22
Lincoln
Another spell from Peli. This is becoming a theme.
When the magical haze is gone, I find myself standing in the orange jungle that borders on the Golden Arbor. Simian territory. Tangerine-colored trees loom overhead, their wide leaves glistening with rivulets of water. The ground lies spongy beneath my feet. The scent of fresh rain carries on the air.
A figure marches along a nearby path. The Contagion. His skin glistens with gold and is marked by the swirling pattern of wood grain. Quilliam once had downy crests of fur protruding from his cheeks. As the Contagion, that fluff is replaced with golden twigs and tiny leaves.
“Come out, come out wherever you are!” The Contagion’s long legs tear up the ground with confidence. His every movement screams, I’m the baddest thing in
