Corruption traveled through the seven primary channels of my body, and I burned out the channel linking my arm to my body, restricting the change from crossing my shoulder.
This transformation usually comes with great pain, but I felt nothing, although I knew that in this pain was an opportunity that could be grasped.
I sought clearance from the Stone Oracle, but I received none, so I proceeded with the change. To effectively kill the enemy, you have to know them better than they know themselves.
My skin was distorting into something that was no longer human muscle under my guidance. The bone was lengthening, hardening, taking on a configuration the horde of Khaaz watching would have recognised.
I had killed thousands of them by now, and I was familiar with their structure, although I was not using the weak limb structure of a Khaaz, but of their higher variant, the Khaazim.
These creatures had decimated worlds for a reason.
My left arm was becoming a weapon.
