Ora's body burned. His skin charred. All of his life had led to this moment. His brightest spotlight, literally.
The Werewolf grinned widely, showing its perfect white teeth. The shadow that wrapped around its far reached out like tentacles, forming a dome toward the shining Wendigo.
Behind the Werewolf, countless souls wailed and cried. And with it, many images reflected.
For a microsecond, Ora saw what was truly behind the mask. A puppeteer with strings holding over many powerful beings.
The white aura formed a white-hair woman with blindfolds.
The dark aura formed a man with goat horns.
The green aura formed a gothic witch with a sinister smile.
The colorful images of animals with a scarred man stood in front of it.
The pool of blood with the pale man with dark hair.
Behind all of them, a mysterious figure hovered. Only the edge of his face was visible. His glowing eyes looked down upon everything like an all-seeing, all-knowing, omnipotent god.
