Creed stood tall in the shadow of three terrifying Silver-stage earthworms, his eyes half-lidded like a man who just woke up from a nap and realized he had ten missed calls and the apocalypse knocking on his door.
The rocky floor beneath his boots hummed with the remnants of the brutal battle Tierra and Lilith had barely survived.
The scent of acid, burnt flesh, and scorched stone filled the air, but Creed didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
His blue eyes, calm and unreadable, slowly turned toward the storage ring on his finger.
Then
CLANG!
In a single, fluid motion, a long obsidian-black spear with glimmering gold veins snaked out from his ring and dropped into his hand like it belonged there.
As he spun the spear around, the very air began to sing. The wind, heavy and dry just moments before, howled to life, swirling around his frame like a pack of excited wolves called to their alpha.
