The pressure leaking from Sylvaris's body no longer felt like something a human should possess, no, it wasn't just foreign, it was wrong, the kind of power that made the air buckle, the kind that told even the most ancient instincts to run.
Layer by layer, his skin began to peel, not in pain, but in rebirth: first flaking away in dull, papery patches, then revealing something bright, almost luminous beneath, a crimson so deep it glowed like living flame.
For a moment, he looked inhuman, radiant in ruin, until the skin faded back to a normal tone, the transformation subtle but irreversible. It was as if he had shed his mortal shell and left something primal underneath, something that breathed power instead of air. The monster that had been approaching with the confidence of death incarnate now slowed its steps, claws flexing with caution. It could feel it too.
