The corrupted mana beast stood like a storm if it had flesh, its hunched frame radiating raw, hateful power.
It towered over Ian by more than two heads, the sinews beneath its cracked, blackened hide twitching with restrained rage.
Its shoulders rippled with unnatural muscle, and jagged bone jutted from its spine like spears carved by fire.
The exposed parts of its flesh were webbed with glowing crimson veins—pulses of corrupted mana that seethed and coiled with every breath it took.
Its eyes were what made it monstrous.
They were no longer the primal gaze of a beast—no flicker of instinct or thought.
Instead, two burning, demonic suns peered out of the sockets, smoldering with pain, madness, and fury.
Steam hissed from its nostrils as it paced, claws raking the scorched arena floor, tail thrashing like a whip of iron and bone.
But before Ian, it hesitated.
A low growl vibrated the air, more wary than triumphant.
Above, the gallery brimmed with tension.
