Just as the daemon's monstrous maw surged forward, something moved.
A flicker of light.
CLANG.
The daemon's jaws slammed shut, not on Ben, but on the pickaxe.
The pickaxe hovered in front of him, wedged between the fangs and Ben's body.
It did not move.
Light began to pulse from inside it, soft at first, then brighter.
The void around them trembled.
CRACK.
The daemon reared back and shrieked as radiant cracks split its teeth.
Then the pickaxe changed.
It twisted in midair, spinning faster and faster.
Pieces of metal broke off in bursts of blinding white.
The fragments did not scatter.
They gathered and locked together again.
Metal plates snapped into place like armor.
A plume of fire curled upward and formed a helm.
The shaft of the pickaxe extended and thickened.
It morphed and lengthened until it became a massive greatsword.
Its edge glimmered with runes.
A towering figure now stood where the pickaxe had been.
