The transformed heavenly forest was a realm of surreal beauty, where the very essence of nature danced to the tune of power. Amidst this otherworldly landscape, the stage was set for a confrontation of epic proportions.
Galanor, his form twisted into the imposing Emerald Wyrm, regarded Daimon with emerald eyes that blazed with a mix of delight and simmering anger. His immense serpentine body coiled with a powerful grace, an embodiment of the primal forces of nature. To him, this was more than a battle; it was a chance to settle a score that had festered in his heart.
With a voice that reverberated through the transformed forest, Galanor shouted, "So it is Daimon. What a fortunate event."
Daimon, his crimson hair flowing like flames, offered a casual laugh in response. "Well, well, if it isn't the persistent pest," he remarked, his tone carrying an air of amusement.
