The runic words beneath the Beast's fur were not arranged like sentences.
That was the first thing Kael noticed once he stopped looking at the claws and began looking past them. The writing did not flow from shoulder to spine in structured commands, nor did it form a layered logic of runic interactions. It was simpler than that, and somehow worse because of it. The same word repeated over and over again beneath the Beast's skin, pulsing in red-black light each time its body swelled larger, each time its muscles thickened, each time its sanity seemed to peel farther away from whatever it had once been. Kael could not fully read the script at first glance, but he understood enough to recognize intent.
More.
Again and again, written through flesh like a commandment.
More strength. More size. More rage. More violence.
