The Central Atrium of the Citadel had been transformed from a place of imperial grandeur into a theater of nightmares.
The air was thick with the scent of ozone from the sabotaged reactor and the suffocating pressure of raw shadow. Dust and debris rained from the vaulted ceiling as the mountain itself continued to groan under the weight of the unfolding chaos.
High above, the crystalline dome that usually filtered the soft morning light was now cracked, casting jagged, uneven shadows that danced like ghosts across the blood-stained marble.
At the center of the destruction stood the Giant Shadow Wolf.
Lucien, in his monstrous new form, was a terrifying silhouette of midnight fur and shifting smoke. He stood nearly ten feet tall at the shoulder, a creature born of ancient spite and desperate love.
