The dungeon seems to be thriving with motion; it roars with snarls that are low and guttural and go through thick stone walls. Shadows shift, feral eyes glinting in the darkness, the bodies ready to tear her apart. The rogues move with a bond-bestial hunger overtaking any vestige of sanity.
Nana does not feel threatened. She does not budge.
The pressure churns in her stomach, spreading like fire blistering through her veins. Strength runs through her, raw and untamed, giving her sensations unlike any she'd felt before. It’s not her own. It’s something deeper. Older. A force that doesn't belong to her but has chosen her nonetheless.
The rogues lunge.
Her body moves before her mind catches up. Her bones c***k, stretching, twisting. A painful shift—one she hasn't experienced in so lon
