His skin—severed from horrible torsion wounds and lacerations—moved, reacting to something inside Logan. At first, it twitched, then wriggled, then grew.
Like tentacles, the ends of his cuts would reach out to connect, pulling back any blood still running down. Then came his arms, which had been twisted beyond repair.
Or, it should've been. Compulsively, they churned—only, in the direction opposite to how they'd been injured. In mere moments, his arms were straight, turning warm from whatever regeneration was occurring inside.
'This power... there's nothing like it. I feel it flowing in my veins, moving out to empower my cells. It feels even greater than that night...!'
Pixel looked up to Zack, then the stands, then back to Zack: "You feel good, Logan? I can sense the mana coursing through you right now. I'd say that you might actually give him a run for his money."
Logan didn't say anything—he didn't need to. He knew all too well what needed to be done.
