The darkness is boiling.
The pitch-black curse blood rippled, stimulated by an unprecedented sense of crisis for the first time in its existence, it felt an overwhelming terror.
And death, just within reach.
Amidst the sound of countless bones grinding, the body of the Spirit of Nativity rapidly contracted, transforming from its primal predatory state to a more agile and frenzied form.
This is a metamorphosis, arising from chaos's disorder, reshaping itself according to its desires, transforming once more towards a more profound domain.
Searching through the experiences and insights retained in the alchemists' source substance, it spontaneously changes itself!
It's like some game's battle elf undergoing super-evolution.
At this moment, amidst the chaotic screeching, the curse blood surged, crazily extracting the endless disasters from Helios, a brand-new heart began to pulse.
