Suddenly, a thick, greasy, dark smoky aura erupted from Fenn's body, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud. His eyes rolled back into his head, showing only the whites, and his squat body began to lift, floating in the air, several feet above the counter.
His entire form convulsed violently a few times, a horrifying process of internal shifting and tearing, before going utterly still.
The smoky aura pulsed and tightened, forming a cocoon around him.
Then, the cocoon dispersed.
Fenn's body floated gently down, landing silently on his feet. He was no longer the frightened shopkeeper. When his eyes snapped open, they glowed terrifying crimson, and his pupils were vertical, thin slits, like a predator's.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was not his own. It was a hoarse, rattling sound, deeper than any human could produce, a voice layered with ancient malice.
