In mid-air, the blood-mist swirling around Roland was even denser than before, practically forming a churning, dark-red cloak.
At the edge of the cloak-like blood-mist, two broad, ethereal wing membranes sprouted from his shoulder blades. They were more solid than before, hovering somewhere between energy and physical form, their edges shimmering with a bronze metallic sheen. With every breath and surge of Power, they slowly flapped and expanded.
These weren't complete, fully-muscled dragon wings. Rather, they were a terrifying manifestation—a projection of his boiling Dragon Race Bloodline and the Blood Qi ignited by his Mad Soul, a sign that his Power had reached a critical point.
Every slight vibration stirred the surrounding air and the chaotic flows of Energy, emitting a low roar like a brewing Storm.
His Dragonification had clearly deepened.
"He..."
Duraga gripped his War Axe so tightly his knuckles turned white.
