He hummed in delight before lifting his scaly, clawed hands to observe their new form. His eyes drifted to a broken mirror leaning against a dark wall not far away, and he took in the reflection of what he had become. Nothing remained to remind anyone that he was once Drake Viremont, the same man whose most-wanted posters had been plastered across the Kingdom of Versailles.
Soon, a crooked crackle escaped his lips. "It feels like I can take over the world now…" he rasped, almost intoxicated by the ecstasy of his newly acquired power.
One of the Darkrots, who had once seen him weak and pitifully crawling on the ground when Drake had tried to enter their master's chamber, scoffed at his newfound arrogance.
Drake's head snapped towards the sound, anger surging through him as the memory of how that Darkrot had once dared to brutalise him rose to the surface, leaving him half dead. He would have perished then, had their master not stepped out of the chamber in time to stop them.
