"Well... Adaptation demands sacrifices," Cliff said.
The words left his lips like a grim prayer. Below, the battle was slowing, horror creeping into the enemy ranks like a silent poison. Mathilde raised a dome of ice above their allies, the barrier crackling under the acidic assault. Further away, Hildanor dragged Kido to safety behind a broken pillar.
And he… he remained there.
The son of the Cursed Serpent.
His pale skin blistered under the toxic rain, but each wound healed almost instantly. He stared at Cliff, a predatory grin splitting his face with sheer exhilaration. His black sword rose in a salute… or a provocation.
Cliff took a deep breath. This time, he let the acid flow first, coating his throat with a protective layer. Fire pulsed within him, raw, searing. His body adjusted, balancing the opposing forces, seeking the fragile equilibrium between them. His wings beat harder, lifting him above the battlefield. The pressure built, suffocating.
Then he exhaled.
