Amon's body of black fire—a manifestation of Death Aether, vanished and he regained his original form, though his aura and presence seemed profoundly transformed. Only ten assassins remained standing, yet they appeared poised and ready for battle.
But Amon's focus was elsewhere as the final piece of the puzzle clicked in his mind.
'And if my innate aether is a reflection of my truest self and the kernel of my existence then…'
He raised a hand.
'…I can transform it into any attributed aether I have an affinity for…'
A ball of flames appeared atop his hand, composed of both real fire and fire aether.
'…then modify it using my mind or rather—Intent.'
The flames shifted to a beautiful and radiant gold, then twisted and transformed into blue flames of abyssal cold.
'It's all under the control of my Will. My desires.'
As his enlightenment concluded and he slowly opened his eyes, one of the assassins spoke.
