The moment Iron's twelve radiant wings split the darkness, the creature let out an ear-shattering, otherworldly shriek that warped the air and sent tremors through the cracked bones of the city.
But Iron's spirit had already descended.
It fell from the sky like a silent, terrible star. Twelve wings unfurled wide, casting a shadow over the entire district. Its faceless head turned toward the abomination, as if in silent judgment.
Then, in a voice that was neither male nor female—not spoken, but felt deep within every soul nearby—the spirit declared:
"I open the gate to the Eternal Prism."
Suddenly, the world shifted.
A dome of radiant light bloomed outward from Iron, expanding like a crystalline flower. It wasn't made of glass or magic, but of refracted reality—shimmering with mirrored planes, rotating sigils, and bladed patterns. Buildings frozen mid-collapse reassembled. Fires vanished. The wind stilled. Time slowed.
The Eternal Prism—Iron's most feared ability.
