Chapter 125. Holy Nova’s Aftermath

Eryndor’s POV

From where I stood, Baze’s Faux Lycan form was utterly grotesque. He had taken on a hulking, lupine shape, the fur ashy black and blood-red in alternating patches, stretched over sinewy muscle. Pink flesh showed through ragged tears in his pelt, and from each jagged opening flickered small, vicious tongues of flame. The sight made my skin crawl. I could scarcely believe any self‐styled hero would choose—or be cursed with—a visage so unsettling.

“Eww,” Auraya sneered, her voice laced with contempt. She folded her arms and pointed a disdainful finger at the monstrous werewolf before us. “And you still call yourself a hero, with a disgusting form like that?”

Baze’s crimson eyes burned with indignation. “Hmph,” he muttered dismissively. “I wouldn’t expect a hater like you to understand dramatic irony. I may look like a villain in this form, but I actually carry the hopes of all my fallen friends! Meanwhile, you?” He spat the word as if it tasted bi