Mira's gaze narrowed.
She was hovering above, looking down at the destruction below as the dust hung thick in the air, swirling like a beast's dying breath. Her pulse was a drumbeat in her throat, responding to the rising tension. Below, through the choking haze, two crimson slits burned—unblinking, feral.
Rex.
His body was painted in crimson, remnants of his suffering from the barrage of debris.
But the fresh wounds knitted themselves shut before Mira's eyes.
It was an incredible sight, one that sent chills down her spine.
Even though there were Demon Spirits who could regenerate without the use of life energy, this marked the first time Mira had ever seen one again after a long time. And even then, none of the Demon Spirits she saw before could match the speed of Rex's regeneration.
Due to the pain, Rex's chest heaved, not with exhaustion, but with something far worse—anger.
A bane factor for all Werewolves.
