Feral on the Ice
Its fur was replaced by interlocking obsidian plates, and where a wolf’s mane should be, a crown of glowing, bioluminescent tentacles drifted in the air like kelp.
"The Trench-King," Sif whispered from the doorway of the roof, her face pale. "The first of the Old World gods has woken up."
The Trench-King didn't attack the building. It looked up at the roof, its massive, milky eyes fixing on Elara. It let out a roar that shattered every window on the first ten floors of the Apex Suites.
The resonance sphere Elara was holding flickered. The gold in her veins dimmed as the sheer presence of the Alpha's discordant frequency threatened to tear her Lullaby apart.
Bab Populer