As the beast's massive paw descended, Lamair's mind raced, each thought a desperate attempt to grasp at any shred of survival.
No! No! I can't fall like this... wait! I've still got some trump cards. Qirantha...
Time seemed to slow as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His blue eyes flared pink, streaked with hints of purple, as a dark pink symbol—the shape of a puppet dangling from strings—etched itself onto his forehead.
Qirantha, who had been buried beneath the rubble, dissolved into shimmering pink energy. The spider spirit shot toward Lamair, merging with him in a burst of light. His aura surged, raw and volatile, as the earlier sigil in the sky reappeared. This time, it was no longer a mere symbol but a tangible construct radiating authority and power.
