When the transformation stabilized, what stood before the siblings was no longer quite human, not fully elven, but something that existed between categories, a weapon forged by bloodline and enhanced by the essence of forty engineered warriors, powered by magic that stretched back to when gods walked the earth.
A Berserk Lord, reborn in the modern age.
Jorghan smiled, and the expression promised death.
"My turn," he said, his voice carrying harmonics that seemed to bypass ears and strike directly at the hindbrain, triggering primal fear responses that even the siblings' conditioning couldn't fully suppress.
He moved, and the speed was impossible.
One moment, he was standing forty feet away; the next, his clawed hand was around Caden's throat, blood essence and physical strength combining to lift the armored warrior like he weighed nothing. The suit's defensive systems engaged, trying to create separation, but Jorghan's grip was unbreakable.
