Aamon Cleaver's insidious laughter reverberated as the liquid flames surrounding its island swirled in a burning dance.
The colossal figure he had seen when the weapon forcefully bound itself to his soul reappeared in all its horrifying glory. The air distorted, its components evaporating in a show of twirling vapor under the scalding heat.
His soul shuddered as the colossus' infernal green hand zoomed on the skeleton, the thick pernicious fog it released irrelevant in the face of a tier-nine mythical weapon.
An eager moan added to the dread twisting his lips as the cleaver snatched the invisible energy as if it were tangible.
Then, the colossus collapsed, reforming the scalding lake as if nothing had transpired. Yet, the now clean skeleton stood as proof. A proof that the enigmatic cursed mythical weapon could strengthen itself and continue to evolve. But into what?
