the Theocracy," Mirus declared.
"Use the newfound power and abilities I have given you, stealth through their lands and creep through their capital."
Apostis's eyes gleamed — vicious and loyal.
"Kill them one by one from the shadows. Men, women, children… Do not discriminate."
Mirus could feel the bloodlust building within Apostis.
It was a beautiful thing to see.
"Unleash your savage bloodlust upon them. Do not slaughter them all Apostis. But… be cruel."
"This servant obeys."
Mirus's grin sharpened, a new thought igniting behind his eyes.
"Open your palm… raise your hand to me."
Apostis obeyed without hesitation.
Mirus extended his own hand — a single finger, pointed like a dagger toward his servant.
"Now—cut it off."
There was no hesitation.
Apostis severed his index finger with a sharp flick of his claw.
The digit dropped into his other palm, its blood steaming like hot lava.
He did not scream.
He did not flinch.
He stared at Mirus with absolute devotion.
Blood sprayed briefly from the wound but the stump regrew instantly— bone, flesh, nail— all restored within seconds.
"Good. Pain is temporary."
Mirus ran his tongue along his own teeth— amused— before gripping his canine between his fingers.
He yanked it free with a wet crack.
The long, serrated tooth hovered beside Apostis's severed finger, spinning in orbit.
A fresh one pushed through his gum instantly, sharper than the last.
"But we will live forever."
With a casual wave, he snapped his fingers — and the severed piece of Apostis's flesh levitated, suspended in a swirl of red-black energy.
Metal screamed into existence.
Fragmented chunks of obsidian ore ripped through reality all around them, clanging together like iron teeth gnashing.
They melted together into a black, molten sphere that orbited the floating finger.
The finger and tooth were then slowly submerged into the sphere of liquid metal.
The sphere began to hum and glowed red as Mirus commandeered it between his two palms.
"Your claws are divine weapons themselves…capable of tearing apart even the strongest of metals," Mirus whispered.
"But alas… there may be enemies and objects your wicked claws can't tear apart… This weapon here, when in doubt, will cleave them apart for you…for me."
Mirus pressed his palms together with mighty force— then he opened his palms and the material compressed into a long shape, edges forming violently as the forge of creation responded to his whim.
A blade took shape.
A wicked, serrated body — red veins pulsing beneath its black-steel hide.
A snarling wolf-skull guard— jaws parted to drink blood.
It radiated bloodlust.
The Great Wulfs Claymore of End.
A devastating divine weapon wreathed in profanity and blight.
Mirus turned it downward.
"Hold steady."
Before Apostis could brace, Mirus drove the blade into his open palm.
Apostis hissed— not in pain, but in exhilaration— as the weapon merged with his flesh.
Crimson markings spread like wildfire across his wrist and hand, forming Mirus's sigil burned deep into his skin.
The sword then retracted back into his right arm—vanishing entirely.
Apostis flexed his hand—it felt like power coiled beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.
Mirus floated above him.
"You need only will it… and it shall appear.
No mana. No prayer.
This weapon is a part of you now."
Apostis lowered his head, trembling with purpose.
His right arm was now a thousand times sharper and more durable than the other.
He could cleave apart through a Titan-tree or a fine iron reinforced gate with ease, simply by swinging his hand through it.
"Go! Report back to me tomorrow night when the moon is at its peak. I want the fresh heads of one hundred Luminotians." Mirus commanded.
"I will conjure more minions with their heads, here take this."
Mirus snapped and an inconspicuous black sack appeared in front of them.
"This sack is enchanted and the contents stored within will not rot. Use this, preserve their body parts."
Mirus floated him the sack and paused for a moment, contemplating.
"Hmm I suppose I require their hearts as well."
Mirus's expression soured the moment the thought of the Theocracy crossed his mind and left a foul taste in his mouth.
He grimaced— disgust wrinkling the edges of his divine features.
"Apostis you may sever their heads without any regard for force you use, but you must handle their hearts with care."
With a flick of his wrist, he annoyingly waved the idea of Luminotian people away like infuriating buzzing insects.
"It nauseates me to show restraint to such useless cattle that need purging."
he muttered, voice thick with loathing.
"Yes my Lord, this servant obeys."
"Off with you! Go! Show them how wicked we can be!"
Apostis bowed.
"Yes my Lord."
Then he vanished into thin air, only drifting particles of miasma remained.
Mirus snapped his fingers and his grimoire appeared before him with a quill.
It looked at him hungrily and ground its teeth in anticipation.
Mirus swiped his fingers in front of it and the book opened up, and its pages fluttered until it found a blank page.
The quill pricked his finger and began to write.
He detailed their encounter and the abilities bestowed upon him.