Oathran moved. He launched himself from behind Cecilia, his boots skidding in the blood-slicked mud as he closed the distance between himself and the golden beast that was still tearing into what remained of Arzhen Vasiliev.
His humanoid form was already straining at the seams, white scales rippling across his forearms, his wings half-unfurled and bristling, his eyes blazing.
He wasn't about to lose a brother to the same blind fury that had nearly consumed him.
"Eastiel!" He slammed into the lion's flank, his arms wrapping around the massive, blood-soaked torso.
The impact would have staggered a lesser creature, but Eastiel in his full beast form was like a literal mountain. He barely budged.
Oathran dug his heels into the earth and held on, his own form beginning to shift, growing larger, scales spreading across his shoulders and down his spine, his wings expanding to their full span.
