The cage of storms began to change.
Lightning that had once lashed harmlessly against the barrier now folded inward, striking the ground like fangs closing in on prey. The very air thickened, each breath like inhaling molten glass. Cracks split across the obsidian floor of the arena, glowing with rivers of white-hot light. The storm wasn't just the Herald's weapon anymore—it was part of him. His hunting ground. His devouring maw.
The Herald crouched in the center, claws digging grooves in the floor, molten eyes drinking them in with endless hunger. His grin stretched unnaturally wide, voice booming across the arena as the storm bent to his will.
Prey runs. Prey bleeds. Prey falls, he whispered. But you… you dare bare your fangs. Then come. Let us see if you survive the maw.
The storm collapsed inward.
