Luna At Alpha Academy
He sounds, for a heartbeat, like a father scolding a son, his wrath bleeding into something painfully tender.
“I apologize, my Lord.”
Master inhales, steadying himself. Then, in one fluid motion, he draws a claw across his palm. The scent of his blood, metallic, electric, fills the air. The droplets spiral into a circle before floating toward Ezekiel.
“Take it,” he commands.
Ezekiel drinks, desperate. A shudder tears through his body; bones twist, knit, and grow. The sound of healing is raw and wet. Within seconds, his missing arm reforms. bone, sinew, flesh, skin. Whole again.
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