Yemiga's pupils contracted sharply.
Roland said no more. He closed his eyes, as if listening to some sound surging within him.
It was not the whisper of the Gods. It was the roar of an ancient Bronze Dragon, originating from the depths of his bloodline. It was the crackling detonation of cold fury—from having just witnessed his companion's brutal death, helpless to intervene—now burning madly in his soul. More than anything, it was the violent resonance of the composite sigil forged from the painful Echo of the Son of Divine Remains, a sigil that craved "an end."
"Hrrgh!"
A low, inhuman growl was forced from the depths of Roland's throat.
He unleashed Mad Soul.
There was no brilliant flash of light, no leakage of Energy.
The first changes occurred within his body.
The veins beneath his skin bulged and writhed like awakening flood dragons, their color rapidly shifting from bluish-purple to a horrifying dark red.
