Thomas wasn't human anymore.
He stood at the center of the crater, his mutated form twitching with raw, unchecked magic. His body had twisted into something ugly—shoulders broad and hunched, one arm now twice the size of the other and ending in a clawed appendage that shimmered with black magic. A leathery wing jutted from his back, twitching erratically like it was trying to take off without him.
His eyes were voids—milky, endless. A low, growling breath slipped from his lips like smoke from a smoldering pit. The ground hissed beneath his feet, cracking in thin, spiderweb patterns from the weight of his presence.
Quinn felt it instantly.
The weight of Thomas's magic slammed into him like a boulder to the chest. It wasn't just heavy—it was suffocating. The air turned syrupy in his lungs, slow and thick, and each breath felt like it was dragging shards of glass down his throat. His bones ached under the pressure, his stomach twisted like something inside was trying to get out.
